I can see this in neo-con run America, land of the free [unless you’re of a certain race, creed, financial demographic, or have some other defining feature that kicks you off the white, Christian, middle-to-upper class train] and home of the brave [unless you’re a Democrat, of course], but in Canada?  We’re supposed to be the good guys.  We don’t get bombed, we aren’t hated, we are a huge, empty country populated by lumberjacks, Inuits, fishermen, and welfare recipients.  We just happen to be the lucky group of people situated above the arch nemesis of a greater part of the planet; not like we’re particularly happy about it.

Now my country is changing.  I can slowly see it creeping up, baby step by baby step; an agenda which I have yet to pinpoint exactly, or perhaps just wholly accept that I already understand far too well.  I don’t feel safe in my country.  I feel like I’m always being watched.  I feel like whatever I do, write, or say on the internet is fair game for them to have some sort of control over my doings.  I think dissent and they call treason.  I am bordering on irrational fear in a country of thirty million lumberjacks and igloo dwellers.  I’ve shit more interesting things than this country and yet I feel as though I’m being watched by a government who doesn’t trust its own electors. 

This is not justified in the least.  When the population becomes weary of its own elected government [for the record I did not vote this group of Emmy award winners into office] and fears its own safety and wellbeing then the democracy has either begun to or near entirely crumbled.  The government should be weary of its people, not the other way around.  If our nutty brothers to the south are able to impeach their leader for getting a blowjob why do I find it so difficult and irrational to have our warmonger leaders fed to the lions for sending my countrymen to their unwarranted demise, regardless whether they were sent their on their own volition or not?  My country should not be fighting wars…more so, we should not be fighting unjustified, unprofessional, unsanctioned, and unwanted wars.  If the people say we get out then we get out, otherwise the government, thankfully, gets booted and we vote a better one in.  This is democracy, no?

Yet here I sit, wondering whether, upon posting this and having it viewed en masse, my thoughts will be used as evidence against me in the future.  Will I be stuck on some dissenter list who aren’t allowed to leave the country, province, or city some day in the coming years or decades?  Are there really some variant of the Thought Police out there that I should be weary of?

In future I wish, hope, and am prepared to pray to some invisible men if it came down to it, that the Canadian people on whole will begin to feel as I do.  I wish that my friends, family, and compatriots would begin to throw their arms in the air in a fit of exhaustion and become active in the debate.  I’m not talking revolution, I’m not talking of overthrowing the government, nor of complete anarchy.  All I’m asking for is debate.  This is how democracy is supposed to work, isn’t it?  Don’t I have a say?  Why am I never heard?  I guess the internet ain’t so big.

Stop writing Winston.  Freedom is the freedom to say that two plus two make four.  If that is granted, all else follows.  Down with Big Brother.

It feels like life’s creeping up quickly the last few weeks. I’ve had to sit and re-evaluate my immediate future and how I plan on going about living for myself without excluding those closest to me. In anticipation of a relocation in the not-too-distant future, I’ve made a conscious decision to open my mind to the masses in the hopes of being able to archive my adventure so as to make sense of the coming chaos when the dust eventually settles.

To begin with, I brushed my teeth this morning but the sink was in use so rather than waiting my turn I grabbed an empty water bottle and spit my toothpaste into that instead. It’s sitting beside me on my desk, sealed shut no less, as a reminder of the rock bottom that was missed completely. I feel like I’ve taken a suicidal base jump off a cliff with a flying squirrel jumpsuit on and only in the last few instants have I been scared into spreading my nylon wings to avoid a future of water bottles full of toothpaste spit.

I haven’t read a meaningful book, paper, poem, prose, comment, or thought that’s touched me in “that special way” in such a long time that I feel inclined to try and find my niche one more time. I had a hay day and am quite aware of comeback specials and how they always fade to black like Jordan’s career but I’ve got a writing itch. I re-read a few favourite posts from my last blog. I still have the whole thing on my hard drive. I only had it for two years. I’d like to keep this one a little longer.