Tag Archives: doubt

Single Serving Stories Series- ‘As It Happened’

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Under the Green Desk Lamp…

Green DesklampIn addition to regular blog articles and my published novels, I’ve also written several Single Serving Stories over the years. Some have been published in anthologies like ‘Between the Shelves’, ‘Edmonton: Unbound’, and ‘All Mapped Out’. Others have been shared exclusively on this blog via the publication platform Smashwords.

Recent changes to the Smashwords platform has made it a less reliable option however, and therefore an exciting change has come to Brad OH Inc.

Starting today, I will be re-sharing in full—un-edited and un-abridged—all Single Serving Stories previously published on Smashwords with Brad OH Inc. as the new, exclusive provider. All text will be provided in full, with no download necessary. If Smashwords don’t like that, they can message our complaints department.

Starting with the first story, ‘As It Happened’, all the way through the most recent, this project will culminate in a couple of heretofore unpublished Single Serving Stories, so even the most dedicated of readers will have something to look forward to.

So, without further ado, let us revisit my first completed Single Serving Story under the Brad OH Inc. banner, the strange and unsettling 2012 classic, ‘As It Happened’.

They sat together on the couch, the glow of the newscasters face from their small TV lighting up the room. How long had it been growing?

At the centre of the divide between them, their hands just grazed one another. It was a seemingly insignificant space, but through it blew the winds of change, howling with the desperate voice of a day that would not come. The woman on the TV was beautiful— even while telling them it was all true, and things would never be the same.

Soft cushions cradled each of them delicately, betraying their discomfort. The sun shone brightly behind the reporter, who delivered the news with an unrelenting drawl. Stone faced and tenacious, there was an understated bravery there.

The room was cold.

Repeatedly, the woman onscreen reassured the viewers that the events were isolated incidents, and there was no cause for speculation beyond the facts. Yet the camera showed another truth, clear as day. There was no reference made to the people running in the background. They weren’t doing it for the audience.

The images changed like the flickering of a dwindling candle as more and more reports came in. They all said the same thing. On the couch, nestled deeply in her cushion, she wondered what she’d say— how to express all the things she needed to, yet not reach what she knew to be the inevitable result.

She remained silent.

Before them, the screen pulsed with movement— the picture at times was clear as glass, depicting beyond doubt the finest details of all that transpired. At other times it jumped and crackled, the signal interrupted and the image distorted, leaving only the muffled voices and brief glances of scenery to tell the story.

With each change of the scene, their faces were illuminated— white, orange, blue, crimson. Occasionally the sound would rise up, pinning them in place with the force of its message. Then it would dip, and they could hear the gentle rumours of each other’s breathing in the cloying calm of the room.

She thought about the start, and how it had sounded like the promise she’d been waiting for. Her stomach groaned with hunger, but she remained quiet as she stared at the box of glowing light in front of her. The busy people on the TV only served to accentuate how terribly still she sat.

At the farthest reach of his periphery, he could see her, a dim evening star dancing heedlessly upon the razor’s edge of perception. It was a safe distance. Watch and record, note changes and variances, try to learn without direct intervention.

They both listened and learned— there was nothing else to do. They remembered the rumours passed about so long ago— all going ignored amidst the milieu of suspicion and doubt that peppered common conversation these days. Sometimes the greatest betrayal was the failure to see what was right before you.

What now remained to be done?

His eyes were fixed forward; dying lanterns passing down a dark trail. In times such as these, people had to keep their focus, lest the distractions and deceits of the woods lure them forever from their courses.

Everybody had their theories about how things got to this point: little narratives that tied the confusions together, small offerings of guilt— what might have been different if only this hadn’t been said, if only that hadn’t been done? But they all knew the source— the drive all people felt towards unity. People were born to love. They could love each other, love ideas; even love their country.

They used to tell each other that love was enough.

But when does something like that begin and end? How is the line drawn? It’s only a scratch that appears one day along the vinyl, and grows slowly until it’s impossible to distinguish the tune beneath the tumult.

There’s no fanfare at first, not until it’s already too far gone. Some will deny, rationalize, or accept. Others may reframe their entire perspective to accommodate the changes of the world around them, but that only goes so far. They stretch the lens; contort the picture until the blur seems normal.

It’s almost cute at first. But then there are things that cannot be explained away. Call them unbelievable mathematical improbabilities, divine signs, psychological decay—call them whatever fits.

Yet there comes a point when they just can’t be ignored.

None of that mattered any longer. This wasn’t science, and understanding the start wasn’t always a sure way to predict the future. Here they were, and as the lady on the TV continued to update— now listing chronologically the events speculated to have led them all to this terrible precipice— he already knew it was on the way out.

Fighting had never done any good. Some sorts of alliances cannot be fought for, with one side flitting away while the other chases, only to reverse roles at some point, all the while braving the pitfalls and sabotages of circumstance and society. Rather should any true alliance be pursued with undying ferocity, both sides defying or ignoring any odds with continual movement towards connection— for one approach is based in courtship, the other grounded in partnership.

Sometimes it almost seemed that it was truly attainable— that it was a tangible thing to grasp and hold. But hearts are not moved through the simple occupation of space.

The voices on the TV were quiet now, and he could hear his heartbeat clawing desperately at the safety screen of silence between them.

The scene was shocking. All they’d ever known had been stripped of the robes of artifice they’d helped in sewing. A sudden cacophony of competing cheers and jeers was the haunting dirge that led the gruesome parade through their home, and they couldn’t say now what part of the clamour was theirs to play.

