Remains to Be Seen

You know what's funny about the Book of Job is how they make a big deal and expand everything out of the question of why bad things happen to good people. There's nothing to expand on there. It's because there's no justice! Simple. One liner, really. Don't let your teachers tell you otherwise. And as long as we're talking scripture, let me explain resurrections for you. They're what happen to pesky troublemakers who are not killed thoroughly enough. If you really want to avoid a resurrection, you can't just crucify the guy. You have to drive over his corpse with a battering ram afterwards and let the storks peck away at the flattened remains until there's simply nothing left to resurrect. Maybe a light a match after that, just to be 100%. Then let his followers come back and say they just talked to him! No one would believe them in a million years!
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© 2010. Statements by David Skerkowski. All rights reserved.

Shouting Out

I am an oblivious sort of character. I achieve this in many ways. One way is to eat crunchy foods. When others are talking to you, your crunching can block them out. Cereal's usually good if it hasn't been in the milk too long. Or chips. Cookies. Not popcorn though. That's not loud enough. Who needs to look at that girl's dress again? There's a perfectly fascinating pattern in the sidewalk. So - uh - smooth and square. Plus you won't trip as much. When you see a large group of people in the distance, change course to avoid them. They might offer you some sort of clue. Stay away from TV and especially the internet. For God's sake, stay away from the internet or you will find out everything. Feel free to slip off in a musical trance if it pleases you more than to, say, receive tree pruning lessons from an elderly nun with bad breath.
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Another Magellanic Monday-hey-hey - Wait - Saturday

Well it's Saturday here in Vancouver, where the raspberries grow by the roadside and the bunny rabbits play with the racoons. And it blows my mind. It feels like the centre of the universe here sometimes. You get all four seasons in one day. Over the course of your outings, you may need to both dodge cars and leap over shopping carts. (If you miss, try not to be in a hurry like I was. Takes a long time to pick up those cans.) Oh yes, and we're due for our rainbow any moment now. There it is over there, I think. Kind of fading in. There's something I'm missing there, I'm sure, but I was just thinking about dwarf galaxies. I might have written about them before, with respect to size and how it affects time. This is how I might have put it: If something is far away, but enormous in size, it takes a long time to reach. But, if it's big enough, it's already here. (Its butt, however, remains beyond the limits of our rockets.) And as I gazed up in the starry sky last night, I saw the constellation of Oprah in alignment with Mercury, which represents Afghanistan. I knew something big was up.
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Where's My Classes?

While much of what I share concerning fame and/or notoriety might seem redundant at a point, there is one angle I've not explored much. How does one handle it gracefully? You don't have to be a star to get your face noticed any more. How then do you cope with being recognized? How do you like to hear chit-chat all the time? Well, are you going to go nuts? Has some stranger out there even already confronted you with that very question? This is all the shit you forget after you disappear for a while. You forget and then you can't think why you disappeared any more, so you come back! And the next time, you last a little longer, hopefully. So I'm through with the funny walks now. I've used that up. But it was fun. And that gargoyle was asking for a face slap this morning, I'm sorry. I would have done it, no matter what. The way they scowl at you! Why do people like that? And no more humping the bus stop post either. Cross my heart. I don't know if others think the attention makes me feel important or special. It doesn't. I would feel that way in spite of the attention. But if you have something to tell me, go ahead and say it loudly either on your cell phone or to your friend in my presence. I will hear it, no problem. And it won't make me start talking to myself angrily later on in public. I would do that anyway. And when I go looking for a gig, I won't pull my amp around on a roller board with a dog leash from venue to venue and ask each venue if I can plug my amp in there because it's been a hot day. I did that last time. And I must try to avoid looking or sounding too much like my imitators, too. Always a big mistake. (Unless I'm imitating myself.) I'm showing some class this time. Never mind what I said last time.
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I Think Therefore I'm Not

I have a very strong sense of my Freudian 'beast'. It truly is a monster. Remember Gollum from Lord of the Rings? Make him taller and gawkier. And give him a nice wristwatch. The precious! Yes. Put him in a modern warplane. What do you think will happen? I see fire and women and children running from the awful noise as jet engines compete with gurgling laughter. For this reason I try to be a thinking person. I go out of my way to question things around me and keep my conscious mind active. As long as I do that I'm all right. And I let my darkness out through song. Who knows what I might have been like if I didn't ever discover song writing? I hope not too much better off.
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© 2007, 2010. Statements by David Skerkowski. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

