I look into your eyes and I know you won't kill me.

The bells are ringing and I'm standing halfway up an enormous set of steps leading up to an imposing cathedral.

I appear to be dressed for a wedding, complete with lipstick and high heels. I never would have chosen these shoes for myself -- I'm going to break my neck prancing around on these steps. It occurs to me that I don't know who the wedding is for, and maybe I can get out of this. Not that I hate weddings or anything, but I do hate these fucking shoes.

I take them off and scurry down the steps. I should point out that I'm the only one around... I see no one on the street, no one rushing to the doors of the cathedral. It's a bit cold and lonely out here. Nevertheless, I continue down the vast staircase. As I reach the bottom and step onto the sidewalk, everything turns black.  There is nowhere for me to go but back up the steps. Huh, so this is what happens when you try to escape one of these trips. Good to know.

Resigning myself to my fate, I climb my way back up the seemingly hundreds of thousands of steps, clutching my stilettos in my hands like fashionable weapons. The wedding bells are getting louder and seemingly more frantic and impatient, yelling at me to enter the cathedral. I attempt to open the heavy door, but it won't budge. Then it dawns on me: I'll have to put on the shoes. That's how this works. Goddammit.

Feet squeezed into torture devices, I push the door and it opens with the slightest touch, like magic. The pews are tightly packed with guests, all of whom turn to look at me as I stumble like a newborn deer from the back of the church to the nearest open spot. The bride and groom are already at the front together, facing each other, glaring at my reprehensible tardiness. I've never seen them, or anyone in this room, before in my life.

One of the ushers, a stately looking man with gorgeous obsidian skin, appears next to me and hands me a wedding programme. Opening it up, I learn that I am witnessing the marriage of Charlotte Jennifer MacKenzie, daughter of George MacKenzie and Elizabeth Gardner, to Marcus Arnold Tombe, son of Arnold and Natonya Tombe.

In typical format, the bride's guests are one side, the groom's on the other. The aisle, decorated with red rose petals and Charlotte's kilometre-long white train, divide the room's human contents: white on one side, black on the other. I smile at the family sitting next to me - Marcus' relatives, no doubt - and they smile back.

The shock of my appalling interruption subsides, and the event finally resumes. It's time for the vows. Marcus takes Charlotte's lily-white hands in his and declares his love for her with a hint that sweet Charlie shouldn't be wearing a lily-white gown. You've been around, but you've changed me.

Charlotte's parents give each other a knowing glance. Charlotte herself grins sheepishly and looks down at her feet. The congregation laughs warmly. They obviously know something I don't. Whatever her story is, it doesn't matter, clearly.

It's Charlotte's turn, and her saccharine declaration of love and commitment pull the inevitable tears out of everyone in the room, including me. God, I'm a sucker for this stuff.  I love you in the morning sun, I love you in my dreams.

Then all the rest of it happens, quite as you would expect, with the pronouncing of husband and wife, and the kiss, and the applause, and the inevitable unrest that washes over the congregation as they start mentally checking out of the cathedral and getting antsy for the real reason they dusted off their Sunday best and came out today - food and booze.

I start to wonder if my presence here is still required (was it even required in the first place? Why am I here, anyway?), so as the guests become restless and begin standing and moving about the cathedral, I slip discreetly away toward the door. The usher is absent, so I try to open the door to leave, but no such luck - it's locked from the inside.

I jump clumsily out of the way as the bride and groom, their parents, and the bridal party swiftly make their way back up the aisle toward the cathedral doors. Through them they proceed and the receiving line forms out on those imposing steps. The bells start ringing again, signaling the end of God's immediate role in today's festivities.

I turn around and look at the congregation, and only now do I see that the two families don't seem to be gelling. Maybe this is their first meeting? Whatever the case, they seem unwilling to acknowledge each other's presence, choosing to exit the pews from the far side rather than via the aisle that joins them. This is going to be uncomfortable.

I watch as the guests begin to file out of the church, careful to stay close to the people with whom they came. How on earth am I going to get out of this? I'm an unwilling wedding crasher who can't even sneak out of my own volition. I am sure to be discovered as an infiltrator as I take my place in the receiving line queue. I may just be in hell.

Then, the usher appears next to me. He introduces himself as Lester, Marcus' uncle, and he shakes my hand. He asks how I'm getting to the reception hall, and I tell him I have no idea. The kind man offers me a ride. And before I know it, he is whisking me down the steps, past the receiving line with a wave to the bride and groom.

In the car, Lester reveals that he knows I'm a "visitor". He could tell right away. He's sort of a magnet for visitors - people who drop in to moments in time and space via some form of creative output - a song, or a painting, or a poem, or what have you. Well I'll be! That's what's been happening to me all this time, throughout this project! Lester tells me he feels like it's his job to help visitors when he encounters them. Sigh, if only he'd been there during some of my other "visits". I sure could have used his help during the "Heroes" album.