A man was speaking on the TV, insisting in practiced homilies that people were only doing the jobs set to them, and that it was not the viewer’s part to judge.

The steel of the words was betrayed by the waver of the voice. It was ever the case.

They recognized many of the faces flashing past— each had made some promise, offered some hope. Looking back, every last one of them had claimed it was coming. Some for one reason, some for another. One claimed it was because of the first. But they all agreed— without change, this was inevitable.

Why had they all ignored it? How could so many people, with such a wealth of knowledge at their finger-tips, collectively fall into the lie?

Of course they had their ideas now. One could speculate, another hypothesize. They could chase each other in circles as the world fell out from under them. It made no difference.

The TV showed a blur, static scraping itself over cityscapes, and the words came pouring on, now muffled, now crystalline. A fire flickered from an alley, and a man in a suit was gesticulating furiously at the camera while ducking into a black car. A preacher stood in the street calling for apologies, and all around the crowd stared expectantly one to the other.

If she looked closely enough, she could almost make it out. Beyond the static, past the distortion of years were all the things she’d once held dear. With a squint of the eye and a trick of the brain the major details were all there— but it hadn’t been the big things that had changed. She could cradle the image in her mind, and nearly believe that it could still be. It flowed before her, a reflection in the river of time until some distraction shattered it like the ripples of a thrown stone. Then it was gone, relegated to its proper place on the shelf of her memory, with all the other things whose beauty was now remembered only by the light of a sun long set.

Still, everyone seemed to be missing it, all fixated upon their own illusive ideal.

The ideal never came.

They were left instead to wander blindly through mazes of ambiguous promises, seeing their own loss and confusion mirrored back in the eyes of those they’d looked to for guidance. Concepts like honour and loyalty— when the sources that defined them have dissipated like blood in water— quickly lose their meaning.

He remembered the first time the thought had entered his mind— that maybe all the things he’d grown to expect would never come. It had darted in one day unbidden and never left. When finally he’d heard the words, the doubts had been soothed. But they lingered like embers in the morning dew— forgotten fears smouldering patiently amongst the tinder’s of trust.

Even now the ideas would still spring up in his mind on occasion, hopes like secret castles in a child’s tale, which only existed as long as they were believed in.

He started to speak, and she opened her mouth. A bulletin blared across the screen, and they both sat quietly with their mouths agape.

How long had they sat back, waiting for that one perfect moment to find them; the flawless solution that would wash over them and assure them that everything would be ok? They were still waiting, as every other opportunity slipped by. Sitting and staring. Starry eyed and terrified.

Now a crowd was gathered on the TV. Someone was dying in the streets. They didn’t recognize the face shown, nor catch amidst the fury of the mob the narrator’s explanation of the dying man’s significance. It would’ve been irrelevant— all titles were equal once blood had been shed.

His eyes carved across the room, settling upon and holding hers. Not long enough at first, then suddenly, self-consciously far too long. He jerked his gaze away frantically, as if to avoid further rejection. His arms interlaced across his chest, leaving nothing but the still, cold air as her hand reached across the barren space between them, grasping only the ghost of what had been a moment before.

Lights were flashing on the TV, and packed tightly around a statue was a throng of cheering people. Through the crackling picture it was impossible to determine if they were truly deluded into happiness, or merely too afraid to take up the song that curled submissively at the backs of their throats.

They twitched in unison with the shared recognition of a building that appeared on screen, but the men entering it were strangers to them. Faint noises came from the window across the room— another jarring reminder that the world before them was the very one in which they now sat. Yet outside were only passing cars, filled with people going wherever they were needed most. The more significant events were smeared across the glass right in front of them, and that’s where their attention remained.

It wasn’t how they might have imagined it. The news was constantly changing, the truth of the events sorting itself out from the falsities like straining oil from water. They knew the facts would be blurred for a long time— but what they could see was sufficiently telling. Short clips played, sometimes repeated in increasingly close approximations to their entirety, at other times discarded indefinitely for developments of more immediate relevance. With every scene, the chill of the room grew more difficult to bear.

There were no bombs dropping. It wasn’t that kind of a revolution. There weren’t even any clear sides— just a big, bleeding divide.

Signal flare reasons filled the air— reaching out for certainty through the impenetrable fog of its absence. Time passed as they sat, still and quiet. The hours seemed of small account now— many things they’d come to rely on would lose their worth in the days to follow.

On the couch, their focus was inexorable. Ever as they watched, the despair cut deeper, as every misgiving they’d ever pushed aside was dredged up from the darkest corners of their psyches. Still, they couldn’t look away, as if the jagged rocks ahead were their salvation from the siren’s song behind.

In every other direction dangerous visions laid in wait— the home they had, the things they shared, and the memories held in each. Both of them could feel how the fabric of the seat was pulled by the weight of the other beside them, and photos decorated the walls on all sides with reminders of what wouldn’t be.

The distraction of the television offered little succour. The revelations being shown told them that things were unravelling fast. The mystery of the cause had been forgotten— searches for responsibility cast aside. Now the focus was single-minded— the rats had already left the ship, and solution was no longer part of the vernacular.

No one claimed to understand. No one even offered false assurances that everything would be ok. Things would be different— that’s all that could be said. Knowledge was a ghost remembered from childhood— its former certainty fading into doubt, and none remained so bold as to claim they still believed.

Thoughtlessly, instinctively, they allowed their eyes to drift together, repelling that same second like bullets off battered brick walls. The men on the TV were flopping about like beached fish; excuses and justifications the sand that came splattering out beneath them.

