Prose, posted on August 31, 2009 at 11h26
tags used: on vegetarianism
In the beginning, the human animal was hungry. It ate plants that provided all the nutrients for its survival. Then the human animal began to keep other animals for their entire lives, born into slavery for their savoury skin. The other animals ate the plants and the human animal got whatever nutrients remained after they had been digested and processed. Disease followed in the animal’s captivity, so the human animal devised medicines to cure the diseases. But the cures were imperfect. Eating other animals made the human animal unhealthy. Its blood was thicker, its body slow and cumbersome. So it devised other medicines, like adding tubes and displacing organs and connecting mechanical parts. And these cures too were imperfect, so the human animal lumbered on, searching for new ways to fix the problem it created for itself. An endless effort to artificially attain the nutrients for survival.
Some of the human animals suggested that they eat the plants instead. But of course, that’s silly. We’re much too accustomed to doing things the difficult way.
Mmm. Went to Gorilla Food yesterday, a raw food vegan restaurant in downtown Vancouver. Amazing. One of the dishes we ordered was the zucchini fettucini and cashew cream sauce. Amazing. The salad had an avocado dressing, and guess what? Amazing. Overall, we were quite amazed.
Earlier in the previous day, we were honked and cursed at by some grumpy driver. To think about how quickly that one elderly man turned our day sour is itself upsetting. I wondered how long a man like that can live his life with such hostility, addressing even the most harmless circumstance with aggression. All stereotypes aside, I wondered what his diet was like, if he ate animals. It occurred to me how difficult it must be to live in harmony when you’ve consumed death your entire life.
At the vegan restaurant, our table was near a loud woman. She bored through a conversation with a gentleman, lauding her magnificence in spirituality. Their voices became hostile towards one another. She attacked him with accusations and he defended himself until she huffed out of the restaurant.
All stereotypes aside, I suppose the root of hostility isn’t completely in one’s stomach.
My Regular Mind, posted on August 27, 2009 at 10h22
There’s a plant on my desk at work. It’s not mine. Nobody really knows whose it is, but it’s right next to my computer, right next to two other plants. None of them are mine. Today, I decided to take care of it. I trimmed the dying bits, moved its stems closer together, gave it water. I wonder how it will do.
When I was seventeen or so, I developed feelings for someone that did not feel the same way towards me. From what I’d learned in television and movies, it was the duty of the man to woo her with gifts of affection and romance. So my plan was this: I would drive out to her acreage in the middle of the night and leave her gifts on her doorstep each day of the week. Each gift was accompanied by a poem that I’d chosen for her, faux-aged with tea, rolled up, and tied with a nice red ribbon.
On Tuesday morning, she found a teddy bear. On Wednesday, a necklace. Thursday was chocolates and on Friday, there was just a note. It said to be at the end of her driveway at noon. Driving out to her home that day with a dozen roses on the seat beside me, I was as happy and hopeful as I’d ever been.
When I gave them to her, she lied. At the time, I thought she was being honest when she said she didn’t want to date anyone. But later that night I found out that she started seeing someone later that day. I’d given her all these gifts that were expressions of how I truly felt, and she gave me the gift of insincerity. Months later, she tried to take it back. I’d already lost it.
My Regular Mind, posted on August 23, 2009 at 11h10
As midnight struck, I found myself looking through last year’s calendar. It’s been a year and a day since I moved to Vancouver, and in this time, my feelings have gone from certain to shaken and back again. I am without question a more defined person now, both in my values and in my focus. I’m not sure it could have happened another way. So regardless of the conditions and reasons in the past, I look at this anniversary with fondness for the present and hope for the future.
After nearly three years and countless scribbled-on pages, I’ve finished a complete overall outline of the graphic novel that I’m working on with Eric Gravel. (Incidentally, happy birthday Eric!) This has finally allowed me time for other projects, such as the redesign of thetrigger.net (which currently only redirects to here) and a veganism information package. Then I’d like to record some songs. I’m dying to have some audio out in the world.
Finally, as I mentioned in an earlier entry, I was involved in a music video a few months ago. Well, it finally premiered last Thursday! Check out Neon Jesus by Drohan.
One day back in January, I wanted something to read, so I went to a nearby book store. There was a woman working there that I saw when I walked in. Beautiful dark hair, a smile so full it must have contained everything. Me, I was dressed poorly. Clothes I’d pulled out of the laundry, unshowered, my favourite sweat-stained cap. I walked around that store for a while trying to find the right book, hoping to time it so that she would be working at the register when I went to pay. I wanted to ask her for tea, for coffee, for anything. Instead, I paid her and left. I planned to return there another time when I was more presentable.
She was not there the next time I returned. But now, several months later and through completely unrelated circumstances, we’ve had tea. And as fate would have it, it was her that asked me.
Briefs of Fiction, posted on August 19, 2009 at 11h02
Nathaniel went to the artist, an ancient man in his last days, one of the few who remembered life before the government. The man didn’t like to talk about that for fear of being arrested, but in his last days he had become more open, especially to the boy assigned to care for him. Everyone over sixty had a caretaker. These days, people lived happily well into their nineties. The State provided for everyone.
The artist opened his eyes as Nathaniel came into the room and asked for the good news.
“Nothing you’d want to hear, I’m sure,” Nathaniel answered.
“Oh, there must be something somewhere! A war, a deadly storm, maybe a recession!” Continued…
My Regular Mind, posted on August 16, 2009 at 12h48
I played a new song at Open Mic this past Friday. It went reasonably well. I still get nervous before I play though and this causes me to throw in a few flubs even when I’ve practiced the song dozens of times without any flubbery. I’m very appreciative when people tell me they enjoyed it, but nobody seems to understand why I’m so hard on myself. I don’t really understand it either but I sincerely appreciate the support even when I’m brooding like a childish artist. In any case, these are the lyrics that I wrote for it.
Lyrics, posted on August 16, 2009 at 12h48
Written by Michael Lagace
No matter how long you sit out, the pain will set in
It might only seem blanket-thin now, but you’re suffocating
Find a home for your softening ground
Sink in alone and never, never be found
And all the times I’ve been let down
Enough to really get me down
Well, I counted you twice, twice on my list
Continued…
It’s been fiercely frustrating having conversations about animal rights lately. I have been offering myself to answer questions that friends might have, expecting to be asked about protein sources and such. But what I’ve found is that most of my otherwise rational and compassionate friends simply do not get it. While there are some genuine questions, the most frequent are ridiculous. What about insects, are they animals? What about plants, aren’t they alive? What’s wrong with eggs, and cheese, and milk, animals aren’t killed for that?
Vegans are scary. We must be, people treat us with such hostility. Continued…
