My life is usually news-free. I don’t live in an insulated cocoon, I just choose to ignore the prefabricated news that are fed to us via the intravenous line of our media. I’m a much happier (and hopefully a little more balanced) person that way. But once in a while a bit of info catches my attention and makes me react, as is the case today. Introducing our society’s latest absurdity contest: the effort to ban smoking from…. Movies!

Yes you read this right. We’re not talking about banning the physical presence of tobacco in public areas, which is an effort I support entirely, nor are we discussing ways to reduce the frightening power acquired over the years by the tobacco companies.

We are talking about banning the act of smoking in Hollywood movies, because « it might influence youth to smoke... » Hello, people, wake up! Everything that is done in movies will eventually influence someone. Our society partially regenerates itself by creating fashions and trends through movies. Then the education system comes in and weakly attempts to channel that impact by setting up values, arguable do’s and don’ts. Rather than censor movies blindly, let’s educate efficiently in real life!

The bottom line is this: movies are made to represent reality, not to be politically correct. They depict vice as much as greatness. They are about stories and characters brought to life by their own intensity. Some of those will be bad, others will be good. Some will smoke.

Now, did we ever consider banning war from movies? Wars are what’s tearing our world apart, not cigarettes. Did we ever decide to ban drugs, corruption and violence from the screen? We can’t, because it would be censorship of an art that has gained some of its most prestigious awards by rendering vice and contrasting it with beauty. Have we banned alcohol from the giant screen? Yet how many people does drinking and driving kill? How about ladders? They are dangerous, you can fall from them. Should we ban them too? Or dangerous toys? Plastic bags? And what about love? Ask Romeo if love doesn’t kill. Should we go ahead and ban love all together?

Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m not insensitive to the issue of smoking; my old man died of lung cancer, among other things. But he was in a war, too, and that scarred him worse than cigarettes ever could, despite the fact that they eventually took him.

So to whoever is behind all the trendy fuss, I’ll say this: setup a rating system that includes smoking, and I’ll cheer for you. But for God’s sake, get your priorities straight; movies are just movies. Deciding to try and ban smoking from them altogether is an absurd waste of time and a mis-allocation of resources ! You’re addressing the issue like modern medicine deals with illness: trying to cure the symptoms rather than the cause - but then again, isn’t that what mankind is best at? We stick our head in the sand and assume we have become invisible.

Movies are about telling stories. Stories involve all kinds of characters. Characters at time have nasty habits. Smoking is a nasty habit. Stop the sale of cigarettes, not the movies showing them.

« All right, students, pay attention here. We can now show how the horse’s existence is governed by the Mounier - Quantum - Branching - SavetheTree - Noclimbing - FateisFaith - CounterParadox - FatFree Law. I’ll now distribute little pieces of the horse for you to place under your microscope; please don’t chew on them, we have limited supplies. Just kidding, class, stop screaming.

Now let me ask you a question: What did the valiant knight want above all?
A - To return to his Queen of Heart(s) with the true nature of the world?
B - To invade the magician’s castle and turn it into an attraction park, complete with haunted donjon and torture room? or
C - To ride his horse to the end of the world and jump off with a bungee cord attached to his saddle?

Anybody? No? The answer is A. So we can assume that the horse’s main fate branch followed the same path. He carried his valiant knight back to the Queen, in who’s stables he met a beautiful female Arabian horse and retired from the knight carrying business to create a family.

However, in accordance to the branching universe theory mentioned above, we can also speculate that the horse, at the crucial moment, also ran away, leaving his knight as unmounted as a hard drive. He’d had enough with all the traveling and went drinking water at the next town’s saloon.

Another version of him decided that while the knight was seeking the true nature of the world, there was time for a little solo quest, and he went to find America, to see The Horse With No Name sang live in front of a small equestrian audience.

Yet another choice made by the horse was to walk up to the tower where the two men were talking and steal the jar for ransom. He was later arrested at the border for concealing an apricot jam jar under his saddle. He’d stolen the wrong jar.

And there was one which chose to go and sit with the magician too, from whom he learned so much he decided to start teaching himself to other horses.

