It's PEEOOOOPLLLLEEEEEEE

I've heard this saying soooo many times and I'm trying to wrap my head around it tonight.

The Human Condition!

My god!! What the hell is that? Is it contageous??

Can you imagine what this SOUNDS like?

This all comes about because of one small incident at work.

I'm standing around the water cooler chatting with my colleague when just then Bob walks by

I say "Hi Bob! How's it goin'?" I'm in a good mood so I suspect the tone of my voice is friendly if not positively chipper!

Bob replies "Shitty thanks Kwerkie. But why the hell do you care?"

After shooting Bob a confused, hurt and mildly annoyed face (oh yes, it can be done...I"ve mastered it. I could teach you...but I'd have to charge) [gratuitous reference to a particularly stupid Hip Hop song by one of our very own Canadian songstresses...and Iam using that term as loosely as one would call Celine Dion a songstress] Anyway....after the look given to Bob's back I say "Geez - What's wrong with Bob today?"

Then my colleague (oh turst me...she'll remain nameless the ENTIRE single file...only to be referred to as "my colleague" or "MC" so as not to give her too much credit) Ahem....yes.. MC replies "Bob's suffering from the Human Condition".

Does she think before she speaks?? Human Condition?!!?? My god....break out the Sars Masks!!! Don't sneeze....don't breath in around Bob...I might catch it too!!!

Still....MC brought up a valid point. When is waking up on the wrong side of the bed different from suffering from the daily crapohlah that is some peoples lives??

So I began to think about the words Human Condition. I said them slowly. I said them thoughtfully. I said them in my head. I said them out loud. I still had no idea what the fuck that was supposed to mean.

Then I got a Klever Kwerkie idea. I'll look it up in the dictionary.

Do you know that those two words don't appear together in a dictionary? Human is under H of course. Condition likewise under it's letter C. But no Human Condition together.

Ok...the dictionary is not the place for this sort of musing. How about Gray's Anatomy? Is the Human Condition somehow linked to our bodies...specifically because we are human? Nope. Not there either.

I don't have a full on library at my disposal....let alone a medical library of any form (I'm going to encompas Biology and Psychology all in one blanket term "medical" here for the purpose of this rant.)

Ok...next step is LOGICALY the Internet.

Here are Googles Top 3 listings for "The Human Condition"

1) Godel's Proof and the Human Condition - The Basic Essays.
I'm not going to bore you with the details...if you want to find it you can. Needless to say I read the first page and despite the author's warning that it is "difficult reading", I ploughed through. Yes - difficult reading. No - wasn't happy there. One thing struck me as funny though and I"m happy to paste this quote for you to ponder. (I initially typed poonder - I believe this Freudian slip to be due to the fact that I think he's writting is shit.)

The author notes that 'sophisticated people everywhere opine their concern for the human condition'. The spoken or written word today, consequently, clearly identifies massive, ignorant opinion beating the shit out of intelligent, informed concern.

2) Institute on Globalization and The Human Condition
There is a fucking Institution on this subject!!! At McMasters University....a well known and respected University. Who'd have thunk it??!!! (Clearly many people in order for there to be an "institution" - and i"m not going to define every word for you people....look up instituion in the dictionary....I did-when I was about 8yrs old)

3)The Human Condition is actually a BOOK., Written by Hannah Arendt.
You can buy this from Amazon.com for a mere $13.00 USD before shipping and handling. I can't gather anything about the book...but Amazon kindly informs me that if I read this book...I would also enjoy such novels as "Eichmann in Jerusalem - A Report on the Banality of Evil" by the same author.
Wow....a report on the Banality of Evil. I always wanted to read a report on Evil...Banal or Otherwiese.

4)The Human Condition Records and Chamber Studio
This is based out of Edinburgh and is 13 years old....producing a range of independent music from sonic, to funk to electric pastoral (is that hyped up vespers??)
This one was my favourtie...for obvious reasons. If you don't find the reasons obvious...well...you know what they say. Hind sight is 20/20....that's why I wear glasses.

So there we have it. A whole lot of puffing around but very little substance (Human Condition Records being the exception as anything creating music must be good).

And KUDOS to you who spotted the Monty-Python ala -Spanish Inquistion blunder I made. Our top 2 no 3 chief weapons are....wait,...I'll come in again.


Do you want to know what I think?? Of COURSE you do or you wouldn't be reading this. Here's what I think (and thinking is so important).

The Human Condition is the struggle within ourselves to reconcile what we are ACTUALLY thinking/feeling vs what we THINK others want us to think/feel vs what we FEAR others my be thinking/feeling that we think/feel. This is the kind of circular logic that Lisa Simpson would be proud of.

It's not particularly late..but I am going to end this. I can see additions to this at a later date. Keep you eyes peeled for more insights.

Loads of love
Kwerkie

Right Now - a longing

Right now
I am closing my eyes and imagining that I am kissing you.
I can almost feel your lips against mine...how your tongue slides into my mouth and dances with mine.
I crave the way you taste. Coffee - black, and you- they mingle on my palate and I want more.

