Archive for January, 2013


Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , , on January 31, 2013 by Comatose Casanova

The smoke clouded the small 1 bedroom apartment. That little apartment soon became filled with the glories of an open and free mind hell-bent on creativity, on innovation. . . NO! On reinvention. Through bloodshot eyes he wrote his manifesto.

“Two hours of w…

Posted in Uncategorized on January 30, 2013 by Comatose Casanova

“Two hours of writing fiction leaves this writer completely drained. For those two hours he has been in a different place with totally different people.”
-Roald Dahl

Smoke in my Lungs

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , on January 28, 2013 by Comatose Casanova

Smoke in my Lungs

“Hot sand on toes, cold sand in sleeping bags,
I’ve come to know the friends around you
Are all you’ll always have
Smoke in my lungs, or the echoed stone
Careless and young, free as the birds that fly
With weightless souls now.”


Only enemies sp…

Posted in Uncategorized on January 28, 2013 by Comatose Casanova

Only enemies speak the truth; friends and lovers lie endlessly, caught in the web of duty.
-Stephen King

Why do you write?

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , on January 23, 2013 by Comatose Casanova

Why do you write?

We like the idea of fame. We like the idea of equality. We like the idea that someone will pick up the shit we write on a old napkin at a restaurant when we are hunched over and half in the bag. We imagine that someone will look at it, and they will get that same feeling. You know that feeling, that feeling I got when I first read Fight Club (Or even watched it). That moment when you are like “This is one of the best pieces of literature I have ever laid my eyes on.” The truth is the world isn’t that simple. I see so much talent on here, so much wasted talent no one has picked up on. Why? It is simple for every person out there that write for enjoyment and puts out a marvellous piece of literature that could be the next “great American novel” there is thousands of other people who waste peoples time. People who write simply with the idea of making money. Now I am not saying that we all shouldn’t pursue profit. The fact is like it or not we live in a capitalist society, and in turn we all have to become capitalists.

So what I am trying to say here is the world is set up in the illusion that fame is easy. I mean look at TV you see 6 people living in a house getting hammered drunk and causing drama and they have a net worth higher than most of us and we work our asses off day in and day out at jobs we hate purchasing shit we don’t need that truly ends up defining who we are. We have no sense of equality because we all want to get ahead. We all want our shit published.

I don’t know maybe I am just some major Fight Club buff, maybe I took the book too seriously as a cautionary tale of where our society is heading. Maybe I looked at it too hard in a Marxist lens of literary criticism.

Then again maybe it is true, maybe the world sets us up with this idea that we are all unique and special, that we all can be famous. Maybe that is why we are such a mad generation. Maybe that is why Occupy Wall Street was such a major movement. Hard work these days just seems like it becomes watered down in all the crap you read.

We all dream of immortality, we all dream that when we are turned to dust people will remember our names. That is the fear I have, not of dying but that I won’t be remembered as providing a significant contribution to society.

Now that is fucked up, but that is the world the media has put into us. They set you up for greatness, and BOOM! The truth is the world isn’t full of opportunity. When everyone has access to the world wide web and the same opportunity hard work becomes 50%, the other half is luck. That is why you should chase your dream for your own personal satisfaction, and if someone grasps that wet ink stained napkin then maybe they too will find enlightenment.

Life is a journey, burn your torch to light the path for yourself, and if you guide others along the way. . . let that be your legacy. The money? It’s just fucking paper with ink, it’s just like your napkin. It is only valuable becomes people value it.

My point place your own value in your napkin, and the rest just falls into place.

Tasting Grace

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , , on January 21, 2013 by Comatose Casanova

Just a short story I did a few years ago before venturing into the world of post-secondary education.

Tasting Grace


Tony Davis

A man enters a dark room, someone struggles and screams. He laughs a bit as he sits down in a chair the legs creek. He lights up a cigarette and he sucks it back hard. He is shirtless just wearing gym pants, his hair wet from a shower. He looks into the darkness that we don’t see. He laughs a bit as he blows the smoke into the air, and he says “I wrote you a story you know … ” He unfolds a piece of paper and begins to tell his story …

I have always been a heavy eater, but I always have managed to stay in shape. I never did eat at Macdonald’s. No, I indulge in high class restaurants. Anything French, German, Swiss … I will jam it down my throat. It has always been like a lust, like a sexual lust. Sorry how rude of me, my name is David. I am a very successful man. I work at an accounting firm. I have no wife, no children, no family I truly care for, no friends, I have no life. Eating, fitness, and work. That is all I do. I stick to the essentials and I believe that is all I need to do. I fall in love with my meals, respect my body, and get a fat pay check at the end of every month. I guess I am not all that social. I never was. I never was very emotional either. That is until I met Grace …