All these choices were made spontaneously and created as many different universes, branching away from the mainstream of our story. But they can still interact with each other if they are close enough, and even re-merge into another. For instance, the horse that chose to steal the jar and went to prison then met the knight there, the latter having been caught exhausted at the frontier, trying to bribe a guard with an empty jar. One horse decided to ignore the knight, but another helped him plan an escape through hidden mouse tunnels and together they rode back to the Queen, actually merging back into the initial mainstream.

As you can see, there are an infinity of different parallel universes, each inhabited by the horse having made slightly different choices.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a race to run. Class dismissed. I’ll see you all tomorrow for a field lesson on galloping around obstacles on fire. Don’t forget your saddles, and bring your favorite rider. Make sure they are well fed and request that they brush you before and after the class. Help one another. Us horses must stick together. »

The Seawall was quiet despite the striking animation present at the bottom of Denman and Davie, less than a kilometer to the east. I had initially setup the tripod down on the shore exposed by a relatively low tide, focusing attention and camera on a pile of balanced stones. Sunset was turning into a symphony of bright colors, once again, and I was grateful I came. People were walking by slowly behind me, staring in awe. I wondered where everybody else’s thoughts could have drifted when confronted with such an extraordinary palette of oranges. I knew where mine went. A sunset should be shared, as all beautiful things in life. But it can also be an opportunity to relax, and try to match the inside to the outside. The painter in the sky was getting frantic, dashing with a giant wet brush from left to right, a slightly downward stroke, finishing above the mountains where the brush got daubed onto the sky like a sponge. Abe was clicking away, three exposures at a time. I took breaks, waiting for the light to change or recomposing my shot. Time was flowing by ever so softly. If only…

Many ages ago, in a land faraway and yet strangely familiar to all, at the top of a hill surrounded by a thick and dark forest, used to be a castle. It had stood there from immemorial times and was already very old when a young knight rode his way to it, back when sorcery and magic ruled the world of men.

The castle had long before been abandoned by armies and kings whose kingdoms had drifted with the tides of war. The forest had closed in on its walls and now shielded it with a shroud of shadows and murmurs.

The knight had been seeking an old magician who, it was said, held a sample of the secret nature of the world locked inside a jar. He was a valiant knight but more than battles, he desired this token to bring back to his Queen in the East, as proof of his eternal love and in order to make it last even beyond the end of all things. He had embarked on this quest for her and would never give up until he found what he was looking for.

He left his horse at the tree line and crossed the clearing on foot to show he came in peace, an un-mounted knight willingly giving up on his best asset. Before he could even knock on the enormous wooden door that guarded the castle’s entrance, it slowly spun open, silent and unmanned. There was not a soul in sight. Following his instinct rather than his heart, the knight climbed up the stairs to the tallest of the three towers and arrived at another door. It was half open and warm light shone through, leaking from a room filled with strange bottles and powders and books.

A voice came from within the room. « Let me see your face, young knight, since you have finally found me. » The knight stepped forward and found the old magician sitting behind a huge table, slowly mixing potions while he looked at the newcomer with surprisingly sparkling eyes.

« I come seeking the true nature of the world, oh magician, declared the knight. I hear you possess a sample of it. »

« So be it, the magician replied, but you must take great care of the knowledge you’ll acquire here, for it is easy to lose or forget, and I shall only show you once. »

The knight knelt down. « I’m ready to see, » he said.

A long burst of laughter echoed throughout the castle’s walls. « Ready, you most certainly are not, mused the magician. Not yet. I must first tell you about such trivial details as our branching universe. »

He lit a fire in the chimney and threw a few pinches of a strange orange dust in it. « This will keep us awake, he explained, there is much to talk about. »

And so they talked. They talked for entire days and nights, relentlessly, the knight only leaving the castle to go tend to his horse. The magician’s story was filled with terrible wonders and he spoke of raging wars, flying dragons and earth-threatening catastrophes. But he also spoke of everlasting beauty, of peace and undying love. Then he slowly approached the final subject.