Right now
I am sinking into you and enjoying the feel of you against me.
I can almost feel your hands pull me closer ...how your fingers press into my skin and sear me with heat.
I enjoy the way we fit. Bodies - strong, and supple- they entwine and I want to be closer still.

Right now.
I want
You to whisper my name, softly and sweetly.

Right now
I am sighing and breathing in the very smell of you.
I can almost sense the cologne you wear…how your scent lingers with my own and intoxicates me.
I inhale your essence. Sweet – tangy and musky – it fuses with my skin and I want to be addicted.

Right now
I am thinking of you and wishing you were thinking of me.
I can almost hear you in my thoughts…how your voice reverberates and ripples down my spine.
I revel in an echo of you. Tenor– resonate and gentle –the sound rumbles inside me and I want to burst.

Right now
I want
You to lie next to me, quiet and naked.

Right now.
Right now
Right now
I want
I want
I want.

The Ostrich Syndrome

It happens. You meet someone, you hang out a few times, you make-out like bandits....hell, you may even sleep together (though likely there is very little sleep involved....more on that later). And then...well....you just lose interest. It might have been the completely horrible sex....it might be the fact that they are 31 and still live with their parents....a 5 year plan to buy a house (what the hell...is he paying CASH for this house???) or maybe they talk so slowly that you compulsively finish their sentence for them because to listen to thhhheeemmm drawwwww owwwt the sennnntennnnccccce willlllll killllllll youuuuuuuuuuuu.

And you simply don't call. You'd rather burry your head in the sand ala Ostrich rather than deal with reality. Which is this. The person, no matter where they live, no matter how bad the sex, no matter how slowly he talks....deserves to know that they don't jive with what you have in mind.

You don't have to be mean, condescending or rude. What you do have to be is honest and real.

Ok....this sounds like great advice right? Sure it is. I'm a huge advocate for this. Too bad it's more along the lines of "Do as I say not as I do".

I am in FULL ON Ostrich mode with a guy whom I will name James to protect his real identity. 31 yr old tradesman who still lives with Mummy and Daddy so that one day he can pay cash for a house wayyyy out in the burbs. And let's be clear here...when I say wayyyy out in the burbs I actually mean ButtFuckNoWhere BC. It can't even be considered part of the GVRD. His nearest neighbour would be a cow....and I'm not talkin' smack talk about a woman here. I mean litterally a Moo Cow. Mooooooooo.

Thank god for Call Display. Thank goodness Mummy and Daddy live out in Slurrey so that he doesn't have ocasion to come downtown much. I have no idea why it is so hard for me to tell him "James...you're a fabulous kisser, but it's just not in the cards for us. Instead of a Full House all I see is a Royal Flush".

To be clear here...I have another dude I'm currently avoiding. Though I suspect that the feeling is mutual...however without that clarity...well...it's best to get comfy in the sand.

This guy's name is Andrew. Now....despite the fact that ol' Andrew is nearly as witty as I am, depsite his salt and pepper hair belying his 35yrs (though really he's going grey far too soon), and despite that he is mildly talented with kissing....the sex with Andrew was so bad...well...there aren't enough words in all the dictionaries or thesauri in the world to properly describe it.

I can already forsee an entire entry on bad bad leroy brown sex. But right now we're talking about Ostrichs.

I have no idea why I can't seem to just tell the guys...look..you're not my cup of tea...I prefer coffee.
*sigh* if I burry my head long enough eventually they will go away. That, however, doesn't prevent the build up of sand in my ears!

This clearly isn't my best work.,...I'm distracted. I keep thinking about something I once wrote down but can't seem to find.

I'm going to post this trite, rough, nearly scabby writting anyway. I'll think about something with a little more depth soon I promise.

Cheers
Kwerkie

A Kiss Without Lips

A kiss without lips.

There are brief moments, a look, a touch, a phrase, where I feel my pulse at my wrists, my throat and at the base of my spine.
The lines around your eyes burn my fingertips as I trace them. Your smile reflects in your eyes…and the curve of your mouth makes my own go dry.

A soft brushing of our smooth skins, my tongue sliding like liquid languid fire between your lips, your teeth, searching for your taste.
There is a warmth that spreads downwards, my breath catches, my lips are charged with wild electricity.

Arms wrap around, I am sinking into you and there is nothing but for this, this long awaited kiss, this exalted sigh and this sly smile. And as you read these words I kiss you, ravage your mind with verbiage and capture your heart with this locution- my longing.

Beyond Measure

History shows us the fate of those who would love beyond measure. Cleopatra loved both Caesar and Mark Anthony and her kingdom slithered out from under her…those love affairs turned out to bite her in the asp. And what of Helen of Troy…an entire army built a ginormous horse for her sake. And then there is poor poor poor Arthur, Gwenivere and Lancelot. One dies by the hand of his own son born by his sister; one becomes a nun in hopes that god will forgive her and the other; well, he just runs naked in the woods mad with his own thoughts of love, lust and loyalty both true and false. And what of the fabled InnKeeper’s Daughter who so loved her Highwayman that she discharged a rifle into her own breast so that her lover may be warned of danger and live?
I have no doubt that they all found quiet pockets of happiness, such happiness that many can only dream to find.

