The Beauty of Technology

This is a story of my personal adventure under the influence of foreign substances. I'm not condoning this shit and all that so shut up about that. This is just a little log of the silly things I did. Take it as a story and nothing else. I use very excessive language in this article, a lot of fucks, so just skip this article and don't bother reading it.

I for one embrace the technological advances that we as humanity develop and hope that we suffer no hindrances in our plight for absolute sentient artificial intelligence. Technology itself is something that should cherish instead of take for granted. We are left with messages and images from long ancient times from their own set of advances. Limited by their lack of camera mounted phones and cloud servers they resorted to cryptic and murky recollections of events passed and are left to decipher them with a mindset that would find no friend in the times that it was recorded.

Today I experienced first-hand our advantage over the less fortunate ancestors of our past.
The following events were recorded using three identical blue pens, a blue pen that belonged to a beautiful Asian woman that I stole a pen from accidentally, a notebook,  a Smart phone, and a 1st generation iTouch.
Let my personal recordings be an example of the vast ability that we have in the field of recollection.

The story begins at July 24 2012, a Tuesday. It would be my second time taking the express trains to my work and I still had that fire that burned for those with a new job, a sense of new purpose.

I had worked for these people for four months now but I was training my ability to talk on the phone and I wanted to experience personally how my boss and colleagues did their salesmanship. This work consisted of talking to people on the phone and convincing them to switch to our more environmentally and more lucrative offer. I won’t bore you with any more of the details for that’s not the important part.

The important part is that my boss and colleagues are very experienced veteran salesmen and smooth talkers so they are very good and relaxed with their work. They are so relaxed that they indulge themselves in some weed during their peak work ours. This concept of smoking drugs was not a new phenomenon for me. It wasn’t even new that my boss smoked, I had smoked with him before but not during important business work.

The work day started at 9:00am and by 12:10pm I was in a whole different state.

I was mentally mushed to the point where my most basic facial controls were left to the mercy of my giddy mind (I was told later about how much my facial expression changed into various shocking degrees).

“My throat is so dry”
“Can I pretend to call you because I can’t talk to customers like this OMGGGGGGb
“I can’t work like this, fuck man”

I went for an hour sitting on my chair trying my hardest to look like I was occupied with my work. I even attempted to call a customer but they had hung up on me due to my painful silence after they had picked up.
It was by this time that I had decided to make an excuse and try to ditch early. I was starting to sense that my colleagues noticed that I was doing no work and thought I was in huge trouble.

"I'm in trouble"

I had looked at the laptop begrudgingly before looking down at my cellphone pretending that I had gotten such a disappointing text that I was forced to groan.

 I announced that I had to “Go turkey” and started packing up my stuff. Then my boss and my two colleagues agreed and said bye to me.

This was when the fun began.

I walked 20 steps from the door of my boss’ place in the middle of rural Burnaby before grabbing my cellphone from my pant pocket and asking four friends what I was supposed to be doing to “go turkey.”
It was then that I realized that I was not acting normal and my scribbles began.

“Guy behind me I think is following me. He has a dog and I tried to kill it using snickers bar.”
“[unsure what I wrote here]”
“How do I turkey?”
“The park has no end. its looping omg”

I had stopped at an intersection after talking briefly to a friend and stared deeply into my closed book filled with the phone numbers of restaurants. It was during this time I had realized just how incredibly hot it was today and I was wearing a long sleeve business coat fully expecting it to at least be windy or slightly raining. The beams of the sun were pelting upon the cotton fibres of my stylish coat and liquefying themselves into a veil of uncomfortable sweat that wrapped itself generously along my flesh.

I began walking through a park when I had noticed a man walking his dog. Now let me be clear that I love dogs and I would never hurt one, maybe verbally I will crush their feelings by muttering softly in their ears that they are stinky, but never physically.

Paranoia began rearing its disgustingly eager head and I started to believe that this man was following me and trying to kill me for some reasons unknown to me. I reached deep into my jacket pockets and grabbed from its depths a blue pen and a half-eaten snickers bar that was supposed to be my lunch. In an attempt of distraction I split the snickers bar in half and threw it over my shoulder increasing my pace. Yes, I tried to distract the dog by giving it my snickers bar but I realized seconds later that chocolate was poisonous to dogs. I hope that dog is okay; he probably wasn’t even trying to kill me, let alone trained to kill a man.