Anyway, Lester is smoking and driving and giving me the scoop: that Charlotte and her people are from a small town in Saskatchewan with a population of less than 50 people, can you believe that?! Charlotte went to Toronto for university, and there she met Marcus, a born and raised Torontonian whose family hails from Kenya, originally.

The Tombes have had no issue accepting Charlotte into their lives from the get-go, however, Charlotte's family has been reluctant to welcome Marcus and his family into theirs - and that's putting it mildly. Hell, this wedding almost didn't happen on account of Mr. MacKenzie's "reluctance" to have anything to do with it. But when Charlotte and Marcus threatened to elope, Charlotte's mom managed to pull everyone together and make this day happen. Wow.

Uncle Lester and I arrive at the reception hall, and he ushers me in and secures a spot for me at his table. Cousin Gabe wasn't able to make it due to his precarious mental health and sudden involuntary committal to the mental hospital, so there is a seat available.

Lester tells me that he's got to go see a man about a horse, which I think means he has to pee, but really could mean anything. I hang tight at the table and help myself to the wine, sitting uncorked near the centre piece of the table, just begging to fill my glass.

At the next table, I overhear a conversation between one of Charlotte's bridesmaids and another guest. The bridesmaid is depressed about standing up in yet another friend's wedding, and is lamenting that her bad luck with men means that she'll never be the one in the white gown. The waterworks begin, and her friend tells her dutifully and unconvincingly that it'll happen someday.

The bridal party is seated at the head table and dinner begins, but there is no sign of Lester. The other guests at the table seem slightly suspicious of me. Thankfully, I can keep my face full of food and avoid conversation. Meanwhile, Lester's empty chair is sending all kinds of icky signals through my body.

Dinner ends, and the speeches begin. Mr. and Mrs. Tombe bicker through theirs, admonishing each other for getting story details wrong and for interrupting. But in the end it is evident that they love each other and hold up as a good example for Charlotte and Marcus. Their speech ends with a toast and a sweet kiss between them.

As the speeches end, the bride and groom descend upon the floor for their first dance, which is lovely. But when it's time for the guests to cut some rug, the DJ can't seem to get anybody up on the dance floor. Like a highschool dance where no one wants to be the first, I find myself hoping that someone will break the ice; that these two families will finally mix it up and get to know one another and congeal already.

Then it occurs to me... I will never see these people again. My presence here has been uncomfortable and seemingly pointless... until now. So I toss my glass of wine down my throat and dance my way over into the middle of the floor. Right on cue, a spotlight shines upon me, and I give it all I've got. I kick off my hell-on-heels shoes and show them all how it's done. I'm totally ridiculous, flailing and kicking and thrusting and twirling, but that's kind of the point.

And then it happens. A table of young girls on Marcus' side join me, followed by a table of young girls on Charlotte's side. Then the old people get in on it. Soon, the house is rockin' and poppin' and lockin' and twerkin' and jerkin' and doin' it gangnam style.

My work here is done... or is it? I'm still here. And I'm actually kind of having a good time. A matronly woman joins the dance circle and asks me how I know the bride. I tell her I don't... I'm a friend of Lester's.

Shit. Lester. Where is that guy? Suddenly there is a commotion involving a lot of text messages and phone calls coming in at once on Marcus' side of the family. Young Gabe has apparently tried to escape from the hospital. He's jumped out the window... he's okay, he basically jumped from the second story and sprained his ankle pretty bad, he's back inside being treated for that.

The woman asks me where Lester is - he's Gabe's godfather. I tell her that before dinner he told me he had to see a man about a horse. The look on her face tells me that it almost definitely does not mean he had to pee. A search party is formed, consisting of everyone on the dance floor and then some. The two families come together to locate Lester, and I feel like a turd for not mentioning it sooner.

Lester's whereabouts are soon discovered. He's been in the bathroom all this time after all... not peeing, but getting high. He's coming down now, and has finally been seated at the table. I take my seat next to him. Lester's comings and goings are hardly any of my business, I realize, so I reserve judgment and simply sit with him. He settles back in his chair and takes a sip of water from the glass in front of him. One of Charlotte's bridesmaids approaches and tells Lester he gave everyone a fright and she's glad he's okay. He nods gentlemanly at her but says nothing.

As the festivities wind down, the newlyweds announce that they'll be leaving shortly on a night flight to Barcelona for their honeymoon. Charlotte has never been out of the country, and she's a little nervous about flying overseas, but Marcus assures her that they will have the time of their lives.

And with that, Charlotte and Marcus exit the reception hall. The DJ continues spinning tunes, and the dance floor is crammed with dancers celebrating the union of two people they love, with no idea exactly how they will touch each other's lives before the night is over.

I realize I probably only have a few minutes before I'm zapped out of this place in space and time. I turn to Lester and thank him for helping me navigate this visit. I ask him if I'll ever see him again, but as I say the words I realize that I'm dealing with infinity, and the chances of visiting his world again are small. He touches my hand, and I'm gone.

