Where I have been and what I have been doing is - of course - irrelevant. 

The fact of the matter is that I have been doing NOTHING with my life except working, reading and existing. 

The fact of the matter is that I have NOTHING to say about anything or anyone.

Society, Politics and History tastes like chicken.

Recent Arts and Culture is also - surprisingly - chicken-like in texture and taste.

The heady days of spouting off and actually challenging the lame nature of Canadian Arts, Culture, Literature and Civilization are now behind me.

I've decided to embrace my mediocrity and revel in the fact that I, too, am part of the problem and there is very little I can do about it.

I can continue to read books that matter.

I can continue to buy books that matter.

I can continue to observe those around me who I find interesting.

I can continue to dream of The Other (me, but not me).

I can continue to dream that You are living a life that DOES NOT taste like chicken.

And yet, taste is relative.

Taste is derivative.

Regardless, there is nothing more that I can do but to perpetuate - and perfect - my parasitic nature and become the flea, sucking the blood and life out of others in order to nourish myself, however delusional and insubstantial such nourishment may actually be.

So be it...