Neuf.

What’s more irritating than the human species, you ask? Simple! It’s one that needs to know everything. By this I don’t mean the respectable pursuit of knowledge found in universities, but on a more common level. It’s the need of the human species to know everything their fellow human is doing within their day-to-day lives.

The other day I was on the train, a routine I do almost daily, when I decided to play a game of break breaker on my phone. Not the most thrilling game, but one nonetheless helps in passing time. During this time a young man sits next to me. Choosing not to pay attention to him, I continue to play my game when I notice him looking over my shoulder. Let me correct myself here: he was staring at what I was doing on my phone.

I don’t like to be watched by others. The government already watches me without my authorization I’m sure, so I think that’s already enough. So, feeling his presence I decided to exit my game. I can still feel him watching my activity on my phone. I get the brilliant idea of opening my memo pad, where I can write notes to myself, and figure to teach this young watchful man to mind his own business.

In my memo pad, in which at this time he now also staring at, I decide to indirectly communicate with this man. “Hi, do you have a fucking problem, sir?” I write. I follow this sentence by looking at him stone-faced.

This man is either not dedicated to his field of being nosey, or he had had enough of my antics because right after this episode he abruptly got up and moved to another seat. His face was in complete shock and I love it! Even now I replay the event in my head and summon the very same joyful reaction as I had the first time.

I’m quite sure he’ll next time elect to stare at the ground.

Huit.

Books are an excellent substitute for parents. They provide not only experience unmatched by most, but the way they communicate their experiences is oftentimes poetic, artful and truly and inspiration.

Though I remember little of my childhood, in my teens I was raised by the likes of Dostoyevsky, Ralph Ellison and Tolstoy. These men taught me everything about all aspects of life through stories, poetry and social commentary. I’m forever grateful to these men.

But my teachings have not solely been limited to men. For women have played a major role in my development philosophically and poetically. With the likes of Beauvoir, Rand and Angelou, I’ve come to see life through a different perspective; these women have replaced my own mother, welcoming me with open arms intellectually. I am grateful to them as well for the impressions they’ve made upon me.

I shall not forget their lessons. I can only wish to pay you homage one day through the ways you have reached me: through poetry and literature.

Sept.

Love is a sickness in which I currently suffer from; it’s symptoms include feeling ‘on top of the world’ and overwhelming joy. It also erases one’s creativity, I have found, as I have not written anything of substance in about a year.

I confess: when I said that love is a sickness, I lied. Love is a beautiful thing; love for humankind, brother or sister, oneself or life, are all beautiful things. Unfortunately, the love of all things beautiful distracts one from seeing all things ugly – a thing I once captured quite vividly in my writing. With this new found ‘love for all things beautiful’ I have been unable capture the ugly side of life as I was once able to. And yes, you may be asking yourself if I am offering a reason against love – the lack of ability to capture the ugly side of life. And to this I give you an enthusiastic yes! It’s true.

“Then how do you cure yourself of this ‘love for all things beautiful?’” you ask me.

“Through heartbreak,” I reply. “Heartbreak is the cure for love.”

Then you will commence to call me insane and bitter as I’m seemingly willing to give up such a great feeling, that of being in love, for a life of heartbreak and feeling of loneliness. You will then question my mental stability and accuse me of all things vile in the world. After doing so, unconvincing me of my vileness or mental stability, you will ask me why I would choose a life of heartbreak over one of love.

“All in the name of creativity,” I smirk. “In the name of creativity!”

Six.

Understanding the human mind is no easy task. One can invent theories to explain this or that action or run experiments upon large groups of people to support this or that theory. But in the end, the human mind as a whole stands as an enigma. Yet these psychologist maintain there is a blueprint to human behavior. We do this and that because of this and this because of that. If only human behavior were so predictable!

I just felt a surge of anger when I wrote that last paragraph. I ask: do you know why, psychologist?

‘Perhaps,’ you reply, biting your pencil, deep in thought. ‘Perhaps you are bothered by something you said. Or, you suffer from…’ Which then you then begin to say the name of a mental disorder you believe me to have and it’s history and possible treatments. And before I know it, I’m leaving your office with prescriptions and invitations to group sessions sharing the same disorder you made up for me minutes ago. Oh psychologist, is there anything you cannot predict?

‘No,’ you reply firmly.

cinq.

For the non-confrontational misanthrope, the smallest act of rebellion is giving someone the wrong directions purposefully. Nothing makes one with a hatred of humanity feel better than knowing that if his fellow human unable to reach their destination, it is because of the wrong directions they gave.

I am guilty of such pleasure. I cannot enumerate the amount of times I have purposefully given a person the wrong directions simply for my own psychological amusement. Though I may not know for certain if they will take my directions exactly as described, the idea that there is a possibility they will get lost as a result of doing so makes me smile in joy.

One specific incident comes to mind. I had been waiting for the bus to take me back home after a couple of hours of running errands when a gentleman in his mid thirties approaches me with a confused look on his face. I immediately identified him as being a non-tourist who happened to possibly be from outside the GTA. Looking around, perplexed by his surroundings, he approaches me with apprehension.

“I was told I needed to take a bus going away from the Yonge-Sheppart station. Does this bus go to Young-Sheppard station?” he asks.