It was a bright Sunday afternoon. I wore a black dress shirt, dark jeans to match. Aviators covered my eyes to shield from the sun, I was told it was “the type of glasses that are in.” I was just driving, going to my favourite restaurant. It is called Ocean and Vine. I could almost taste the slow cooked Berkshire pork chops mixed with a fine red wine. Being memorized by the thought of the delicious meal, I almost ran a red. I slammed on the breaks, I squeaked to a stop and frightened the women about to pass the crosswalk. She passed, and her eyes met mine. She wasn’t something to drool over, yet for some reason I was. She had a plain shape, and face, but those eyes, those beautiful hazel eyes had me grasped. I couldn’t look away. She was so innocent. Something inside me wanted to destroy that. So I parked my car, right there I parked my car on the side of the road and like a deranged lunatic fuelled by desire I ran through the traffic. She walked ahead of me down the street, her shoes hitting the ground, she grasped a yellow purse that clashed with her blue top. I grabbed her by the shoulder, and she spins around startled. I stood there stunned for a moment, looking into those eyes, as she looked back in fear. I loved it. I loved her.

“Hi, I am really sorry to be approaching you like this … ” I blanked for a second, not knowing what to say, I was never good with social interaction, then I somehow made the pause look all too natural as I said. “But you look so beautiful.”

She was shy I could tell, I doubt she got very much attention from anyone. She was as average as could be, but something drove me to her. She replied with her cheeks colored red. “Well thank you very much sir.”

She was polite. I enjoyed that quality in people. I tried my hardest to adapt the quality as well. I don’t think it came through that well. I was a straightforward kind of person. So I reply “Well how would you like to come to dinner with me? I feel awful about freighting you back there. I would appreciate it if you would allow me to make it up to you?” She had no plans I knew that, she was likely going home with a Jodi Picoult novel. So I waited for her to reply, she was trying to think of an excuse. I could tell she was enchanted by the scent of my expensive body spray, white teeth, dark hair, and completion.

Her eyes met mind once again as she bit her lip in confusion, and pondered at the invitation I had extended. “Well I guess I really have nothing better to do. Where are we eating?”

“The Ocean and Vine, it’s very nice. It is very high class.” I paused for a moment to adjust my glasses. “My name is David. What is your name miss?”

“Grace.” She said it with a smile, her lips a little bigger than normal. I wanted to kiss them, I wanted to hold her, make her mine. Why? Why so soon, why already? I never had a relationship that really lasted, everyone who got to close realized I was … crazy.

We ride together as the sun goes down, approaching our destination rapidly. The blue lights outside the restaurant that read Ocean and Vine manage to cast a blue glow over the sidewalk and parking lot below even when the sun hasn’t fallen beneath the horizon for the day. On the way we talking of the useless things you always talk about, movies. All arrays of entertainment, you know the things you make conversation with, but don’t really matter. I park the car far. It was part of my master plan. I grabbed her hand as we walked toward the restaurant. She giggled as she held onto my hand. I was what every girl dreamed for. I was a fairy tale. Someone who came along and swept her off her feet. I say please and thank you. I tell her she’s beautiful, I seem to be honest, wealthy, all that stuff the ladies eat up. I was the perfect lie.

The waiter doesn’t even greet me anymore. I found my way to my table. I pulled the chair out for Grace, and I sat down across from her. Her smile lit the whole room. She wasn’t used to this. She was used to Wendy’s, to Pizza Pizza, all that garbage that destroys the body. The waiter placed the menus in front of us. He smiled at me …

“What will you be having to drink this evening sir?” He asked as he pulled a pen out of his pocket and a small notepad.

“Grace is there anything you would prefer?” I asked politely. She shook her head still holding that smile, still blushing from earlier. I continued looking up at the waiter “We will have wine. Let us try the bouchaine pinot noir, cherries, plums, and orange blossoms sound delectable in a wine.” The waiter smiled as he went off to fetch the wine. I looked back at the innocent little Grace, the plain, but beautiful Grace. “So Grace what do you do for a living?”

“Well I am an author. I mean I haven’t really published anything, but I have been working on it. I write short stories in my spare time.” She pauses for a moment as the waiter with the big smile fills her glass with a dark wine, then fills David’s. The waiter gave us time to converse before he asked for our order. “I have been interested in journalism and stuff like that as well.”

I smiled at her and nodded my head as I sipped on the wine. “Really, that’s very interesting.” It really wasn’t all that interesting really, I didn’t know at the time what drew me to this girl. “I work as an accountant. I make quite the penny, but it’s not really as interesting as the profession you’re choosing.” I laughed to lighten the mood. Then I go on to ask. “Do you have any family? Whom are you living with here? A boyfriend?”