Pass that Blowtorch

One thing that took me a long time to overcome was my fear of hell. My mother got me good with that one. One thing you can count on when you tell a trusting child that, if he does not behave, he will be burned and kept alive to feel the burning for ever, is that that child will think twice before misbehaving. His most dreaded nightmares will keep him in line. Side effects of this treatment might include gathering and growing shame and growing fear of punishment with every swear word uttered, every sexual thought, every failed test and so forth until the subject rests comfortably in a general state of depression. But in time we overcome our childhood fears. We develop and become more sophisticated. At least, I hope that's what happened in my case. Now I've turned it all around. I love fire. And of course Satan had nothing to do with it. It was Prometheus.
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Other People's Memories that Suck #1

There's a pretty decent German flick (with English subtitles) posted illegally online somewhere called 'Woman in Berlin.' It's about the fall of Berlin to the Red Army in 1945. Touchy stuff. I think it was extremely well done. It was all based on the diary of a young frau who survived the ordeal. The photography is excellent. The colour is there, but it has a slightly faded look. I don't know if this was deliberate, but it works. Naturally, it was all filmed on location. I was never once turned on sexually by the rape scenes. They were done most tastefully. (Please, I'm not trying to be funny.) Rape is serious business, and this film is one of the few works I've ever seen to deal with it squarely. By all accounts, the first wave of Russian troops to enter the city were professional soldiers and acted very decently towards their conquered. It was the second wave, the guys in the back, that did all the rapin and plunderin. (Those armies are all the same.) While the Russians come off looking like pigs in the context of this story, it is important to remember what the Germans had already done to them and to their families. There's a powerful line in the movie, spoken by a Russian soldier, that goes, 'We are not Germans; we don't shoot women...' I look upon the lead character as a kind of hero. She survived quite nobly under the circumstances. Then when she tried to publish her diary, she was vilified by other rape victims for not carrying on in a more socially acceptable state of denial. Poor dear.
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Crank Up That Oboe

Beethoven is one of my favourite all-time composers. I'm sure he would have rocked if he was living in the modern age. Just listen to the start of his Fifth. That's heavy. I can see how it would have pissed off a lot of parents back in his day. It probably made their kids want to go out in public without their wigs. I even look a bit like Beethoven at some angles and I'm sure we have the same hair. Someone else said we also have the same housecleaning schedule, but I wouldn't presume to be that great. And I know the message behind his music was simple. He needed sex. He was surrounded by pretty blonde frauleins and it slowly drove him insane. Especially with all that cleavage on display as it was back then. Yes, I suspect that Beethoven was a tit-man. (Not much else for leg-men to look at anyway.) Too bad about his deafness. In his case, he was able to carry on writing good music. But this approach to song writing set an evil precedent for the centuries that followed him. Now it's at the point where you can write music without even having a brain. Beethoven comes across as very serious in his music, but I have a feeling he was also a bit of a comic. All those old German dudes are misunderstood. Half the stuff they wrote as gags was taken seriously by the people that came after them. Right up to Heidegger, who merely took his doodles of Peanuts characters and converted them into theories. (Albeit, most effectively.) I like Beethoven, but I wouldn't put a picture of him on my wall. I might put a picture of his wife or daughter on my wall - if they were in one of those dresses.
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Me and My Mojo

Mojo's a small puppy from the S.P.C.A. He's a very good dog. He is always in a good mood. And he always wants to play and to sniff and lick things. Because he's canine, he exhibits his emotional mindset by way of smell. If he's standing near any other dog, the other dog will start jumping around and carrying on. And he knows how to get women. He has that look. And he has a way of still looking attractive when he falls on his back and exposes his privates. In fact, such gestures make women pet him even more. Mojo is at a cute age. He might grow up big, but right now he reminds me a lot of Dorothy's Toto, except with more attitude. Still, I thought Toto was a pretty cute dog. Mojo has to learn about leashes and civilization now. I had him tied to a post for a few minutes and I don't think he was ever aware of it. But he's just a wee pup, so at least it's easy to hold him back. Mojo's my friend. I love Mojo. And if you don't like him, I hope your house burns down with you inside.
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Nothing In Common

I've put down common sense in my more troubled moments, but I'd be a fool to dismiss its importance. At the same time, it may be equally foolish to think that you can teach common sense to someone else - though this appears to be a popular myth. I see parents struggling with their children and I see veterans lecturing the rookies and I see employers sharing their wisdom with their workers. It doesn't make any noticeable difference to my eyes. On the contrary, in many cases, it provokes rebelliousness. Ironically enough, I came to this conclusion by way of common sense. Common sense tells me that words don't stick as well as experiences. And common sense tells me that a subordinate figure would be reluctant to act on every last word of a superior because then the former could not credit themselves and their own experiences for any wisdom gained. Instead, they would owe everything to their self-appointed mentor. And common sense tells me that we are not altogether common. We have different sizes of bodies and brains. We have individual tastes and patterns. Quite often, what looks awkward to you might be graceful for me. Therefore, allowances should be made for individual preferences - if possible - in the administration of common sense. I'm not against common sense. I just think of it as a much, much smaller area than the common perception of it. I think it exists, but more as a kind of pure math or something. Very rare. And I'm all for experience. There is no greater teacher in my books.
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Stud Alert