I grabbed the pen and started scribbling down the frantic thoughts in my head. After looking back above my shoulder for a fourth time I retreated back to my intense pondering about how exactly “to turkey.”

I briefly noted that every time I would look up from my notebook it appeared that I was at the same place in the park even though I was briskly speed walking away from my pursuers.

“I can’t feel my sweat I’m not waiting and [unsure what I wrote here]
“I tripped and fell [contact number] she gave me a contact

 By this time I was out of the park and walking aimlessly around the skytrain station (It’s called a skytrain where I’m from because it’s in the sky)

I vividly remember paying for a ticket with my card and quickly running up the broken escalator, tripping quite badly half way up.

Luckily a nice lady saw and gave me a number after I tripped, telling me to call her if I needed any help. I remember wondering why she seemed so concerned and then wondering how to exactly call her.

“Some guy saw my journal. He’s looking at me like a fucking idiot. Fuck him!
“Teal shirt, Asian guy”
“They all think I’m gunna bomb the train, fuck dude this is scary”
“I can’t feel my sweat”
“This is bad”
“That guy is moving seats”
“He thinks I’m gunna kill him”
“Oh my god dude who is dude who am I talking to?”

I was writing the previous page while walking onto the bus. I caught a glimpse of an Asian man’s judgmental look upon my journal and quickly jotted it down on my way to my seat. I was so infuriated by him that I wrote down his specific characteristics in hopes that maybe later I can exact revenge upon him.

My paranoia began escalating at an all-time high and I realize that I’m mumbling to myself while viciously writing down everything I’m both thinking and mumbling.

Half way through finishing the line “They all think I’m gonna bomb the train, fuck dude this is scary,” a man seated in front of me who might have heard me mumble the word bomb got up and moved to the other side of the time, this time facing my direction. I wrote down my thoughts on that.

“He’s looking at me,”
“My sweat really hurts”
“I’m bleeding”
“Help help help help… help help help… help help help”

For those unaware of the dangerous of not using aftershave, let this be a quick lesson. Being a man gifted with gratuitous facial hair, I find myself being lazy and shaving very rarely. During the morning before, I had decided to make myself a lot more presentable and shave, unfortunately I was in a hurry and I did not have time to apply aftershave. The result became a sharp hot stinging on my face when exposed to my sweat. The stinging became so intense that I clawed at my cheeks and wiped my sweat vivaciously, a man tearing off his pain.

Long story short I ripped open a cut that was healing on my jaw and I began bleeding, this added to the pain.

The pain was so intense that I wrote help over and over with my right hand while scratching my face with my left hand. The whole event was exhausting.

“I’m still at Royal oak”
“This ride is not going to end”
“It’s going to Edmonds”
“I wrote this in 20 seconds”
“Was Royal oak to Edmonds 20 seconds or am I losing my perspective (perception?) in time”

“Hi, I’m not who you think I am, I am a normal, you think I am not,”

Time began feeling slow and I had thought that the train was not getting anywhere, even though it was moving.

It was during this time I noticed that someone was looking at me from a chair across from me. I wrote a message clearly at the bottom of the page in hopes that it dispels all thoughts of my sanity, or lack of it.

“I’m sorry for not being able to talk to you because my lips are really lick (dry?)”
“That guys eyes are still on me. This is not good. This is not good”
“He knows I’m staring at his eyes, he’s going to fucking die. Fuck this guy he’s looking down”
“Fuck him-”
“The girl next to him is really hot”
“Wow she looks a lot like Annabella”
“When is she leaving?”

I continued my conversation with the man looking at my journal from across the train with writing and apologized for not being able to say anything coherent to him.

I looked up at the man who moved seats again and he was looking at me with what I remembered to be a grin on his face, I could have been wrong.

Paranoia once again as I contemplated killing him, absolutely normal.

Then I suddenly noticed a girl who was seating in front of him, idly staring at the window and minding her own business in a set of her own white earphones. She looked hauntingly similar to Annabella, a whole different story all together, just know that she was a lost love that I still had feelings for (D'AWWW).