Everywhere, people were arguing— building skyscrapers out of conjecture, and then blasting them down to prove their point. The footage rolled on, endless as smoke billowing from the ashes of their aspirations.

Still, upon the couch silence reigned, and from the TV so far across the room, the newscaster returned to explain the choices that remained to them.

-Brad OH Inc.

Re-Share: Humanity vs. the Corporate Mindset

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Of all the unfortunate ills in this world, the Corporate mindset may be the chief. It is this idea which keeps society unbalanced and desperate, which controls our information and divides us against one another. Laws are changed, rules are broken, people are robbed of their potential, and the world at large is injured by this idea that more is better, and that the ability to take more is self-justifying.

It’s often preached about as ‘freedom’, or ‘capitalism’, or even ‘fairness’—all hair-brained explanations for one of the greatest con’s ever. The system supports only itself and those at it’s very top, while actively trying to quash out any popular movement attempting to return to the people some semblance of the power which is theirs by right.

Let’s look briefly at two examples to illustrate this point.

The first is the idea of a universal basic income. The concept here is that if the highest earners paid a higher level of taxes than the pittance they currently do (if they pay at all), then a universal basic income could be provided to each citizen, raising them out of poverty, and allowing them to participate in the economy and society in a meaningful way. This would reduce suffering, and build up communities across the nation, and the world.

To the Corporate mindset, this is the highest of heresies.

They would argue that having successful people pay taxes for less successful people discourages big ideas, and that if the ability to lord unimaginable wealth over the rest of the population wasn’t available, then any incentive to be productive would go with it.

What unimaginable hogwash.

The true reason for such objections is a little more obvious, and far more believable. It’s greed, of course…good old number three.

The truth is that at some point, the motivation of money is no longer about providing for you and yours—Maslow’s hierarchy and such. It ceases to be the calculated pursuit of betterment or provision, and becomes instead the reckless pursuit of an addict. Wealth fast becomes an addiction, and like most addictions, people resort to increasingly terrible extremes to feed it. A Corporation, in essence, is this wealth addiction made manifest. Pursuit of money as a drug in this way breaks the market, the chain of trust, the social contract, and capitalism in general.

Another fine example of the destructive nature of this Corporate mindset can be found in the realm of art and creativity. Corporations have no interest in creating thought-provoking materials or fresh ideas—the very opposite in fact. Their goal is to create easily consumed, content devoid filler. They rehash the same tropes and keep people clapping along to the same tired old ideas. It’s about placation and distraction, never enrichment.

The end result can be seen in the relentless struggle before any true artist—in their need to cut through these quagmires of idiocy to ever have a chance at being heard by the desperate ears of people starving for original content. Examples can be found in free-speech warriors such as Howard Stern or the Insane Clown Posse, who have struggled through great adversity and opposition from the Corporate market, despite having a product which many people desired.

If something’s not in line with a Corporation’s vapid tripe, and especially if it’s not making an obscene amount of money for people who already hold far too much, it has little chance of significant exposure without amassing a devoted underground following in spite of Corporate adversity.

More about the negative impacts of the Corporate mindset on the entertainment industry can be found in our article, ‘The Disgraceful Suicide of ‘Old’ Media’.

In the end, the crux of the issue is that the Corporate mindset influences our society—making us callous and suspicious of one another, rather than supportive and loving. Indeed, it can easily be argued that the Corporate mindset is the very antithesis of the human spirit, and yet it holds us tightly in its sway; controlling our media, our art, our economy, and our very perspectives on life.

What would it take to break free of this influence, and begin to live like the compassionate and caring society we are undoubtedly capable of being? We look forward to hearing your thoughts in the comments below.

-Brad OH Inc.

A Million Marionettes

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Under the Green Desk Lamp…

Green DesklampHis fingers ache and palms are chaffed

The wires gnaw the creases

But he cannot rest or slow down

He knows he’d fall to pieces

He keeps them dancing for the show

It’s not his job at all

The moves are just a pantomime

He’s there so they don’t fall

This one leans and that one tilts

That one jumps around on stilts

This one tumbles, that one cries

There’s something dead behind his eyes

This one’s tangled in its strings, he checks if it’s ok

But that one he takes his eye off and it sadly slips away

He screams but has nothing to say

He’s lost the plot at last today

But there’s so many strings in play

And he’s just trying to be ok

He’s just trying to hold them all

Though he’s not at his best

And all the ones still standing there

Do better than the rest

So he bows his head and holds on tight

And prays his course will steer him right

From this broken palace all alone

To some new show he’ll call his home

But it’s hard to pull himself up

When they all rely on him

Like water through a broken vase

The fallen ones just take his place

The lost, the lies—the price of art

The things he knows are true

If you work too hard for anyone

They’ll stop working for you

-Brad OH Inc.

Re-Share: Change, Fear, Truth, and Renewal

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Under the Green Desk Lamp…

Green DesklampThe only immutable

Force in the world,

The grinding of time

Is the sense of absurd.

Futility tracing its

Claws down your back,

And leaving its markings

On minds sorely wracked.

Then doubts do set in

And preponderance lost,

So shifting with worry

To escape at all cost.

When realization

Makes fools of us all,

Stand tongue-tied and mute

Never hearing that call.

Not too late does it happen

That sudden release,

Understanding, acceptance,

And finally, peace.

-Brad OH Inc.