One of my biggest faults is that I do things beyond measure. I’ve done it all my life.

When I was a kid, I would only eat peanut butter and jam sandwiches for lunch. I did that for 6 years. I used to love the way the jam would seep out onto the sides of the bread and make the crusts just bearable to eat. I loved the way bread and peanut butter would fuse to the roof of my mouth and I took special delight in working them loose with my tongue. After six years, the peanut butter scent would make the hairs inside my nostrils curl, the jam was sickly sweet like bad medicine and the crust…well the crust was just simply unbearable. Globs of peanutty buttered bread would hang in my mouth mere nanoseconds so I could get the sandwich over with as fast as possible, barely chewed so I could avoid the taste. Six years is a long time to have peanut butter and jam sandwiches for lunch. It took another 6 years for me to even think about it again.

I love beyond measure as well. I give of myself nearly completely before the first kiss is over. The first time I make love with a man I’m already picking out wedding invitations and worried how many people we could afford to have in the wedding party.

At the beginning of our sixth month together we have moved in together because I have managed to convince him that is it more cost efficient and I begin to wear his clothing 80% of the time…regardless if it fits me or not. I leave the cap off the toothpaste and the door open when I go pee. At then end of our sixth month together I’ve already told my best friend that this might be the one, asked her to be my maid of honour and started walking by bridal salons.

If my boyfriend hasn’t as of yet suspected me of obtuse madness and we make it to a year together, well, that’s when it gets even MORE serious. I tell my Mum that this is it, he’s my soul mate, I cry with her over an obese double mocha low fat capuccino-esque coffee while we argue over inviting relatives I haven’t seen since I was a gleam in my father’s eye.

If we make it to two years I assure my aforementioned best friend as well as my near frantic Mum that my sweetie patootie pants is just simply saving up for the oh-so perfect ring. Yellow gold twisted band with just a smattering of diamonds because after all, I am not a flash girl and rather low maintenance when you come to think of it really.

By our 2nd Valentines Day I’m naming our children and praying that they won’t be allergic to the dog, the cat and the flower garden we’ll eventually get. I am thinking about what colour to paint the nursery and if my aunt still has that cute little red dress that she made for me when I was born. And if I can really cope with being a stay at home mum.

If by 2 ½ years he sill hadn’t popped the big question, I start buying wind up clocks with loud alarms and leave them all over our apartment. I make sure their ticking is audible at all times and set the alarms for every hour on the hour starting from when he gets home until we go to sleep.

By now he either gets the hint that my biological clock is thundering and it’s time to say “I do” followed closely there after by “coo chee coo” or ….he leaves me because he thinks I have a mental disorder that somehow involves wind up clocks, peeing with the door open and wearing his T-shirts until they disintegrate.

With each man that comes into my life I think to myself “The one will be different”. And yet, my evil cycle goes on. I simply love beyond measure.


So what if I love beyond measure, beyond what most think is reasonable? Who are they to judge me the fool? I too find those pockets of happiness and if they are only fleeting, they are still fulfilling.

And if someday I do not end up with the large blue house, the white picket fence with the twins, the new baby and Rover happily chasing Misty through my newly planted rose bed while my husband pulls into the driveway with a bouquet of spring flowers in his lap just to tell me I’m still beautiful, and desirable to him, well; then at least, at the very least, I can look back into my quiet pockets of happiness, pull out a memory, eat a peanut butter and jam sandwich and remember how it feels to love beyond measure.

An Introduction

Contrary to the colour,...I am not actually feeling Blue at all. But I do see patches of Blue Sky and I wanted to capture them and have them be permanently recorded for this Auspicious Day.

This is my introduction....No forethought has gone into this...it will always be in constant danger of being edited beyond recognition. It might very well spend the rest of it's Blog Life wondering when the changes will be made...wondering what sudden epiphany usurped the initial blurb that fateful day when I unintentionally stumbled into BlogLand.

I find it odd and so like me, that the years of typing my thoughts out on a desk top, the wondering what it would be like to share my observations with others (whether they are entertained, enlightened or inspired or not) have come to an end because I was looking for directions to a shop where I fully intended to buy a vibrator.

These are the Single Files. My experience of dating in this crazy world and Hard-To-Meet-People-City of Vancouver. I can't guarantee that it will be chronological, or as witty as Sex& The City. Let' face it...I'm not likely to have as much sex as either of those hip and happenin' fabled girls of NYC. It might serve as pointers, warnings, or amusing for others who might find themselves in similar situations.

And so this will begin. The Single Files.


Enjoy!

Kwerkie

***small disclaimer. I love to write, sometimes my writing is good, sometimes is sucks donkey ass, sometimes it is just far too bland to even be worth categorizing. I write truth and fiction and it's up to you to decide what you think is true or false.