You teen heart throbs and idols might do fine with flesh-and-blood women, but I am the king of imaginary women. You guys should see how I operate in my dreams. I hardly ever want to wake up any more. I'm always surrounded by the most pleasant company. And they do whatever I say. Nothing I command them is distasteful to them. I'm such a stud in my dreams, I don't have to say anything. I only have to look at them and they throw themselves at my feet. And when some of the more experienced ones are with me, they can't help shouting out things like, 'Oh, you're better than Justin and better than Ashton and better than Dustin...' It's true. (It's true that they said that in my dreams.).
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Why?

(Written during a difficult time.) That broken monitor reminded me of how pissed off I should be. Because we got a bunch of pricks in charge who don't care about us. And they have made a maze out of the whole world and we are little field mice, scurrying about, stepping over each other, unable to break out of the maze. The only respite is to buy something. The maze forces us into one store after another. That's just fine with those nice folks in charge. What's good enough for lab animals is darn well good enough for us! We don't exist to them except as numbers in a bank account, and they can work with any number. Doesn't have to be a positive number. They use the negative ones, too. All the numbers. As long as they're numbers. That way they can see the wealth passing from our hands into their hands. That's all they look at. That's all they ever think about. Our fine business leaders. Are we ever smart for letting them control everything. And when they want us to spend faster, they make the products stupider, so they'll break sooner. If they have no concern for the intelligence of their consumers, they'll be quite up front about their design flaws. Often, however, they conceal them where you can't get a good look at them - until you need to. I've never been interested much in economics. It's fucking boring. A total waste of humanity. A fucking puny way to look at the universe. And golf bores me to tears. The best I can do is to accept it as a necessary evil of my time, but, hopefully, not of the future. At some point someone's going to come along and straighten this all out. It's a god damn mess. The economy is a joke. Inflation is a joke. Look at gold prices now. Look at the price of a home. Why are these pricks still in charge? Because it's more secure that way? At least it is if you can afford to buy gold. Me, I'm going to try to find that treehouse I built back in the 70's. Must be worth a couple million dollars by now.
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The Belief Trade

The simple fact that people do, in fact, believe what suits them points to an area where they can be exploited. Tell them what they want to believe, they're happy and may even give you lots of money. People who look to science to answer everything can get into science fiction - though it's certain to be heavier on the fiction than the science. Much heavier. The important thing is that the earth not only survived, but went out to conquer half the universe. And the afterlife, c'mon, you have to believe in the afterlife! How can it all just end? That wouldn't make sense. Hey, when you fall asleep, you wake up again afterwards, don't you? Well, there you go! In the case of commercial marketing, a profile is made of target groups. P.R. too. Suddenly the president is wearing scuba gear. Swing voters. And countries like America, I guess, though I'm mostly Canadian, make excellent opportunities for ambitious cult leaders. I think if you can strike the right chord with people, they can slip into that trance. They want to be in that trance. And that's when you give them their instructions, starting with, 'Locate your wallets and purses...'
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Sorry Really

I just realized that sometimes I really am having a good time and doing well, and doing it at a time when a lot of others are having less of a good time. It isn't on purpose. Right now I'm re-experiencing some things from a previous year, yielding music somehow. But it was the same year a big monsoon killed a bunch of people. When the economy goes down I stay afloat because I'm on my own trip. I mostly pay attention to my immediate world, and there's always something out there. Back around September 11th, '01, I recall being hired for a job as an internet programmer. One of the more stimulating jobs I've had in my life. I'm really sorry about all of this. I can't help it.
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© 2010. Statements by David Skerkowski. All rights reserved.