Re-Share: On Laughing Too Much

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Under the Green Desk Lamp…

Green Desklamp

This is an older article, from back in good old 2016. It’s always been a favorite of mine.

I’ve often been accused of laughing too much. It’s a charge I can scarcely deny. No matter what situation I find myself in, laughter tends to be my most ubiquitous means of communication. Sometimes, it may even be my own jokes I’m laughing at, which I’ve been told is especially distasteful. I’ve always argued that it’s just a matter of having good taste in comedy, but I’m not sure that’s really it.

The fact is, laughter is my favourite thing to do with pretty much anyone. To be fair, I may often claim that my favourite activity is drinking with good friends, or more simply enjoying a lively conversation, but the real crux of it is the laughter. Many of my closest friends and I will often exchange very few full words in the course of a long shared laugh. That’s bliss to me, that’s a connection, and I believe that it’s worth celebrating.

Sure, it can be construed as insincere. When the length of a conversation is marked by incessant joking and laughter—or sarcasm, most dreaded of deceptions—there are many who consider this to be a lack of honesty. ‘Why can’t you ever be serious,’ may come the cry from a pleading compatriot who feels that anything honest must be a solemn and stoic exchange.

But what could possibly be more honest than laughter?

You see, when a good joke lands, and your eyes meet to recognize the subtle meanings as they light up with laughter, there is a fulfilling moment of meta-communication similar to emotional intimacies like love. It’s a shortcut to bonding—an innate reliance on subtle body language to confirm even subtler understandings. More often than not, these understandings rely on past experiences and shared double meanings understood only by those involved. It’s a secret—and the laughter which arises from it is the sweetest of payoffs.

It’s communication and connection in its purest form!

Whenever people share a hearty laugh, their eyes open up to show a brief yet transcendent glimpse into the soul. This is a large part of why I always try to find the humour in everything; that, and the fact that life is just funnier that way.

Ultimately, I expect it’s a flaw I will always maintain—if it is a flaw indeed. To the chagrin of many, I will continue to laugh my way through conversations ranging from the frivolous to the solemn. I will hunt down the double meanings, call back to the shared experiences, and twist words in wonderful and weird ways—in constant pursuit of that glorious moment when the lips crack apart and the eyes shine like stars—confirming that some understanding beyond mere words has occurred, and that two minds have been momentarily linked in the thrill of this shared knowledge.

So I confess it, I am not likely to ever ‘grow up’ as so many call it. I will grow old, but if I have it my way, I’ll laugh right to the grave. A morbidly humorous epitaph would be ideal now that I think about it—preferably heavy on alliteration and innuendo.

Some may never understand this odd compulsion, but for that I offer no apologies. For those that find laughter an inherent roadblock to clear communication, I offer my condolences. For myself, I can only pray to someday be 100 years old, sitting in a wheel chair, hopefully next to a little old lady—laughing boisterously to ourselves. They’ll probably call us crazy. But who would I be to argue?

-Brad OH Inc.

Re-Share: The ‘Jenga’ Analogy

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The other day, I started sketching an outline for an article, but quickly realized I’d already written something terribly similar back in 2015. So in lieu of wasted effort, here is the original–I’m back to editing my book.

Earlier this week, I found myself playing a friendly game of Jenga. Well, not entirely friendly perhaps—it was naturally filled with all the taunting and tension so common to the game.

With each log I drew from the base with tremulous fingers, I breathed a sigh of relief as I watched the tower teeter and totter back and forth. But when it finally found its balance once more, the work was only halfway done.

After a brief period of respite marred only by a victorious sneer at my young opponent, it was time for me to finish my task. With the newly liberated block held delicately between my fingers, I raised it up and let it hover a moment above the top of the now lopsided and treacherous monstrosity we’d created.

Finally, I took a deep breath in and held it. The careful extraction was not my victory, for now I had to place the block on top—hoping against hope that the imbalance I had done to the tower’s base would not prove fatal.

Sadly, my hopes were dashed, and the tower came crumbling down. Wooden blocks scattered across the tabletop, and a squeal of unrestrained joy was loosed from the grandstanding lips of my tactless opponent.

‘If only I hadn’t had to put it on top’, I lamented. But that’s just the point here. It’s easy to cause imbalance. It’s far more difficult to deal with the consequences. When I’d slid the block out, I had created tension—specifically between the increasingly poor engineering of the tower, and the immutable force of gravity.

If it hadn’t been expressly forbidden by the sacrosanct rules of Jenga, I could have tossed the block lackadaisically over my shoulder and passed the buck onto the unaware child before me—forcing them to deal with the repercussions of my block choice.

“Again!” he cried, encouraged by his victory and likely reeling with a distinct sense of invulnerability.

But my mind was elsewhere, and time was not on my side. As I gathered up the blocks and began to replace them in the box, I turned to the clock on the wall to gauge my schedule. 11:00am—just enough time to get one last visit in before lunch.

Oh lunch: the vaunted reprieve from workday responsibilities. With a half-hour of stress-free liberty, my only significant choice would be where to eat. And if that’s the only conflict to resolve, things are pretty good in my books.

But as the last of the Jenga blocks was returned to its rightful place, my hunger-laden mind recalled suddenly the ongoing string of strikes and demonstrations against fast food operations around the world (Link).

Workers had taken to the streets, demanding delivery from the poverty level wages they had been faced with for far too long. The demonstrations were primarily peaceful shows of unity and hope—asking only a fair wage for a fair days work. But as is the leitmotif of any political discourse these days, the demand was mired in controversy and misgivings.

