The View from Cazelais Street Apartment

by Nic Olson

Just spent an hour and a half writing a something I’d been meaning to write for a while but it came off more opinionated than I wanted it to. I feel that people somehow return to this URL to feel better about themselves and their lives and their decision making skills and their living situations, and to hear opinions on trivial matters like throwing out bread, and showering, and spending money and about how I sleep on the floor and get eye diseases from things laying eggs in my eyes. But when it comes to real life matters they read real life texts, like the Leader Post or Robert Munsch. While I mull it all over angrily in my mind, sweeping dirt off my floor/bed with my hand and eating carrots for lunch.

So here is my dose of real life for you:

Tolerance. The ashram believes that the principal faiths of the world constitute a revelation of Truth, but as they have all been outlined by imperfect man they  have been affected by imperfections and alloyed with untruth. One must therefore entertain the same respect for the religious faiths of others as one accords to one’s own. Where such tolerance becomes a law of life, conflict between different faiths becomes impossible, and so does all effort to convert other people to one’s own faith. One can only pray that the defects in the various faiths may be overcome, and that they may advance, side by side, towards perfection.    -M.K. Gandhi

Tolerance is more than religious. It is human responsibility. Love is hard to do. I find it hard to love people because I find most of them unlovable, self-involved, brain dead beings, like myself. But tolerance is, should be, easy. And when tolerance becomes a law of life, conflict becomes impossible. Whoa. Easier than love and maybe more effective.

I dreamt that I was in a Rider related riot during the Western Finals, throwing cans of beer at the professional sports’ worst referees, when an old grey haired man threw me to the ground and told me that I was destined for the Brotherhood. I haven’t read 1984 in several months, but if Winston Smith has taught me anything, it is that torture and brainwash starts with the Brotherhood contacting you in your dreams. Soooo, it should be a good winter.

And finally, a photo of my room, complete with my handiwork of stolen dumpster insulation in between the constantly rattling windows. The caveman discovers fire.

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