Sudbury

This song

/ andyveilleux / 1 Comment

Of all the things you pushed on me,
I understood it the least.
I did not have the capability to learn it
Nor you to teach it,
And nothing more must be said of us.
A amethyst on our once-collective mantle
where the fireplace has long ceased to be alive
An oold apartment,
Musty
Sleazy
In the heart of the old world in Sudbury
Is now abandoned of the emotion that once exploded it to so many lives and demises that any sort of count is impossible.

Hollow ppl may reside there with our skeletons
They are puppets in comparison.

Pant hangs onto the walls,
Although for dear life,
From the wars we waged,
With each other, the outside world,
And inside.

There’s a love laid to rest in that casket that has halved my being,
And crippled you.

A puppet walks on,
Clunky and awkward as puppets do,
And the old ghosts stalking are left feeling pity in place of anger.

the sex

/ andyveilleux / 1 Comment

The reported sex was never as good

or even as bad

as it was in the real world.

The sex could be broken,

never happen,

or earth-shattering,

but none of that conveys itself

easily into words poems videos pictures images graphics sentences paragraphs papers essays spoke words or anything really,

there was nothing,

nothing that could justify it.

Often it came across neutral.

An act, a thing, an object.

Sex is more of an emotion,

and it isnt performance-based always,

that's no game sheet,

sometimes bad sex is still good,

and good sex is bad and vacant, void, emotionless, 

EMPTY,

that's the chaos of sex.

Sometimes sex drives all thoughts,

pushes all things,

is all thigs to everybody,

wants to be begged for and wants someone on their knees

gasping for SOMETHING to break the monotony;

life.

A discussion under angels

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A meeting of angels

turns quickly to sinful pleasures

when angels are sinful.

And they are.

We are all of the image of an angel,

with the minds and ambition of sinners.

Remarkable potential for beauty and morals,

all shot through with revolvers forged of our hatred,

and spat on with acid that burns the soul and leave skin untouched.

The concept of good

is one of potential,

and never one of reality.

Intentions can not stand up

and be counted as actions are

and must bide them time in the cellars

of every lost thought and forgotten word,

the place of misfits, drowning sorrow and death,

Nowhere.

An ideal is not lost,

hope always exists,

even in the sewers

and backwaters

of a broken

moral

landscape.

The sin-ridden angels fly the highest

operating above the hypocrites and pathetic moralizers

who beg for somebody to admit what they feel

but could never say.

Their courage died,

or is being tapped out by their sense of moral righteousness,

reminiscent of a church build of gold asking for a donation from beggars.

Bizarre that a group of people with chairs so high,

see so little.

A discussion happens below,

among those labelled

murderers

beggars

thieves

cheats

liars.

The meaning of life is discovered,

the pursuit of enjoyment,

and Millian liberty for all.

Progression

/ andyveilleux / 2 Comments

Sunrise and sunset have lost their meaning.

There is no metaphysical, quasi-poetic, deep explanation.

The sun rising or setting no longer dictates when I sleep or rise,

when I begin my day or end it,

or anything else of significance for me.

I have become unbound,

and there’s no reason for it.

Surely, it has just happened,

as a blocked sink overflows,

a burning log smolders,

as an old man dies,

a baby is born;

progression.

Rising sun batters through St. John’s fog,

and dense cloud cover,

as seagulls hover,

unconcerned.

A harbour city rocks awake,

machinery bangs and clunks,

predestined purpose drives,

the ideas became discussion became policy,

and a once-broken city for poor labourers,

is suddenly erecting condos from hillsides.

Progression.

The complacency of now

/ andyveilleux / 1 Comment

It’s more in wanting to feel it,

than in the everyday loving,

A diasporic feeling in ways,

looking for what was felt then,

as opposed to the complacency of now.

Now strives to be the fullest,

stumbles,

crawls into ditches.

Then has become something to write epics about,

a moment of over-glorification turned legendary,

hype with a foundation of sand and occasionally,

bones.

The euphoria of a lost moment is just

a shallow utopia of my own creation.

Luke I am your

/ andyveilleux / 3 Comments

Father,
I’ve become so much like you.
Up at 4:20 AM
making bologna sandwiches.
Where did all the time go?
Sitting around in my joggers and wool socks,
wondering where all my sleep goes,
when I am not partaking in it.
Just a few months ago we were together,
and now all I get is your voice
but I can still see your smile
on the other end,
when I hear
pride in your voice.
At the end of the day,
that’s one of the only things that matters to me.
I remember being young and saying
I would never be like you,
the thought of it was appalling.
Now It’s a badge of honour.
I love you dad,
and you always did right by me,
even when you were wrong.