Among the myriad complaints aimed at the workers was the age-old notion of fiscal strain. The argument goes that if restaurants (and it should be noted here that the vast majority of those affected are multinational Corporations) were ‘forced’ to increase their minimum wage, the resultant loss of capital would have to come from somewhere else.

It’s a logical notion to be sure—money is finite after all, and if moved to one place, it must have come from another. The natural remedies, in the Corporate mind at least, are to lay off workers, increase prices, or decrease quality.

Of course, these options lead to long line-ups, inflated meal prices, and dangerously cheap ingredients. As images of soggy lettuce, smeared condiments, and dry, grey ‘all-beef patties’ danced before my eyes, my lunch options seemed somehow less appealing.

There is a problem with this key assumption however, and as so many problems are these days, it is tied to the fundamental structure of the Corporation. Guided by the anti-social leaning philosophies laid out in the ‘Friedman Doctrine’ (Link), a Corporation is structured with only one true responsibility—the shareholder. This means that with every decision a Corporation makes, it is obligated to ensure that the bottom line of share value is being increased.

In essence: no matter what the problem or potential solutions, the goal should be greater profit for the Corporation. Of course, this has historically led to a litany of grave injustices (Link), but just at this moment, it was my impending meal I was most concerned about.

And herein lies the problem. While it’s difficult to argue that workers aren’t entitled to a living wage—particularly in a world where an ever growing number of jobs are being pushed into the minimum wage bracket by increased automation and other factors—I still want a good meal.

But these desires are incompatible in the Corporate mind. You can’t have fair pay, good food, AND reasonable prices…at least not if stock prices are to continue rising.

And so it goes: as each year passes, Corporations continue to take money away from the bottom, while ensuring it also stays at the top. Increase the wages—lay off employees. Respect environmental regulations—decrease the quality of the product. Comply with fair tax regulations—jack up the prices.

You take a block from the bottom, and you put it on top.

The easy answer of course, is that Corporations should, and must, accept that as society changes and technology grows, sometimes they may see a decrease in overall profits. But this should be felt at the top—the shareholders and the CEO’s who are in dire need of learning that just as they claim that ‘a person doing a minimum-skill job deserves only a minimum salary’, so too must the directors of a decreasingly relevant franchise ultimately see a stall in their (still exorbitant) profit margins.

Of course, this isn’t what happens. While many of these fast-food franchises likely started out as very solid businesses offering a decent meal at a competitive price, they have long since grown unwieldy. As the towers of their Corporate offices rose higher into the skyline, their bases grew increasingly unsteady. And we’ve all seen the end result many times before. Eventually, the whole operation comes crumbling down. After all, no one wants to pay $14 for a shitty burger just so the CEO can afford to take a private jet to his island resort.

And this, better than anything else, illustrates the fundamental failing which has occurred in our conception of capitalism. Namely, the transfer of implicit company responsibility away from its customers—who rely on a strong and reliable base—to its shareholders—who care only for how high it can reach before they sell their shares and watch it all crumble from the vantage point of the next opportunity they make ready to despoil.

It’s a depressing thought to say the least. And so, as I slid the Jenga box into my bag and made off to my next visit, I made a decision. Today, maybe I could pass on lunch. I was hungry no doubt, but as I thought about the implications behind which barely-edible meal I’d buy, I found that my appetite was gone.

Fuck it, I’d just go hungry. After all, if the Corporations had it their way, that would be the fate of the lot of us.

-Brad OH Inc.

A Flag in Peril

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I’m driving along an asphalt road, lousy with potholes. It doesn’t matter where I’m going. In Alberta, most destinations are similar enough. It’s not the sites on the side of the road, or the gloomy clouds ahead that get my attention—it’s the flag on the truck blowing by me.

For most of my life, the red bars and maple leaf of the Canadian flag has held a uniform meaning to most anyone likely to encounter it. It stood for pride, equality, and promise. Not the ill-defined promise of freedom so often associated with the stars and bars, but a more grounded, introspective promise that assured us we were working together, and supporting one another. Certainly, the country has never been perfect, but for a long while, it felt like we were on the same path—one helping the other down it as required.

That’s all in the past now. As the flag—torn and weather worn—flutters by above a brand new, lifted pickup truck, a new set of feelings arise in my heart. Where before there may have been pride, now there is resentment, judgement, and anger.

…The flag has been co-opted, and it’s meaning is no longer consistent.

In late January, 2022, the country witnessed an unparalleled level of unrest and division. Dubbing itself the ‘Freedom Convoy’, a sizeable group of Canadians jumped into their over-sized, high-end vehicles in an effort to show the world how hard-done-by they were.

While it may be understandable for people to tire of mandates, and few could argue against the notion that civil protest is a fundamental right to any free society, the convoy quickly took a turn for the worse when it reached Ottawa, and other Canadian cities.

Fed by misinformation and fuelled by paranoia, their demands became more and more outrageous, and their behaviour followed suit. While the more reasonable members of the protest focussed on lifting mandates and returning to ‘normal’, extremist elements sought to impose their will on the country through any means necessary.

The stated intentions of the convoy ranged from an end to vaccine mandates for truckers crossing the border—a policy reflected by the country sharing said border—to an end to all mandates, to the surrender of the government and the instatement of their own appointed officials. These latter intentions were outlined in a shocking manifesto delivered—and later retracted by—convoy leaders. For more information on that, see Here, and Here.

