On Compulsion

Not sure why I'm still blogging.

I mean, the sane thing to do would be to not only delete the fucking blog, but change the password to this account to something random and lock myself out of it, just to be safe. At least some of us have the good sense not to broadcast their movements for all the world to see.

I mean it doesn't make any sense outside of viewing this all as fiction does it?
The poor sods keep blogging while their world falls to pieces around them despite their minds coming entirely unhinged? Half the people who blog would be in mental facilities.

And the other half would be dead or in prison.

But it's the expectation of the fucking genre, isn't it? The slow, murderous descent into madness and mayhem. Clawing at what scraps of sanity we have left. Hounded at every fucking turn by a fucking faceless thing in a suit.

Actually let's take a fucking look at that for a second. IT WEARS A FUCKING SUIT. Can you comprehend that? There are people, in the world right this minute, being chased by a faceless abomination from god fucking knows where who is genteel enough to put on a suit and tie before he does so. And his fucked up little... what? What do you even call these people? I'm not even sure. But can you start to understand just how absolutely goddamned insane that is?

I really don't think I understand it. I don't think anyone does. Not really. They pretend to but that's getting off of the fucking topic.
But it gets played out. And people watch. It's god damned sickening. I'm ashamed to have been guilty of it, at this point.
But then I never claimed to be a saint.


The compulsion to keep writing, even as one is being devoured.


Lovecraft, at least, would be proud.

Air Raid Sirens

Bit of a bad season. Lots of dead people. Didn't know any of them, but I try to keep up with the obits. I have to keep score somehow, right? We've actually got confirmation that Zeke Strahm, face-punching, gun-toting, ex-cop wunderkind is dead. Not pretty at all, had to happen eventually.

This isn't the time or place for heroes. It's time to start looking for cover.
Air raid sirens and thunderclouds. Hope I can run fast enough. You're dead if you stay still, and standing on the high ground is just asking to be struck by lightning.
Anyone who says otherwise is fucking mental. Delusional, to a man. Some of them had fucking messiah complexes.
Heroes get killed. No question. It's just a matter of how many people are unlucky go with them.

Time to get back on the road. A knife wound and broken fingers obviously weren't disincentive enough for some people.

Miranda is still missing.
I haven't heard from her. Phone number is out of service. Not that I blame her. I keep the battery out of mine.
So happy fucking Valentine's Day in case you read this Mir.

I am a bastard. I think I've made that abundantly clear. I make no apologies for it. I like it. It works.
Until I'm given reason to feel otherwise, I don't like you. I'm not a fucking fan of people, in case we've missed that little fact.  I look out for myself, it's worked out.


I don't even known why I'm still writing this. I don't need to fucking justify myself.

Count the coincidences

This can't be happening. It just can't.
Count the fingers on one hand, see if you're dreaming.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
Thumb.
Four fingers and a thumb. The thumb's not a finger because it's opposable.
One of these things is not like the others.
One of these things just doesn't belong.
Did I see that? Is the lack of sleep finally getting to me?

What am I on now... day... 3 plus, of not having caffeine.
Considering the habit was "at least once a day", I was expecting this to be... I don't know, easier?
I certainly credit it with the rash of absolutely *brilliant* ideas I've been having lately.
That was sarcasm. I know it doesn't translate well.

Suffice it to say that it's been fucking with my sleep a bit lately. Either I'm awake much too late without trying or I'm sleeping too lightly and waking up a few times in the night. Either way, it's doing wonders (sarcasm again) for my state of actually being awake in class.

So there's this girl in one of my courses. She's from the other section of the class, should be in the 2pm editing class instead of this one, but I digress. She's cute, blonde, and likes horror films.
So, in my half-awake state the other day, I ask her "hey, that theatre downtown is showing Dead Snow (Norweigian? zombie flick. Nazi zombies, very good). I was going to go with a friend, but he bailed." Completely out of the blue, no reason that I can think of other than that I was half asleep.

Want the shocking part?

She said "sure."

Well fuck me. What am I supposed to do now?

Dear Grocery Store

I do not like you.
I do not like that your aisles are too narrow, that there isn't enough space between the cashiers and the shelves to provide enough space for people to queue properly.
I do not like that your store has a persistent layer of grime and, dare I say, decay.
I disapprove of the quality of your so-called food, despite how low the prices are.
Furthermore, I do not like that your patrons seem to fail to understand that standing in a long line of shopping carts while blocking any possible way past them is not a good idea.
I'm sure, somewhere there is a fire code violation in your store.
And I hope it burns to the ground.

Sincerely,

The Reliable Robin

Ottawa

So, I've been back in Ottawa a month. There are three things I like about Ottawa. First, at night I can actually see the stars. Not a few miserable pinpricks of light trying to compete with every streetlight in the city, we're talking constellations worth.

Second: Trees. The trees at my home in the GTA are boring, blade-leafed, straight sickly looking things. There are maple and oak trees around here, pine trees that dwarf the houses they stand in front of. The trees seem more fundamentally tree-like. I'm not exactly sure why. They just seem more like real trees.

Third: Lack of noise. I live on a bus route in the GTA. All hours, bloody buses. In Ottawa, I live at least two blocks from the nearest major road or bus route. There's next to no car traffic.
This was interrupted a while back by a house deciding to burn down. I've got pictures. Well, not exactly.

Please allow me to introduce myself

I am a man of wealth and taste
Okay, enough of that. No better time to start a blog than at 9:30 in the morning!
So, I'm the Reliable Robin! I'm a student living in Ottawa.
One of the professors suggested that we maintain our own blogs (Hello there Roy!) as a way to keep up our writing skills when we aren't in class. Not a horrible idea!
So this is my blog. Not quite sure of what to do with it yet.

Here's a thought! INTERESTS!
Unfortunately, Blogger is very anti-photography. Well, anti-non-text entries anyways.
So photography and music have to find another place to roost. (Blog rule, minimize bird puns)
Movies, Books, Games, I suppose I could try reviewing them, though that tends to turn into pretentious opinion stuff.
If the URL didn't give it away, I'm a fan of Shakespeare. Living as close as I do to Stratford, I try to get out once a year and see some of the Bard put on at the festival there. (That's Stratford, ON)
I do photography as a pastime, literally as a way to pass the time. Don't expect anything super artistic. I really should see about setting up a place to post those. I have spent hours wandering around taking photos of anything that catches my eye. (See what I avoided there?)
I also make puns.