Using Your Head

A good way to cope with dull jobs is to use your imagination to make it seem more stimulating. I find that I do this automatically. When I sorted cardboard and phonebooks from newsprint and office documents, the materials shot past me at a good clip. But if I stuck my ear down close, so my eyes saw it coming from the front (rather than from overhead, you see), then it was almost like being in a high speed hovercraft! Plus you could add to your productivity by catching some of the plastic bag surprises with your face! If you have to work alone in a big warehouse with big, heavy boxes, it can still be fun. If I have to sort out a large area and wind up pulling and pushing and stacking heavy shit around for hours, I guarantee you I am mentally constructing a new, cardboard Rome - one that has catacombs and Egyptian tombs with massive boulders over their entranceways. The best was when they had me on heavy equipment for long periods. After a while I would slip into a World War Two fantasy. The Bobcat was a T-34, but the Cat loader was a Tiger. The forklifts were airplanes whose forks could take off and land again in more strategic positions.
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Prostasy

Trust not the prostate gland, for it is the Judas of all male glands. It may attempt to disguise it's nefarious activities as a ticklish sensation or an itch. Look out. Could be a warning sign of an all too common demise. So trust not in the prostate glad and hearken not to its irritation.
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Save Me

I'm a Pentecostal yawner. I yawn in tongues: 'Aaaaaagh-jigoobushella! smackella-babbela!'
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Get It While It's Fraught

Nietzsche, whose name's spelling always escapes me the first time, may have been right in saying that suffering is the key to enlightenment - at least for the artist. And I think artists have a special aptitude for suffering. The good ones are capable of suffering in any situation. An uneventful life can still yield great things. Look at Anne Frank's diary, all written in the tiny confines of an attic. I wish I could write diaries like that. I always think I have to throw extra stuff in to make it interesting. If I was Anne Frank back then, I would have lied and said things like, 'Today I stuck my head out of my window and spat down on the helmet of a German soldier. He didn't know.' But she didn't, and her diary's still interesting. A good artist only comes across as a suck if his life is too easy. This is because he has found ways to suffer in a favourable situation, in order to gain enlightenment. That's why you might notice that they always have some peculiar hangup or other. Canada's a great country in which to invent new suffering. The more comfortable they make us, the more artists must resort to lamenting about poorly designed coffee machines and such. And their suffering is real. Everyone has their own personal hell. For a sensitive artist, hell may consist of more sophisticated, subtle torments. Rather than fire and brimstone, it may be attire with rhinestones. But just as painful. It could also come from learning that their country's media has adopted yet another trend from south of the border, bringing the voice of uninformed, small minded bumpkins right into your living room every night. God damn wimp country! God damn wimp media! It makes me want to cry and suck my thumb. I think we are lucky to have artists to remind us that we are suffering. I guess that's why they're always so darn popular.
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Solitaire

I'm a solitary person, and sometimes it gets to me. Most of the time it doesn't. I entertain myself. (No, not like that.) I'm talking about creative activities for - uh - loners. Things to do with your hands that give you pleasure. (You see? You were way off.) One great way to pass the time [I'm going to be sarcastic now.] is to reinvent existing TV and movie footage. Oh, you'll never tire of this! You take a clip from one of your favourite TV shows or movies. Then you take a song from one of your favourite song writers. And you ingeniously put them together and post it to YouTube. Then everyone knows you're cool. And the more you do it, the cooler they'll think you are. Post ten thousand videos like this. Make an impact. Home decorating could also keep you busy. Look around you and see if the place needs brightening up (or darkening down) anywhere. One good thing to try to do is to make your own mirror ball. Just go to the department store and grab two of those closed circuit camera domes when no one is looking. (They refuse to sell them.) Then take them home and ingeniously put them together into a sphere. If you want more sparkles, smash the shit out of it and glue it back together a piece at a time. It's also a good thing to try to help people if you can. Go stand on the street corner and ask the people if they need any help with anything as they pass you by. Maybe they have a cramp in their foot or their dog just took a dump and they can't find a plastic bag. Whatever the case, you are sure to stay entertained for hours on end.
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Whereabouts Is My School?

I know I blog a lot, perhaps even to the point of saturation, but it's either this or talking to myself. And this way is quieter and lets me save my voice for singing. Plus maybe someone else is even listening. I doubt it, though. I lead a nice, private existence here. My face just blends right in and everyone just passes merrily by me with a smile. You may have noticed my blog-in and blog-out times. I'm trying for my Grade Ten Equivelency (See? I misspelt that.) It's a tough one. Still haven't found the school. I look for it everyday for up to eight hours. As soon as I get my Grade Ten, I'm getting a car. (I already have my driver's licence.) It might help me to get to class better. In the meantime I always have an adventure when I go out looking for my school. Sometimes I cut through the park and look at the squirrels. Sometimes I cut through the alley and find treasures! One time I found a bag of magazines. Reader's Digest! That's gonna help me. If I ever see that someone's in trouble, I try to help them. But I refuse to help their families. And you must be careful not to get mauled if you're too kind in certain spots. In my experiences of trying to find my school, I'm learning more and more each day.
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