Soon enough, it was a protest no longer. The capital city of Canada was experiencing a full-on occupation. With trucks blocking major through-ways, protesters used horns to torture the residents of Ottawa day and night, for three weeks straight. They hurled insults at anyone wearing a mask, defaced public property, and damaged businesses who didn’t immediately cave to their wildly varied demands.

While provincial police and politicians sat on their hands—likely trying to decide which response was most likely to curry them the greatest favor from voters—innocent people living in cities across Canada grew increasingly incensed at the notion that this small minority could run roughshod over the fabric of society, and seemingly get away with it.

When Prime Minister Trudeau activated emergency powers to end the occupation, the country held its collective breath. Supporters of the convoy railed against perceived tyranny, while victims of the convoy cried for delivery from the occupiers. Everyone feared the precedent set, and the potential damage to our international reputation if the powers were misused.

To the shock of very few, the occupiers caved quickly when faced with actual consequences for what may have been the first time in their lives. Despite the hysteria, the application of the emergency powers was well-restrained. It specifically targeted the funding of occupation leaders, aiming to end their supply chain. In ongoing investigations that have surprised absolutely no one, it has been revealed that the majority of this funding came from foreign sources.

Police seized vehicles only after several written warnings, and convoy leaders who refused to move on were arrested. Once the crisis was over and the people of Ottawa were again secure to live their lives, the powers were promptly rescinded. While by all accounts this use of emergency powers was limited and practical, the country remains on edge.

To some, the occupation was a legitimate expression of discontent—the culmination of frustrations with COVID-19 mandates that were shared by most everyone. To the majority however, its execution was like the colicky wailings of a dying sense of masculinity—an entitlement so deeply rooted that harassing others and forcing your minority view on a nation seemed like justice.

Now the nation watches as the Right Wing of provincial politics seeks to gut our Universal Healthcare—claiming it had failed to get the nation through the pandemic. They miss the irony of course, as they were the very ones dodging public health efforts, and under-funding it at every turn. If the passengers of the Titanic had cheered on the iceberg, haranguing that ‘at least it’s not the one sinking’, the level of cognitive-dissonance could scarcely be greater.

Things have quieted down now. At least, that’s the case if you can ignore the desperate posts of those still married to their own victim-complexes.

The streets are quiet, and traffic can move again. The COVID mandates are lifting—as they were set to all along.

In the end, this occupation’s only real impact was likely the damage it did to the comfort and contentment of many Canadians. No minds were changed, and no policies were impacted to any significant degree.

Still, as the flag trails off into the distance in my rear-view mirror, I can’t ignore the adverse feeling in my gut. It’s been degraded, and I wonder what the rest of the world sees these days when the Canadian flag waves.

There’s another flag in windows these days. The Blue and Yellow of the Ukrainian standard flies high and proud around my city—supporting those fighting against real oppression, and facing legitimate danger.

It stirs something inside of me. A memory of a time not too long ago, yet far too distant. It was a time when people remembered that a society means that we are in this together—and that only by embracing that can we ever affect lasting change.

I hope that soon, our nation can remember that, and our flag can once more fly so high.

-Brad OH Inc.

Re-Share: Libertarians are Starry-Eyed Idealists

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Over the past week, Canada has watched as a minority group has terrorized cities and blocked critical infrastructure. They have demanded special freedoms, while denying freedom to those that live there.

It’s a sad situation all around, and has reminded me of a confusion I still come across all too often. When people talk about freedom, they often focus only on their own insular view of freedom, and seldom the freedoms of society at large.

Call it the ‘Inverted Wallace Equation’: The louder someone screams about freedom, the less likely they are to be standing on its side.

The article below–a re-share from 2016–covers this issue in greater depth.

What do you think?

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Freedom is often lauded as the most integral value of any developed nation. In fact, the notion of the ‘free world’ does much to inform us of the fundamental value that we place on personal liberty, and well it should. Freedom is among the key human rights, but it must be pointed out that at times, people get a little bit carried away with their interpretation of what exactly ‘freedom’ entails.

One need not wade too far into the depths of social-media to find the rants and raves of disenfranchised citizens so bitter about a parking ticket, or a sales-tax, or perhaps a pesky ‘no-loitering’ sign, that they’re ready to hoist the black flags and hop aboard the good ship ‘Anarchy’.

‘Freedom’, they will argue, is the birthright of man—the inalienable and righteous destiny of all people brave enough to seek it! But there are sorry few building their own boats to follow this urge, and fewer still running off to the lonely mountains to live a ‘free’ life. I suppose it’s an easy thing to moan about the comfortable confines of society as you daydream about weening yourself off its teat, but it does beg the question of what exactly true ‘freedom’ is, and if it can exist at all.

I would argue that perfect freedom is an illusion—a starry-eyed dream more befitting whatever afterlife you prefer than the life you live. In fact, I believe that power and control are unavoidable, and there is no conceivable ‘system of naught’ sufficient to maintain the vacuous void left if all authority is stripped away.

Perfect freedom would mean no laws, no control, no taxes—but it would accordingly mean no safety, no opportunity, and no infrastructure. In our article ‘On the Concept of Society’ (Link) we discussed how a society is the product of all its members, past and present. That remains entirely true. Society has never been about freedom—if anything that is the antithesis of society. In truth, ‘society’ is meant to be a foundation of cooperation among its citizens.

