Pretentious, Self-Righteous Essays

This is me circa 2009.

As some of you may know, I used to be part of a circle of friends that referred to itself as Misfortunate.  Contrary to popular belief, this wasn’t because we actually considered ourselves “misfortunate”.  Considering who was in the group, I cannot be surprised if anyone believed that it was.  It was just that we communicated via a forum that was at redmond.misfortunate.org.  We all went to the same high school, you see: Father John Redmond.

On this site, we did fun things like insult each other while we argued about religion, politics, and current affairs.  We dissected minutiae.  We posted fun math problems.  We hosted one MisFortunate Short Story Festival (which was supposed to be the first of many) where we submitted and voted on a theme, wrote and anonymously submitted 2000-word stories based on said theme, and then voted not anonymously for a winner.  (I was the winner!) We planned upcoming documentary nights, then commented on them.  We planned our annual visits to Montreal.  This was the first year in many that it didn’t happen.

You won’t be able to find this site now.  It has migrated many times since inception (circa 2003), had different admins, has gone through several facelifts and upheavals, been broken and fixed, etc…  Anyway, this is hardly relevant.  The only point to be made is that the name of this blog is stolen.  (Thanks, Dave).  It is the name of my favourite category heading from redmond.misfortunate.org.  Pretentious, Self-Righteous Essays.  Isn’t that just what a blog is?  So here mine begins.

NB:  I post frequently.  I mainly dissect minutiae.  A good place to start would be at the beginning (CLICK HERE to go to my inaugural post!) However, I don’t recommend that you read chronologically.  Do note that I like to keep my readers entertained by inserting hidden links and comments when you hover over text.  See what you can find in this Intro.  (Truthfully, I do this so that my older posts don’t get buried beneath the newer ones).  So, if you still don’t know where to start, then please CLICK HERE (this will take you to my personal favourite post so far)!

This blog is not to be used as a reliable source of information.  You are advised to investigate the truth of any statements or the validity of any arguments posted here before repeating them.

Please don’t quote me as if I am a source of knowledge.  Only I may quote myself in that fashion.

In light of the publicness of this forum, I also shroud most of what I’m really trying to say in vagueness and ambiguity.  This means that you’ll often think I’m writing generally on a topic, but I’m actually writing pointedly about something in particular.  If I don’t respond, it’s because you missed my real point.

I am a full-time employee at the University of Toronto.  I work at the Department of Computer Science. I grew up in the Etobicoke-Lakeshore area, attended elementary school at St. Teresa’s Catholic School, and high school at Father John Redmond. When time came to go to University, I decided to go to Trinity College, University of Toronto for the Math & Physics Specialist program.  After my first year, I took time off to work full-time.  The most significant job I took on during this time was probably with the Toronto East Sport + Social Club.  I eventually resumed my studies some time later on a part-time basis.  This was roughly around the time that I first obtained an administrative position at the University.  Five years and six UofT admin jobs later, here I am!

I have a lot of profiles on many different social networks.  Here is my Google Profile.

I probably type an average of about 2000 words every day between emails, chats, blog posts, notes, random trolling, and essays, and have previously failed at keeping one on-going blog or journal for periods greater than a year.  Here’s hoping that paying a monthly fee for my name as my domain name will motivate me to change this!  My fingers are crossed.

I only made this page to toy with you.

Some write with forethought.  I don’t.  I have a lot of thoughts ruminating in my head and occasionally I submit to a compulsion to capture them in written form.  Often it is the case that I had mulled over some set of ideas so many times that without foresight or planning, the final product comes out moderately cohesive, assimilating ideas in a cheesy-tv-sitcom-moral-of-the-story fashion.  So go my blog posts.  Other times, my catharsis appears to take a ‘poetic form’ (I use this term loosely).  Posted here are some such outbursts.

A Peek Through Tinted Glasses

Autumn Sunset In The Park

Freedom

Procrastination

The Dancing Princess

Where is Carolyn?

I’ve put myself into this straight jacket.
At least I can breathe.
At most, I’m alive.
And somewhere in between is my uncomfortable reality -
Being bound-up, broken
And unsure of how to get out of this position.

In a romantic fantasy,
Someone saves me by undoing the restraints.
On the days that I’m most hopeful,
I am able to envision setting myself free.
Other days I feel creative and when I think really, really carefully,
I try to imagine sitting in a just slightly different enough of a position
That I enjoy the constraints,
Or at least forget that they are there.
But what I actually do is divert my thoughts,
And practice a very disciplined form of avoidance.

If I’m lucky, the clasps will break on their own from time and aging.

On the rooftop of her castle,

She dances gracefully into the night.

Gazing wondrously at the heavens,

Praying for something with all her might.

And I had almost heard her whispers

Had she not beheld my sight.