Is this happiness?

/ andyveilleux / Leave a comment

 

Another wall,

another dead end.

 

Confronted with it,

all too familiar,

once again.

 

This can't be the limit,

there has to be more.

 

No,

no.

 

No.

 

Not now,

at least,

but maybe not ever.

 

And maybe I'm too late.

 

There's no breaking out of,

a slump like this,

and there's only one end,

despite all the options.

 

There's only one end.

The blues

/ andyveilleux / 2 Comments

 

It was the night that forced me to write. I had to write, or there would be nothing after.

There is a weight, an entity, an anchor, pulling part of my soul down.

Every night without words causes the tumour to sink deeper, and corrupt more.

Is this an escape, a temporary reprieve or just a useless feel-good exercise.

Is something that makes you feel good a useless exercise?

Insignificant musing.

The wind whistles into, and out of, the decrepit apartment windows, begging for a proper entrance, or for total submission.

Brick, steel, and decades of existence don't bow down so easily.

Strange mechanical noises outside, first thought to be ladders on a parked trailer, and have now become whatever nightmare my sleep-deprived, horror-accustomed mind can imagine.

An all-consuming, fluorescent, white glow blocks everything in the room behind the screen.

The room is 81 per cent darkness.

What skeletons can dance in so much darkness?

There are also ghosts, and they whisper memories best left forgotten. I feel them crawling up my legs in the dark, edging up to the white light, but never entering into view.

They wait to scream out, and startle me. I could only be so lucky.

Forever they remain nameless. Forever they smile outside my vision.

Forever they know everything I do not.

 

You didn't notice. Sleep is your natural state. Envy fills me, as dreams are my favourite place. The only place that makes sense to me. The only place where existence is fair.

Fairness is subjective, like justice, but I trust my shadow's judgement enough to lose myself there.

Those are the lucky moments. It is more common to not remember my journeys there, and maybe that is for the best.

Imagine waking up from paradise every day, and coming back here.

Perpetual disappointment.

The radiator clicks.

I couldn't buy sleep tonight, not in a bottle of pills, a bottle of whiskey, or a bottle of self-loathing.

I guess that's why they call it the blues.

 

Written February 21

cowardice and irrelevance in journalism

/ andyveilleux / 2 Comments

Today a speech by Russian journalist Leonid Parfyonov at a Russian media awards ceremony was brought to my attention. He speaks about the state of Russian journalism, and the lack of a free press in Russia. These journalists are risking their lives to perform their public duty, and here in Sudbury, many journalists and editors don't seem to care either way. I quote (at length), from Parfonov:

"I speak with bitterness, having worked for Russian television full-time or freelance for 24 years. I have no right to blame any of my colleagues: not being a hero myself, I cannot demand heroic deeds from others. But the least we can do is call a spade a spade.  Current affairs programmes on television are doubly embarrassing when compared to the obvious successes of big TV shows and our homegrown school of soap opera. Our television is getting increasingly sophisticated at providing thrills, fascination, entertainment and at making us laugh, but it hardly deserves the title of a civic social and political institution. I am convinced that one of the main reasons for a dramatic fall in viewing figures among the most active part of the population is the fact that people from our circles are saying: why should I turn on the box, they’re not doing it for me!

What is even worse is that most people no longer have any need for journalism.  He got beaten up, so what?  All sorts of people get beaten up these days, so why all this fuss just because of a reporter?  Judging by this type of bewildered response millions of people in our country do not understand that a journalist takes professional risks for the sake of his audience. A journalist does not get beaten up because of what he has written, said or filmed. He gets beaten up because it has been read, heard or seen."

I hear about journalists being threatened and beaten, and sometimes even dying, in their attempts to bring people the truth around the world. At the same time, I watch North American journalism, and become sick to my stomach. Much of it is fat, complacent, and irrelevant. Articles about line-ups at Best Buy, a survey saying Sudburians are happy, and a fluff piece about Cambrian cutting programs run as top stories in the local media.(The Cambrian story is important, but the article is such a College-PR perspective that it's impossible to take seriously.)

These types of stories are what our city has come to expect from our print journalists. Could it be a slow news day? Certainly. However, this is not uncommon. I wish it were. I read an article by a sports editor, which contained at least four major grammatical errors a spell-checker would pick up without difficulty. The citizens of this city, and this country, should demand more of their journalists. what happened to being proud of one's work?