In the societal sense then, total freedom—much like anarchy—is a myth. It may perhaps exist for a single person, but once a second person enters the picture, the illusion will die. Power hierarchies will be formed, and one’s wishes will ultimately infringe upon the freedom of the other. We are not free to kill for the very reason that we do not wish to be freely killed. The same applies to property rights, safety issues, and so on. While loitering laws may perhaps be a hard concept to defend (Black Flags ahoy!), the need for a significant proportion of civil laws can be most easily discerned by asking oneself not ‘do I wish to follow this’ but ‘do I wish for others to follow this’.

Those who support total anarchy then, are either misunderstanding the basic tenets of life, suffering from a sadomasochistic urge to regress back to the days of pre-tribal man, or simply mad.

Libertarians, on the other hand, may accept some laws, while rejecting the notion of many others. This rejection most often applies to rules around the free-market. However, as we have already established that a power-void cannot remain unfilled, we should have little trouble applying this observation to the marketplace as well.

If you wander into the woods, claim them as your own, and insist on living a lawless life, it may prove less glamourous than you imagine—especially when the next lawless rogue shows up to strangle you in your sleep and make off with your supplies. So much for freedom!

The marketplace is little different. Without control, corporations are wont to seize public goods and resources, create monopolies, underpay workers, and wreak general havoc however they please. People will starve, or toil like slaves—yet this will be defended and redefined as the justly exercised freedom of those very corporations. In truth, this notion of marketplace-freedom is no better than economic anarchy—and its supposed virtue quickly diminishes as the strongest take control and run our system like a tyrannical oligarchy. Meanwhile, the citizens cheer blindly about the merits of freedom.

To claim to be an anarchist or full-on libertarian is naïve, and the ultimate result is little different from the sort of systemic madness we have now. Freedom has been given out too freely—sadly, only to the corporations at the head of the markets, and rarely to the citizens. The powerful will always feed upon the less powerful, and this is a demonstrable loss of freedom for the latter.

In order to have liberty for ourselves, there must at the very least be laws restricting others from infringing on that liberty. Anything less would be Mad Max-style anarchy. Control is needed, and must be imposed justly. As discussed in our article ‘On the Fear of Big Government’ (Link), the ultimate purpose of government is to ensure that the power which inevitably arises is a fair and just one.

This must not be taken to mean that I believe the current governments of the world are doing much to uphold these standards—indeed there is a great need for improvement on nearly all fronts. Simply put however, the raging masses squalling for ‘total liberty’—or its ugly cousin ‘anarchy’—are naïve at best. The line between liberty and domination is a difficult one to draw. If drawn too close to total freedom, a void arises, and we end up dominated. It’s circular in a sense, and requires an insightful and informed balance. This is the purpose of society and the governments which it employs, and we must pay heed to avoid being so brash as to throw the baby of equal opportunity out with the bathwater of social order.

-Brad OH Inc.

Re-Share: It is Good

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Under the Green Desk Lamp…

Green DesklampIt is good to think of ourselves as guests in this world. For that is surely what we are. We come, and we go. What we leave behind is for the next guests to live with…for a while.

I write a lot about fundamental virtues, and the dignity which is shared by all people and all creeds. For those few who would actively deny that basic human decency, this article is not for you.

To skirt all tangential esoteric questioning, we are here for a while, and then we die. The world goes on.

The situation we are born into is a geographic lottery, and we spend our short time dealing with the choices of thousands of generations of guests before us.

Our actions will affect all those to come.

As such, the assumptions we make and the expectations we hold should hardly be different from our attitude towards being a guest in the house of a friend or colleague.

A guest should not take more than they need, and never without asking. A guest should help out in any way they can. A guest should not cause any undo harm or damage, and a guest should leave things exactly as they find them.

It’s all just good sense, social intelligence, and common respect in the small-scale scenario of visiting the home of a friend or colleague, and the grander stage of global interdependency should not obscure this view.

Just as we would not pillage the pantries of our hosts and leave them in want, neither can we allow our society to deny the potential of our skills and resources to nations or people with less. Likewise, just as it would be obscene to deface or destroy a home we are welcomed into, so too is it beneath us to take any action that might ruin this planet we enjoy so briefly, leaving it barren for the generations to come.

To do either would be violence most bestial, with or without gunfire.

It is an easy enough philosophy to nod your head to, but we must now explore the implications. To take no more than what we need, and leave things as they are, many would find themselves no longer the fortunate inheritors of land, wealth, and privilege which the circumstances of their birth have so far afforded. All would need an equal share—and none could be so bold as to demand more. Food, shelter, healthcare, and freedom would be the inherent birthright of all humanity, and the bettering of this shared condition—and its sustainability for future generations—would be the ambition and passion of all.

It’s good to show respect for our host. Our time, our place, and our ability to contribute are irreplaceable commodities which we cannot afford to squander on vanity and entitlement. For a thankless guest soon finds herself with nowhere else to go.

It is good to know these things.

-Brad OH Inc.

Brandy by a 40W Bulb

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Under the Green Desklamp…

Green DesklampNote: This is the third article in a series. For the first, click here, and for the second, click here.

I thought about going with ‘by Candlelight’, but that would be a lie. It’s far too much effort at a time like this, especially for such a trite gesture. The standard 40W Bulb above me will do just fine for now. The illumination isn’t the point. That was the old goal—those ambitions are beyond us.

Brandy—that’s where the real hopes lie. The table has already been set, and the time for debating the menu is long past. This is about mood, and in that regard Brandy does far more than a candle, no matter how many Dickens novels you’ve read.

Ideas are cheap these days, and often more trouble than they’re worth. The best of them sell at a dime a piece, and are discarded just as cheaply. Some things, after all, truly are as simple as they seem.