“No, I ran away from home at a young age. I live in an apartment that I have paid for with a few dead end jobs to be honest. My family life was not all that great. So I decided to run away a while ago, and never look back really.” She replied as she took a sip of wine, I could see sadness in her eyes. No, one knew who she was. Nobody cared who she was, not until me, not until today. Not until I became her dream, her fantasy, her twisted lie, her god damn delusion.

“That sounds terrible.” I said as I put my hand over hers, the waiter stepped in to interrupt.

“So do you know what you will be having tonight?”

“Slow cooked Berkshire pork chops would be amazing tonight.” I smiled at Grace reassuring her she could choose anything off the menu it was on me.

“I will have the tiger shrimp.” She smiled at the waiter who scribbled her order down and stepped away to fetch it.

I started more conversation “So your childhood sounds rough? I can’t believe you have no one who loves you, or cares. It must really be terrible.”

“Well I’m not one to complain. I try to make the best of it. I get most of my emotions onto paper. It calms me down. I mean I honestly don’t even know if I have a social insurance number, I was probably born in a barn.” She laughed at the figure of expression she used, and I did too. She was perfect.

“Well hopefully I am providing you with a fun night so far.” I said as I sipped my wine and she followed suit. “You know you can have a couple drinks. I will drop you off where you need to go. I have to drive so I think I will only have a glass or two.” I smiled as she took a long sip and laughed a bit. The waiter put our meals down in front of us, and I smiled. The conversation was over. I never talk during a meal. I want to savour every second of it, every minute. Devour it slowly. It was always like a ritual for me. So we feasted.

Before I knew it we were on the road, she was pulling my hair. It’s amazing what liquor does to females. She kissed my neck and she whispered in my ear. “Let’s go back to your place.” She giggled as she pulled away and rested her hand on my lap rubbing my thigh as she licked her lips.

I parked the car into the garage of my home. It is big it doesn’t echo, it’s perfect. I could bring anyone home, do what I want and no one will ever hear. She kissed me as I unlocked the door, and I managed to make my way up stairs to my bed room. There is no furniture in there a small TV on a black stand, a bed with black bed sheets. I kissed her and I laid her down on the bed pushing my lips to hers. She kissed my neck nibbled my ear, and my desire was growing. That animal instinct I always try to hide was growing. We kissed harder, pushed me harder. I slid my hands up her shirt feeling the soft skin on her stomach. I kissed her and made my way to her neck, I kissed it, sucked on it. I couldn’t hold it any longer. My pupils enlarged, it takes over, my mind. My twisted little mind, I sank my teeth deep into her neck. The crunching sound was satisfactory and the blood rolled down my chin and I chewed on the raw chunk of flesh that was now missing from her tiny little neck. She tried to scream, but her blood choked her. All I could think was thank god these sheets aren’t white.

“I wrote that for you. I sat up all night typing this lovely story out for you. You said you wanted to be an author.” David smiles as he flicks the light on. Across from him Grace sits in a chair, her blonde hair stained with blood. Her neck is taped, and covered in cotton to stop the bleeding. The life, the fire that was in her hazel eyes has been sucked out. She looks at him as tears’ roll down her cheeks. “Aw, c’mon baby crying isn’t going to help now is it. Look where you are? Clearly if I cared about your feelings you wouldn’t be in this position now would you?” David smiles, he doesn’t take the rope out of her mouth so she can speak. He was never much of a conversationalist while he ate …

“Yes, I will tell you why! That is what they always ask in those horror flicks before the man cuts them into little bits isn’t it?” David pauses to take a cigarette out of his pocket. He lights it with a steal lighter. Smoking was his only imperfection in his eyes. Everything else was absolutely perfect. He never made mistakes, that’s why he was such a good accountant. “You possibly wouldn’t be in this position if you hadn’t told me no one knows you exist, no one cares for you. See that is what sealed the deal here. Really it is your own fault that you are in this position. I don’t make mistakes, I am an accountant I can’t really afford to can I? No, no I cannot. See if you had of told me that you have a family who loves you . . . then I probably wouldn’t be here considering cannibalism.” Grace screams, but it is muffled by the rope in her mouth. David calmly takes a drag off his cigarette. He smiles and shakes his head at Grace who struggles and tried to escape. She isn’t going anywhere. “Look at how pathetic you are! Hell Grace you even urinated on yourself while you were passed out. Look here is the thing Grace, maybe you can’t tell, but I am rather insecure I would say. What I am going to do to you is eat you, no not sexually silly girl.” He flicks ashes over the top of her blond hair and they leave specks on the top of her head. “No, I am going to cook you, and eat you. I am going to then take your bones over several states and bury you somewhere. Arizona sounds lovely. It’s hard to trace that back to me you know. Especially if no one even knows or cares you are alive. See Grace I don’t make a mistake I am a very calculated person. I am going to get away with murder.” David laughs as he blows the smoke of his cigarette into Grace’s beautifully damaged face. He pulls a knife from his pocket “Don’t worry, It will be quick. I never play with my food.”