“Fuck Fuck! Annabella (stupid fucking heart) ”
“Noone is sitting next to me”
“They think I’m crazy. Oh fuck she really looks like Annabella”
“22nd street”
“Hot girl”
“Oh crap she looks like her”

A potpourri of emotions began coalescing within my mind and I began panicking, still scratching at my sweaty cheeks.

I quickly noted down the station name that I was on before continuing my ramblings

I noted again that she looked like Annabella.

“When she’s getting off I’m getting off”

A devious plan began forming.

[unsure what I wrote here]
I think she’s going to fucking leave”
“Shes going to”
“I’m really [?]”
“How this is really bad”
“Fuck Fuck is she Annabella?”
“Leaving hot”

The next couple minutes consisted of me intensely staring at her and waiting for her to leave so I can leave and talk to her. Yes, even though I was quite aware that I was not exactly 100% at the moment, I still found that it was absolutely necessary to talk to this person who looked like Annabella.

“Oh fuck I’m in VCC clark”

The Skytrain system in Vancouver is very straightforward and easy to use. The only one thing that makes it a bit tricky is the fact that there are two sets of trains going back towards my home in one set of rails, skyrails. That's why you have to know which train you are on. 

It turns out that I was on the wrong train and I was headed farther from home, the Annabella-look-alike was also. In the diagram I had taken the Millennium line instead of the Expo line.

“I took the pictures pretending”
“But it had flash”
“Holy fuck I’m dumb”
“This is fucking stupid of me”

I was so entranced by her likeness of Annabella that I needed to take a picture of her.


Sadly I was fucking stupid at the time and took a picture of a pole that was so adorably obstructing her face from the picture, but luckily not from the blindingly obvious flash that I had forgotten to take off. I could almost feel the proverbial spaghetti building up in my pockets.

We had stopped at a station and she got up quite quickly, avoiding my eye contact. I quickly followed.

She stopped and looked at me from afar while I slowly approached her, my book open to blank pages.

Holy crap just thinking about this makes my teeth hurt from the sheer awkwardness that she must have experienced.

Words were said, only from her and all I could do was look at her with tired eyes and she sighed.

In absolute surprise she reached into her purse and took out a blue pen. With one fluid motion she grabbed the book from me and wrote her number down on an empty page on my book.

She handed me the book back and I grabbed from her hands both the book and her pen.

Holy fuck right? The amount of fucks going through my mind were astronomical

“She last station she doesn’t know the last station”
“Lake City Way”

She quickly went on her way after asking if I was okay and if I needed help, all I could do was look at her sympathetically and nod. She told me to be safe and to call her and quickly went off.

It was here I realized I had no idea where I was and I quickly jotted down the first sign I saw, which was Lake City Way.

(I ripped the page before with her number on it after I took the picture and stuffed it into my wallet for future use)

“Help I’m”
“taco bell”

I learned to love and embrace such clich├ęd acts of fate when I wandered down an elevator and walked around until seeing a taco bell…

Glorious glorious ambrosia…

The next couple hours consisted of my aimless wandering and getting a haircut and tipping 200%.

If you’re wondering how I remembered this all quite so vividly, the picture before you is but one page of eight notes that I wrote while I basked in the glorious air conditioned barber coupled with the rhythmic calm of the snipping and buzzing of various hair cutting tools.

If the barber had read what I was writing then it sure didn’t affect the fantastic job he did on my hair.

As I regained a small sense of coherence, I corrected my mistake and headed home, this time fishing my earphones from my pocket and resting them in my ears, mentally shutting me from the world and into the world of Biggie Smalls.

I wrote various poems on the way back, trying very hard to completely isolate and occupy my mind.

I also drew a nice lady and she complimented me on my quick sketch of her. If you see this feel free to contact me for this drawing, I would feel quite uncomfortable if someone had a sketch of me listening to music contently.

So in conclusion, if it wasn’t for my pen and paper and my phone, I could not have recollected all these memories of my absolute fucktardedness, thank you technology.

Also, can you show me a more troubling text?

I received the text 4 hours later, contrary to his usage of the word "just."

Ended up being PCP..


The pictures are taken from the safety of my own room

Thanks to my fucking friends for their amazing memory when it comes to stupid shit I do, and not when we’re lost for directions and it’s your fucking job to remember.