« Branching universes, the magician eventually explained, are the way our life unfolds. » He was silent for a while. « I actually know a guy in another universe who wrote a great post on this, Fate as a tree… »

« Ugh? » said the knight.

« Never mind, the magician replied, consider this: every moment is unique, hailing from a series of actions and coincidences. At every one of those moments, you can choose an infinite number of paths. Some are logical and easy, others are hard and complex. They might call you to them, if they are in your branch of fate. They might also repel you strongly. But in the end, it’s your choice. Know, however, that for each choice and path you pick, a million copies of you have chosen a different path and gone their own way, creating as many parallel universes, from which you can sometimes still hear them speak to you. The past lead you to here and now. What will you do with it? It gets decided in a succession of moments, each more important than the previous. And that’s why knowing the true nature of the world is so important. »

He paused, then added: « I think I shall now show you what you came for. »

Walking over to a shelf, he picked up an old and dusty glass jar, similar to countless others and hermetically sealed with a cork lid. There were no markings on the glass and the jar appeared empty.

« Is that it? » asked the knight in a skeptical tone. « Yes. » The magician answered simply. Then he questioned, his voice tense and sharp: « Are you ready now? »

« Yes! » shouted the knight in anticipation.

With a quick twist, the magician uncapped the glass jar, which popped open. Nothing happened. The knight stared, waiting.

« So, the magician asked, did you see it? »

« No, cried the knight, I didn’t see anything. I must have blinked. »

« Exactly! » answered the magician, satisfied. « Such is the true nature of the world. It’s fleeting. The blink of an eye can make you miss the most extraordinary moment. While life is in the jar, it can be anticipated. Once the jar is opened, the moment is already gone. You must strive to live in the present and make every instant count because it will never be back. Each second of your life should be extraordinary for what it is, and not only through the memories of what has gone past or the hopes of what is yet to come. Your world branches into a multitude of different paths every moment of your life. See where it takes you. Watch yourself following the wind. Make sure each of your breaths is filled with the essence of the moment’s uniqueness and passion. »

The magician rested for a while. The knight was silent, lost in his thoughts.

Then the old man spoke again: « Now take this knowledge back to your Queen and together you can write the extraordinary story of your lives, choosing moment after moment, without even a need for more wars or battles. And remember, life is here and now. There are only so many tomorrows. »

In a last minute miracle, category 5 hurricane Dean slammed into a sparsely populated area of the Yucatan, as the most intense Atlantic storm to make landfall in the last two decades! I think even Stace down in Belize is ok, or at least I hope so. Stace, are you there? Little Cayman suffered minor damage, some docks have been washed away by the storm surge. Bis repetita. Grand Cayman seems to have suffered more on the East End, probably from the seas too, the counterclockwise spinning storm having passed south of the island...

The overall of the site is almost complete. Most galleries have been upgraded with Lightbox 2 for a more uniform look; I’m still working on the entry page. I’ve just been playing with a few HDR photos but nothing came out of them and I just couldn’t resolve myself to post them. I’m too distracted. A new day is dawning to the East. Fall seems upon us. At last. Great things are in the making, the kind legends are made of. Dragons and skeletons are flying around me on a daily basis, but so are fairies and magicians. Abe is bored. The Vancouver colors have dimmed temporarily, it seems, but the orange hues of fall are still too far into the future...

As so often noticed, time recoils on itself, seemingly slowing down to a halt before snapping forward like a snake in action. It’s the calm before the storm, except the storm will be welcomed. It’s a time for pacing back and forth. But the ride matters as much as the destination. Every minute should be enjoyed. I’m so distracted...

As every year, from June to the end of November - an eternity - the hurricane season unleashed its anger on the Caribbean. Hurricane Dean is approaching Jamaica and the close encounter will be very scary. Beyond, lay the Cayman Islands where I have many dear friends. At this time, Dean is moving NE at 16 kts with max. sustained wind speeds of 125 kts (231 km/h) and gusts of 155 kts (287 km/h), which makes it a strong category 4 hurricane.

My heart and hope go to all standing in the storm’s path.