Journalism is a public duty, which is now treated as if it were purely entertainment. It's not meant to be all flashing lights and laughs, it is meant to be hard to swallow at times. I'm not saying journalism shouldn't include features pieces, sports, an entertainment section, or anything besides hard news. I am saying that media personnel have a responsibility to their readers to not simply take a squat over newsprint and publish the results. Quality is important, despite the decline in it we've witnessed over the years.

Around the world we watch journalists dying and being beaten to bring the public the truth. At home, we watch some journalists who are too lazy to get out of their desks to find a good story, and are all too happy to eat press releases and spew out articles that even a student journalist should not be proud of. I wonder what it feels like to look in the mirror. At home, we seem too willing to step onto the treadmills provided for us by public relations and communications professionals. We are unwilling to put foot to pavement in order to dig up real stories.

In Mexico, some journalists are getting shot in the head to report the truth. Locally, we have journalists unwilling to ask difficult questions or take the time to balance their articles, even though they are protected by the force of the law. To put it simply, we have become irrelevant cowards, unwilling to stir the pot, most likely due to fear from corporate masters or flat-out laziness. This is unacceptable. We are failing the public, and failing each other.

Who will speak up for those without a voice if we remain impotent?

Sudbury Star’s failure with the 2010 municipal election and what it means

/ andyveilleux / 35 Comments

To say I am disappointed with The Sudbury Star’s unapologetic stance regarding their “City misled public…” article would be an understatement. The article was released on the Saturday before the election, which took place this Monday, and may have affected the results of the election. This is more than a case of poor timing.

The article begins: “One of the first things this council did four years ago was to authorize senior city managers to mislead the public about the circumstances surrounding the dismissal of a former employee, a Sudbury Star investigation reveals.”

By “Sudbury Star investigation,” they mean brown envelope that mysteriously showed up in their office at the beginning of the week, containing information only employees in City Hall knew.

Marianne Matichuk worked  for the city for 17 years. The Star supported Matichuk in an editorial on Friday, even using her buzz-word in their headline (“Change;” her website is realchangenow.ca, and she’s campaigning on the idea of change in council).

The article has NO sources in it that are current, and did not allow any balance whatsoever. I have a serious issue with their “attempts” to contact John Rodriguez, and any other relevant sources for the article:

“Calls to Stephen and Mieto were not returned. E-mails asking for response sent to Mayor John Rodriguez and all city councillors were not returned.

CAO Doug Nadorozny did respond, asking for more time in order to contact Stephen.”

So you can’t pick up the phone and call John Rodriguez, the man whose campaign you just torpedoed? Don’t give me that. No journalist or paper, with integrity, would launch a story like that at a candidate, and then not even make a decent effort to contact them.

Brian MacLeod, The Star’s Managing Editor, was on CBC’s Points North with Jason Turnbull earlier today, and his interview failed to seriously respond to any of these issues. He defended the article’s timing by revealing how the brown envelope showed up in their office at the beginning of the week.

I don’t know why it would take an entire week to write a story, which did not use any sources, or how in one week’s time a city council reporter as seasoned as Mike Whitehouse could not contact John Rodriguez. Whitehouse is a better reporter than that.

MacLeod also defended the paper’s editorial, stating that they always backed a candidate. I understand their practice of backing a candidate in an election, although I personally don’t believe journalists should publicly back any candidate. I will agree to disagree with that issue.

I am not willing to let their other irresponsible behaviour in this election go, however. When you support a candidate on Friday, and then torpedo her main competition on Saturday, without letting the competition respond, that is inexcusable.

Rodriguez responded to the article, after he was defeated in the election, claiming it was something one would typically see in the southern United States. He is right. It was gutless, and to shrug off his comments as the emotional response of a defeated politician is irresponsible, and childish, but that was the Star’s response anyways.

I was pleased to see Turnbull ask some hard questions about the issue, but it’s not enough to have one interview about it and then let it disappear. As journalists, we must police ourselves when it comes to ethics and responsibility. Most importantly, we must watch for bias.

I agree with Hunter S. Thomson that objectivity is impossible, but that does not mean we can absolve ourselves from the pursuit of it. We must be vigilant to watch our biases do not interfere with our coverage of the news, and be sure not to negatively affect matters we should merely observe and report on.

The Sudbury Star has failed the public, and tried to absolve themselves of responsibility for doing so. It will likely be shrugged off by the masses, but I hope people will take notice of how important a failing like this is to democracy. Their poor judgement may have affected the results of a democratic election, and that is a more powerful failure than any ordinary slander.

Maybe shoddy reporting like this has something to do with the public’s distrust of journalists? (the three links included here are from the UK, USA, and Canada, respectively).