“Nope, no it doesn't sir.” I reply confidently. Little did he know he would rue the day he asked me for directions.

“Thanks.”

“Oh, no problem. None at all!” I’m smiling inside my head right about now.

Eventually the bus arrives going to Yonge-Sheppard station and we both get on. The gentleman makes an effort to sit close to me I would assume in case he needed any more guidance. I treat this act with a grain of salt. I calmly sit in front of him and smile politely.

The gentleman looks around uneasily as if their body can feel it’s traveling the wrong way as their brain refuses to listen. After all, I did tell him that he was on the right bus. Why would I lie for? He begins to look at me in confusion as I greet his confused eyes with a smile.

I make sure to get off before he realizes I’ve led him astray. By the time he has noticed, I’m already halfway home and have received my psychological pleasure. I play in my mind continuously the possibility this individual is lost in the GTA and has simultaneously used their last token, ticket or two seventy-five.

Yes, these little things provide me with much psychological pleasure. I feel no guilt about the incident whatsoever; okay, I just lied - I do have some guilt: I should of made my directions more complex.

quatre.

After rushing headlong into the bus minutes ago, an available seat finally revealed itself to me. Letting out a sigh of relief, I sat my weary body down and closed my eyes as I laid my head back in rest. It was when she made herself known.

‘Sorry,’ she replied after lightly bumping me on the knee, waking me up from my light slumber. Obviously this was a tactic to get my attention. It worked. Lifting my head up and opening my eyes I saw in front of me an elderly woman smiling. ‘These old legs seem to have a mind of their own!’ she smiled cordially. Her bumping me was no accident.

After replaying the short event that took place in my head for a couple seconds, it was painfully clear she was signaling me to give up my seat to her so she didn’t have to stand. It seemed that she was using social etiquette against me in hopes of scoring a seat. Though she knew I had every right to my seat and by law didn’t have to give it to her, an unwritten rule said I had to since she was elderly.

But gentleman, I tell you, today was not a day I wanted to be chivalrous! Especially to a manipulative woman! I had worked an entire day sans break and was not about to give my seat to a woman who relied on social etiquette to get what she wanted. If she wanted a seat, I decided, she’d have to ask me for it. Ignoring her, by pretending to be too tired to understand her, I returned to my former position of rest.

‘My legs aren’t what they used to be,’ she commented to a lady standing beside her. ‘Not since the arthritis began, you know.’

Still pretending to be asleep, I continued to ignore her. Five minutes passed before she continued her indirect plea to me.

‘My poor legs… I’m not sure how long I can do this.’ She continued not speaking to anyone specifically, but hoping someone specific would hear. I could feel the eyes of everyone on the bus set their disapproving gaze upon me.

‘Would you like a seat, ma’am?’ I asked, getting up finally. I had grown tired of her lofty presence over me.

‘That would be great,’ she rejoined. ‘My legs aren’t what they used to be, you know,’ She said for the fiftieth fucking time. ‘You’re such a gentleman,’ she smiled, taking my seat. I smiled back scornfully.

‘It’s nothing. It’s my stop now anyways.’

Getting off the bus, the disapproving gaze of the other passengers followed me as I walked in the opposite direction as if studying my face for the next time they saw me.

‘Asshole!’ the old lady yelled out the window as the bus drove off.

trois.

Recently, I had decided to rejoin society after viewing it for many years through a peephole. From my hole I would write my criticisms and views of a society I refused to take part in because of my hatred for humanity. With my announcement, I expected my entrance to be much like the following.

Gathering around my hole, numerous people from my so-called life await my appearance. Co-workers, close friends and a handful of people I respect. They’d be waiting around my hole with bated breath while I ready myself for my reintroduction to society.

‘Sound the trumpets! He’s rejoining us!’ one would cry to onlookers who would all be gathered around my hole.

‘Be quiet,’ another would cut in, ‘you’ll scare him back underground!’

‘I think I see his head… and a hand?’ another would comment as I slowly emerge.

Upon fully emerging, confetti would flood the sky with my name being chanted over and over. I would wince at the bright light that greet my eyes as all of my years underground have left me surrounded in a troubled darkness.

‘Thank you for rejoining us, Anthony! We’ve missed you terribly!’

‘I want to have him first!’ a woman would cry, shoving herself ahead of the thousands of women fighting for a chance to save my troubled soul.

I would pretend to be impartial to my reintroduction but deep inside would be full of joy since I hoped mending my relationship with society would prove to be fruitful this time around. After shaking a couple of hands and kissing babies, which I do with much hesitation, the on looking crowd would chant my name as I attempt to silence them to make a speech.

In my speech, I’d talk about all I’ve been through. I’d talk about the ugly place I was in 4 years ago and all I’ve been through to get to this point. I’d talk about alcohol abuse, prescription drug use and my thoughts of on a world I vowed never to rejoin again. With each positive word leaving my mouth, a quick ‘horrah!’ would leave the mouths of my audience. Upon finishing my speech, I’d crowd surf my way to the exit and begin my new life in society. In this new era I would find happiness in every aspect of my life and have absolutely no regrets

I then wake up from this obvious dream to see that this is not to be so. It has only been a couple months since my reintroduction and already I’m missing my hole.