Visible satellite image - Active track

Update: I’ve just learned that Sabine, adorable Mathieu and Ann are safely tucked in New Orleans. Thank you Danny. Marc is waiting it out in Fort Lauderdale. Good. PJ, where are your bones?

Midnight, ultimate frontier between now and then, between what was and what could be, is standing in precarious balance at the top of the dial, an instant frozen in the eternity of time, as giant bells are tolling in the distance, counting seconds which could last most of that eternity, and the bells sound like my heart, and their rhythms join, while the bridge is burning behind me, orange glow casting my shadow across unknown lands, a new road lays ahead, mysterious and uncharted, the warm wind of change blows from the fire and picks me up, I feel weightless and light-headed, an ocean forms - or has it always been there, at times dead calm and crystal clear, others brutally violent but it’s all the same, my guardian angel watches over, the devil in a black dress walks away, and to the East a giant wave appears, rushing towards me as I pick up speed, its crest foamed up and white, immense, is it my wave, has it been looking for me, traveling across an entire ocean, will I be able to catch it and ride along, as one, or will it crash over me, destroying me and leaving me adrift with all bones crushed, but then I could fly before it’s too late, before midnight has gone, before the dice are thrown and fate revealed, but I don’t want to, magic prevails, there is nowhere I’d rather go, no time I’d rather be here then now, because the wave and the wind and the fire and the bells and time itself are on my side, because a million different twists and hooks have lead me to this point, I have been craving it always, and this could be our time…

For Marie

My latent adrenaline level has been shooting through the roof lately, somewhere around 7.5 on the Richter scale which is already quite a shock for the system as a short peak, but becomes completely exhausting to sustain. Of course it’s adrenaline for a good cause but it still needs to be released. So I go on my runs.

Tonight the 10.6 km Stanley Park loop from home will do nicely as I still have a reserve of daylight to count on. I get dressed quickly, grab my MP3 player and head out to the waterfront. It’s about 8:10 pm and the beach is still crowded with people playing volleyball and hanging out. A strong smell of hot-dogs floats in the air, appealing but to be ignored. I swallowed a mouthful of energy gel before leaving, after realizing I hadn’t eaten all day. That will have to do.

The sun is blazing right above the mountains to the west, a full orange circle about to cast its ultimate salute to the western world. There’s an eternal happy feeling hanging around the seawall on English Bay, like a vacation place where people have no worries and spend their time doing nothing.

I start my music and the chrono and break into a slow run.

The little observer perched on my left shoulder, caught by surprise, grabs my neck and holds on for his life. « Look at those people, he says, everybody is running and rollerblading and walking… They’re so healthy it’s sickening. » I don’t answer, trying to avoid passers-by and skipping back to the song I want. « Too fast, he says, you’re starting too fast. You know you’re going for an hour run, this is called endurance, you’ve got to start slow and pace yourself. No stopping for breaks today. »

Downtown is soon left behind and the park appears. To my left, small pleasure crafts are drawing long wake lines on the smooth ocean surface and further in the background, the giant freighters are asleep at their mooring, awaiting their turn patiently. The sun dips under the horizon and the air gets instantly cooler.

« Good, says the voice on my shoulder, it’ll be more comfortable now. You can pick up the pace and switch songs. » « Not yet, I answer, not until passed Lost Lagoon. Take it easy. I’m the one doing all the running, here, all you have to do is hang on and give smart advice now and then. » He snorts.

The racoon, a regular of the area, crosses the path ahead of me just before the pond. He stops in the grass as I run by and looks at me thoughtfully. « Hello human, you wouldn’t happen to have a few extra marshmallows with you, would you? » He must know Richard Bach. « Sorry, I reply, running past him, but check with the guy behind me. » It’s a trick. The guy was feeding ducks some bread but it’ll keep him busy.

I cross the main road and reach the seawall again with Coal harbour at my right. The sky is shaded in an amazing palette of purples and pinks, like I’ve only seen in Vancouver, reflecting in the perfectly still water of the marina.

« Watch where you run, says my observer, and switch up. » I press the track forward button.