In a world of ever-growing gradients, we should not lose sight of the poles. That’s what really moves people these days—the extremes. The most popular ideas are always the ones that cause a double-take and violent eye-roll from the general masses. The more far out they are, the more attractive to the fringe idiots looking for meaning in the void.

Meaning—there’s another dangerous idea.

So far, the Brandy is doing a pitiful job of improving the mood, but it’s not entirely to blame. Besides, Brandy is bountiful. Give her time.

Against such inky dark, even the brightest candle may struggle. My old bulb blinks and buzzes above me like a fly. It works fine in a pinch, but there’s no telling when it will flicker out for good, leaving me to face the lonely night.

There’s a terrible weight to understanding that lies and lunacy sell. There are niche groups that will cling to anything, but have few sources for their madness. By appealing to them, a person is guaranteed an instant and significant audience. Any asshole willing to scream obscenities and hate will find an audience somewhere. There is no shortage of desperate, sad bastards sitting in dark rooms, waiting for a lightning rod to justify their whispered insecurities with bullhorn vitriol.

To hold such knowledge and refuse to misuse it is the task of the decent person and the fool. The lowest common denominator is always the easiest mark, and honesty has a lot of competition. It’s an active decision we must all make—to decide to be a small voice of truth among many, rather than the most famous liar.

Everyone dreams of being heard in some way. It’s the reason for all the statues, art, graffiti, and songs that fill the spaces between the skyscrapers and the box stores. But these pleas for relevance can be easy to miss on the best of days, and that’s the problem entirely.

These days, wild change seems imminent, but its direction is impossible to know. This way, or the other… so it goes. It’s a lonely time—pensive. Tumultuous might be the word, really. Whatever you call it, one cannot deny the feeling of living in the calm before the storm.

That’s a cliché to be sure, but there are hopeless lunatics out there who would glean great meaning from a little thing like that.

And so, with whatever mask of optimism we may cobble from the refuse scattered nearby, we scream into the coming storm. We talk about what needs to change, or what needs to stop. What needs to be created, or what needs to be destroyed. We’ll debate who we should help, and who must be hindered. We’ll argue over where our priorities lie, what freedom really means, and who we are as a people.

All that is fine. But it goes off the rails somewhere around that point. We’ll start to argue about who is a person, and what that means for those who aren’t.

We’ll fight over who should have a voice, and who needs to be silenced.

We’ll forget what truth is.

Everyone holds their own individual truth these days, and that shouldn’t be such a terrible thing in and of itself. But there’s a funny thing about truth—it doesn’t do well in company. It’s the same problem religion has had throughout the ages—it’s great for the believers, but when it runs into the non-believers, it tends to have a funny reaction.

When we cling too tightly to our own truths, we run the risk of devaluing the truths of others. After all, there can only be one truth, and anyone who disagrees with you makes it slightly more likely that you’re living an illusion.

That’s no easy thing to tolerate.

One Brandy, two Brandy’s, three… Is it Brandy’s, or Brandies? She’s a cagey one, and it’s impossible to suss out her greater mysteries.

The bulb is too bright, and does nothing to ease the tension in the air. After all, upon close inspection, some things look better in the dark. Still, the mood is improving. Sometimes, we just need to sit, and drink, and think these things through. If you don’t drink, pick a vice or virtue of your own—you sorry sap.

Maybe, as always, it comes down to definitions.

Truth is one thing, and opinion is another entirely. There is far more of the latter, but it masquerades proudly as truth just so long as it can get away with it. Someone once said that opinions are like assholes, but that person was most likely an asshole themselves. Just because everyone has an opinion doesn’t make them any less valuable. The same can be said of assholes, except for the afore-mentioned one.

The thing about opinions is that they need to grow and change. They need to be challenged and examined. When they’re valuable, they need to be shared, and when they are discredited they must be abandoned.

That should be common sense, but just like common sense, it’s a terribly rare thing these days. We confuse opinions with facts, and if we find anyone else who can echo and amplify them, we’re all the more convinced. Many of us become warriors in the service of our tenuous opinions-made-sacrosanct, and with the holy armour of ignorance we go forth to purge the world of naysayers.

The cycle’s as old as humanity itself. It all begins to make sense if you repeat it enough. That probably means the Brandy has done her job. I knew she would. Old friends always come through.

It bears repeating. Opinions—regardless of who shares them or how much encouragement they are given—are not facts.

Equally important, facts are not opinion. They are not up for debate—facts are immutable.

Mind you, we seldom know the facts.

Even science—that often-misunderstood attempt to learn—seldom claims it has the facts. Science works in theories and understandings, which might be adjusted at any time if new—and especially contradictory—evidence emerges.

The pursuit of facts is an endless road. Still, it keeps its eyes on the horizon, and a trusted map as its side. It’s a long journey, and there are many sights to see along the way. There are good ideas out there—valuable ideas that would help the world immeasurably. There are also facts—simple truths that should and must not be lost among the static of discordant opinions.

The Brandy is flowing now, and my fingers are flying. The buzz and glare of the light is all just background noise to my composition. Soliloquies and symphonies. Damn… it’s been a while. But the Brandy is reaching is limits. Or perhaps I am.

At any rate, I’ve said enough.

There is no shame in temperance. A place you’ve probably never heard of once said it best: ‘Know thyself’, and ‘Nothing in Excess’.

It’s good to remember the old truths.

One more drink then… To truth, and the hope that we may not lose our way in its pursuit.

-Brad OH Inc.