Still, mark me as I say this,

It was of some aweful plight.

And yet she dances on, she dances,

Dances gracefully through the night.

.

And the pillars, and the columns,

Throughout her castle, stand upright!

The tell the tales, hold the memories

Of the girl who dances through the night.

I hear them speak to her, overtly,

Telling her, It will be alright!

Out strength and rigidity will protect you

Should any harm come into sight!

Fear not the harshest weathers

That unsuspectingly come in flight!

We, the columns, with your walls

Will for that battle, fight your fight!

And as she listens, she envisions

A devastation of the sight

That one would think was yet to come

But yesterday had caused its fright.

Still, at that thought, she does not quiver,

Nor is she bitter or full of spite.

She simply dances on, she dances,

Swiftly off into the night.

Awakened now by the sound of o’erlapping whispers

Cloaked by smiles, and of her plight,

She opens up her eyes to see

Them staring – their positions holding tight.

And the millions of ignorant eyes

Observe intently, that she takes flight

From their view; races upstairs

To the rooftop to see the night.

To dance freely among the stars

Underneath the soft moonlight.

Dancing, dancing

Peacefully in the night.

Yet, now below the Earth is rumbling

And sending tremors to commence a fight.

And outside the winds are raging;

Clouds concealing all the light.

And she hears a quiet cracking

From somewhere not within her sight.

A soft whistling soon accompanies

Her possessions being thrown left and right!

And still she does not quiver,

Nor is she bitter, nor full of spite.

The castle’s come down times before

On many nights much like this night.

And she knows they can’t protect her

And she feels that it’s alright.

The pillars, they are old and weak,

and weaken more from light to light.

Her walls: frail, hollow, yet beautiful.

Yes, it is quite a deceiving sight.

And still she dances on, she dances

Dances gracefully into the night.

Focused intently on the heavens

Hoping for the day she takes her flight.

So that she continues, never halting

Wishing, praying with all her might

For milder winds and softer tremors

To instead disturb her peaceful night.

That on one day, she, at least

Will have endured the most destructive fight -

To have found the strength within herself,

and still be standing when comes the light.

Maybe she never existed.
Maybe she’s dead
From all the things thought of her
That got stuck in her head.

If we read all the histories
And get trapped in the past
We’ll discover her head
Was stuck far up her ass.

She got sick of people
And tired of life
She didn’t even try not to share
All the pain and the strife
With everyone around her,
Anything that could hear.
Even inanimate objects
Because she was no longer clear
In her mind on the difference
Between those who care and who don’t,
Who thinks and who doesn’t,
Who loves and who won’t.

She drives herself crazy
Wishing she could just be
Ignorant and happy
But unfortunately,
She hears every whisper
Can see every truth
Can feel every texture -
Silky and uncouth -
Is made ill by her feelings,
Driven mad by her heart,
Wanted understanding
For all that she ‘art’.
But she knows it can’t happen -
Won’t happen -
She tried.
She opened her heart
And found that it lied
About whom to share time with
Or trust with her thoughts.
It made her believe in
The things that she knew she ought not.
But the heartache reminds her
Of what she should be -
Cold, cynical, uncaring,
Lonely.
Me.

I want to live – Free me!

See with my eyes and be me

Don’t just let me disappear.

This fire within me heats me

Until I’m burning.

So don’t just fan the flame – Feed me!

Watch me grow, be heated by me.

I need everyone to feel me

To warm all the air around me – send up steam to higher heights!

So that from a distance, one can see me

Know of me, want to feel me

Be inspired, and want to feed me

Be ignited and want to be me.

Free me – Don’t just let me disappear.

By Carolyn Ursabia (circa 1999)

I’ve witnessed the rises and sets of many suns

Spent, contemplating the past

Minutes, hours, days

That turn into years

And I find myself back here

Upon the same place

Where history came to pass.

Oh the memories that lie within this withered an aged exterior.

I close my eyes but to hear gentle whispers of words once spoken

Into my ears from his lips;

The accompagnato of seagulls ‘cries o’ertop cars driving by;

The warmth of the sun on my skin.

That I reawaken into a time, a place – a world

That doesn’t exist!

As the past does not exist.

It is only in our minds that it exists.

Nothing tangible, nothing that is fact

Nothing to touch, see, or hear.

It is sometimes depicted in a picture, poem, or music,

And yet, never completely.

For our memories are biased

Only in our head to haunt us

And convince us that their existence is real

Each and every time we close our eyes…

Yet they remain there to make us smile,

There to make us cry,

To recall the pain that has faded.

To reminisce about the love that didn’t last,

To find ourselves unable to let go

Standing, but again, upon the scene

Where everything took place –

But didn’t

Because memories don’t exist.