« With the fire from the fireworks up above me
With a gun for a lover and a shot for the pain at hand
You run for cover in the temple of love
You run for another but still the same
For the wind will blow my name across this land »

I pass the aquarium’s parking lot, leave Deadman’s Island behind and eventually cut across Brockton Point at the Totem Poles.

« Are we there yet? » asks the shoulder. « Not even close, I say, quiet. » He obeys for a while and then warns: « Woah, did you feel that? » « What? » I say, not really caring much. « THAT. The twinge in your left calf. Cramp warning, cramp warning, battle stations! Women and children first! » He’s always a little over-dramatic. « Change your style, he continues, limp right, a little more bouncing off the ground, ooonnne, two, oooonne, two… There. »

« And the devil in black dress watches over
My guardian angel walks away
Life is short and love is always over in the morning
Black wind come carry me far away »

I instinctively pick up the pace a touch, following the song’s rhythm. « The cramp’ll come back, warns the observer, keep steady. » I wish for a moment he’d follow the song’s advice and walk away...

The Lions’ Gate Bridge appears up ahead, its necklace already lit and the traffic visible from here. But peace is falling unto Earth like soft snow on a forest. We pass by the poor Lady in the Wetsuit, covered in her usual layer of guano.

« She waved! » suddenly yells my little observer, pinching my ear as he turns to look back. « Who, I ask, the lady in the wetsuit? » « HER, he says, pointing nowhere, SHE waved. » He thinks he’s funny. « How can you tell? » « I looked east, » he replies. « Oh! » I wave back and smile.

It’s getting dark. Gone are the long summer days. The climb in the trees is going to be a little tricky.

« You should slow down now, he says, a good minute before the beginning of the hill. Adjust to your climbing speed while you’re not forced to do so. » « You’re already heavy, I grin, could you possibly get off me and run up too? » He’ll never go for it, it’s against his principles. « How about I just change shoulders, he offers, that way I could be right all the time. » « Nah, I like to know you’re where I left you, » I answer, playing along.

We hit the hill. It gets very steep and very dark, very fast. I’m still on Temple of Love and have to take tiny small steps. I drop down to two in-two out.

« Watch your steps, he says, if you break an ankle now, you’ll never be able to go to… » He doesn’t finish his sentence, lost in some faraway reverie. I don’t care. I’m suffering. He starts encouraging me loudly, pushing me to keep going, kicking me with his heels and waving his arms widely around like some cowboy on a rodeo. I throw my left shoulder up abruptly to remind him that his situation is still precarious. It works. He quiets down.

We get to the top of the hill. Petra said not to go beyond my max heart rate, but how could I know if I’m there without a heart monitor? « There’s always the GPS-heart monitor combo, the voice whispers, only costs 3 or 4 hundred bucks… » « Yeah, I let out gasping for air, that’s the price of a flight to New York. » He doesn’t come up with an answer.

I emerge from the forest and run alongside the road for a while, until I can cut across and down back to the seawall. The sky is orange, the sea a pale yellow and a brand new moon rises not far from where the sun set a while ago, reminding me of an upcoming eclipse… The air smells of pine trees, a powerful fragrance caused by the cutting of all the trees that were downed by the infamous wind storm. My thoughts drift east and I loose the beat.

« With the sunlight died and night above me
With a gun for a lover and a shot for the pain inside
You run for cover in the temple of love
You run for another its all the same
For the wind will blow and throw your walls aside »

« You have very poor musical choices, says my observer, what a dark song for running! » « You don’t know anything about anything, I reply, I’ve been running to the Sisters of Mercy for years. Besides, the beat is just perfect for my mid-run. I’ll switch up after the pool. »

A bug flies right into my mouth and I spit it out over my left shoulder. « Thanks! » says a voice. « You’re welcome, » I say before realizing that the voice wasn’t my observer but a cyclist passing me over. I am, after all, running on the biking path side of the seawall which is more even in the dark. « Oops, sorry! » I yell to her back. « Nice, cracks up the voice on my shoulder, smoooooth. »

It’s quite dark now. I’m approaching the pool. I skip songs forward as Eldritch sings:

« In the black sky thunder sweeping
Underground and over water
Sounds of crying weeping will not save
Your faith for bricks and dreams for mortar
All your prayers must seem as nothing
Ninety-six below the wave
When stone is dust and only air remains »

Then Bob Marley comes on. Bad Boys. How proper. « That’s for you, I say to my observer, better behave. »

The crowd is getting thicker as we get closer to downtown, avoiding people is becoming a full time job. « Go, go, pushes my observer, stretch your stride, use your hips, hit the ground a little harder. » « Shut up and let me run, I warn, I know what to do. » They always want to have the last word. « Pass that one on the left, he commands, now right, watch out for the dog. » The dog is a thing the size of a kitty, running at the end of a long leash and which decides to cross the path in front of me. I jump up, miss the dog but hit the leash, yanking it right out of the dude’s hand. « Sorry! » I yell again. I’m not.

Last stretch. Les Rita Mitsouko, C’est Comme Ca. Heart pumping hard, observer holding on, strangling me a little, side cramp getting stronger. Then I’m there. I glance at my watch. An hour sharp. No improvement today. It’s the climb that slows me down.

« Good job, says my little observer, I’m proud of us. » « You talk a lot, » I say. « Yeah, he replies with pride, I know. »

Last night was the peak of the Perseid meteor shower. Legacy of the Swift-Tuttle comet, the Perseids are supposed appear in the Perseus constellation, hence their name, and a very optimistic NASA official had estimated the rate at « one or two Perseids per minute at the shower’s peak. »

So I headed to Brockton Point in Stanley Park, in a futile attempt to get away from the city’s light pollution. I arrived around midnight, left after 2:00 am; I had seen less than 10 shooting stars, let alone photographed a good one.

But I took my time biking back and stopped along the way to take a few shots of the city at night. Then I stayed up until 4:00, hopeful, the camera setup on my balcony, snapping pictures of the northeastern sky.

Result: two ghostly meteors recorded. You will recognize them with a bit of faith. Did anybody do better?

The Yaletown coffee shop is crowded on this Sunday afternoon. People are laughing happily. The coffee grinder is buzzing, the steamer hissing and the blender spinning loudly. Music comes and goes along with the rhythm of conversations.

Sitting next to me, my friend Gaby is silently typing on her Mac, a look of intense concentration on her face. She’s writing travel reports for an German online magazine, but I suspect her mind is elsewhere, trying to figure out a career, a long distance relationship, a next move. I glance at her screen and pick up a few contrasting places: Canada Place, India. She’s traveled a lot and her mind has shifted as it is always the case when one opens up the Pandora box of our world. Never completely home again, forever on the move.

My mind is far away too. Staring blankly at the javascript on my laptop screen, I’m drifting slowly eastwards, until land is behind me and the ocean in front, until the sun rises over nothing but water and until I can see and touch the unexpected. It’s a pleasant drift, smooth and warm and calm. For a moment, the line between reality and fiction blurs, then it becomes a door, and then a simple game of fate. Everything is possible, I remind myself, as long as we believe it could be. The question mark is really what makes life bearable; asking what if keeps us alive and on our toes. It makes our imagination work overtime and at times transforms dreams and theories into possibilities, and possibilities into probabilities.

I look up and wonder if anybody around me is consciously crafting their life, if anybody is even interested in doing so, if they would - or do - find it exciting. I’m enjoying this moment. It feels like many different roads are stretching before me to the horizon, some crazy and tortured, others straight and wide; some beautiful and complicated, others boringly simple and safe. I don’t really want to know which one I’ll chose tomorrow, or the next day. I just want for them to be there a little longer, tempting, teasing, calling me.

I feel like a kid thinking about the ice cream shop on the way back home. Not knowing for sure if mom will buy him one, but thinking about it so hard he can almost taste it and it acquires a life of its own. Forrest Gump was wrong; life is more like ice cream flavoured with surprise bits. It’s sweet, it’s cold and it melts away fast if you don’t pay attention. Oh, and kids enjoy it so much more than adults because they are unaware of the chocolate dripping all around their mouth.

I’ll have an orange sherbet please.