That night Grace was killed. David baked her in a nice chilly, made her into very delicious dishes and devoured her over time. Then he went to Arizona buried her body in the desert and drove home. David got away with murder, he killed an innocent woman. David went to work, he ate, he exercised. He continued his routine. It’s amazing how far people will go, just to get their … taste of grace.

You have the good, You have the bad . . .

Posted in Uncategorized on January 21, 2013 by Comatose Casanova

A couple days ago I was cleaning a car at my place of work. As I meticulously scanned the automobile for any trace of garbage, speck of dirt, or molecule of dust I came across a dirty twenty dollar bill buried under the monstrous amount of trash I pulled out of this family SUV. I could barely understand how it all managed to accumulate in such a small area. I couldn’t understand how such a diverse amount of filth managed to wind up inside this one vessel! I pulled the twenty dollars from the garbage and I dusted it off to rejuvenate its previous “straight out of the factory” lustre. Looking at it I pondered for what seemed like hours. I though there is no way anyone would know that I took this money and put it in my pocket; even if they questioned my morality I could just act confused and suggest it was sucked up in the vacuum with the chocolate bar wrappers and toy doll accessories.


I looked around and I saw business cards, I could tell that these people were clearly better off than I.  I have worked for everything I have. I have never had anything handed to me, nor did I ever expect anything to be handed to me (cutting the sob story bullshit). Regardless it would be a Robin Hood story, taking from the rich and putting it back in the pocket of someone less fortunate (not that I am poverty stricken).


So standing there I thought to myself. . . I can’t do it. It is not mine, I cannot take it. The more I began to wonder I thought back to a few days earlier.


 I booked in wealthy mans truck as he talked to me and was booking the appointment he seemed cheery and delighted mainly because I was squeezing him into the schedule and staying late to complete the work. He came back and was thoroughly pleased with the job I did shining up his spiffy whip so he could no doubt pick up some ladies on the way home and hopefully get lucky. As I was writing up his bill his demeanour somehow changed, he was a different person. He became pushy and ignorant. It was like a complete bi-polar flip. Maybe it was the shirt I was wearing, maybe I wasn’t as clean as he would like because I was crawling around in dirt all day. Then he looks down at my arm and he says “What does that mean?”. . . he was referring to my tattoo.


My tattoo is a green mushroom from the Mario Brothers series that represents an extra life. I looked at him and said “Oh I just got it on the fly really.” He snidely remarks “I bet.” with a puff of ignorant laughter. I pondered for a moment and  said back “No, it’s because it is a jungle out there. Life is dangerous so I carry extra.” He couldn’t help but smile, whether it was sincere or sarcastic I did not overly care.


So how does this relate to the money I found in this person’s car. I am not a fake person. I will not kiss your ass when you have a service I needed provided. I also will not turn around and be a complete asshole right after the service is complete. So weather someone is watching or not, I can’t take the money.  Whether  someone is rich or poor, I cannot take the money. It is not just karma is it morality. I put that money in an envelope and I placed it in the persons dash and left a message with my boss to alert them when they arrived.  Putting that money back in the car felt much more rewarding then the 20 dollar meal I would of bought at MacDonald’s (or a fast food equivalent).


What is the point? Morality is not dead, some people do the right thing. Just like we think of all the bad news on TV, we focus on the things that fuck our day up. Just like this ignorant person I provided a service for. You need to focus on those small good things, not the altercations with ignorant people.  I see on the news people shooting, stabbing, stealing. I see all the evils of the world. I see some sick person shooting up a elementary school. I don’t see these good stories. I don’t see someone who went to a elementary school busted down the doors and . . . provided a delicious piece of cake to every student out of the goodness of their heart. The point is we can’t live our lives off popular media, the world is not as dark as it is on TV. If we stopped glamorizing the bad, maybe then we can glamorize the good.  I mean if we say a simple “Hello” to that kid who is on the verge of suicide we could save lives, in fact many people probably have done this and have saved lives.  We just don’t hear about it. This type of news doesn’t sell.  I never see the lady who paid for a coffee because my girlfriend let her go first in a car line when she noticed her waiting. I don’t see that lady on the news. Okay, maybe these acts seem small, and they very well might be. I still get happy when someone holds the door for me, or remembers me from high school. We forget about the simple life enjoyments.


Just because all we see is bad does not mean good does not exist. Wake the fuck up and stop being so depressing. The world is only as dark as you let it be, turn a light. Do something nice.


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