*****

Black Tie White Noise was not love at first listen. But if I've learned anything from this project, it's that my first impressions are basically meaningless (Lodger, I'm looking in your direction -- and loving the shit out of you now). I wouldn't say I'm in love with Black Tie White Noise... I wouldn't marry it, but I'd date it for a while and then have fond memories of it and maybe even go back for a little something something every now and then... you know friends-with-benefits style. So it has definitely earned a place in my heart.

If it took me to a place that's a little on the nose, I'm okay with that. This story was always going to be about a wedding, and there was always going to be a racial element. What surprised me was Lester, and his role of usher to visitors who drop in via some song or painting or film or whatever. I'm finding myself rather enamoured with that concept, and I'm surprised that it took me this long to acknowledge it here and to create a "seer" character who knows what's happening.

With any luck, I'll run into Lester again someday... lightening can strike the same place twice, after all.

Hello humans, can you feel me thinking?

A funny thing happened on my way to the grocery store. There I was, walking along, mentally reciting my list of things I need to pick up: coffee, eggs, toothpaste, tampons. Things for my body, my corporeal self, to keep me alive, healthy, clean. Okay except maybe for the coffee. That's for my mind and my soul, the part of me you can't see.

Treading along on the tree-lined  sidewalk, I was aware of the warmth of the day, and the uncomfortable humidity  which made me sweat and caused my sandals to rub against my skin, giving me a blister. I was also aware of a "disturbance in the force", that feeling that something is sort of off, or something. A message from somewhere in the universe is transmitting but not being received, because I'm a mere mortal with limited understanding of my senses and perceptions, and no discernible super powers. Beyond keeping myself alive and maintaining basic human functionality, I barely know what to do with my brain 90% of the time.

Then all of a sudden, I'm somewhere else. Somewhere... just... in the universe, I guess. I want to describe it to you, but how do you describe something you've never seen before and have no basis of understanding? There are lights and colours, but it's also dark. It's cold and warm at the same time. I feel vast and yet small, empty and yet loved, alone and yet surrounded. In a word, it's a trip. 

Trying to make sense of it, I become aware that I'm amid a sea of souls with no bodies, all connected to one another and to all of us down on earth. Like sponges they soak up our thoughts, our feelings, our attitudes, our energies... and transmit them back to the Other, an entity I've asked them to describe and they can't. Is it God? No. Is it Buddha? No. It's... the one who is everything. It's the universe itself. They feed it what they learn from us.

The funny thing is that they're not at all like you would think. They have individual personalities, unique thoughts and feelings... but they just kind of share them with the collective brain that binds them.

They are fascinated with us earthlings and the way we go about our lives. While they are busy sucking up all of our experiences, perceptions, and sensations, they sometimes try to initiate a two-way conversation.

The trouble is, they don't know that the majority of humans can't feel them, and when we do feel "something", we don't know it's them we're feeling. There's that disturbance in the force again. Deja vu. Those humans who do have an inkling of the universal beings' presence don't know how to process it, so they imagine them in different ways to try and understand. We call it religion. Some people try to communicate back to them, and some of those people get called crazy.

I soon learn that our friends out here in the universe seem to watch our lives like some kind of reality show. They have favourites... people with whom they empathize, or whom they find entertaining for one reason or another. They start feeding my brain with flashes of human lives they are following on earth. It's difficult for me to process them all, the many millions of lives and experiences they have retained and "favourited".

They wring their proverbial hands over our humanly miscommunications, our inability to think to each other and understand each other immediately. They face palm at our fights and foibles, wishing they could intervene and set things straight. Like this man who keeps making mistake after mistake, hurting the one he claims to love, and incessantly apologizing for his misdeeds, only to go and do it all over again.

"Is there something wrong with his learning?" they ask me. I think about how I would explain it, and I can feel them inside my brain, piecing my thoughts together into something they can understand. Sometimes our physical needs and desires get in the way of learning, I "tell" them. Our bodies drive our actions and intentions, and often interfere with them at the same time.

On one hand, they think these behaviours of ours that are driven by physical need is strange and low, but on the other, they understand that if they had bodies they'd probably be the same. Sometimes they wish for bodies so they can feel what we feel - as if feeling our sensations second hand isn't good enough.

Comically, they inquire into the condition known on earth as "blue balls". Is that a real thing? they want to know. I tell them I can't answer that in any definitive kind of way, having not experienced it myself. But they seem to grasp that the human brain is capable of processing emotional and perceived pain and translating it into physical pain. I ask if none of them have ever experienced second hand blue balls through the human males they've observed, and immediately, the experience is transferred to me. Ouch.

Suddenly, my mind is filled with glimpses into the life of someone who is living far from home and missing his girl. He longs to be with her, as she implores him to come back to her, despite the warrant for his arrest that also awaits his return.

"Why is it not enough to simply love someone? What's the deal with proximity?" they want to know.  It isn't just physical, or we'd all be "doing it" 100% of the time we spend with other people.

They don't seem to get that our disconnected human brains get lonely when we're without the physical presence of our loved ones. Their inability to escape one another in the realm of their collective mind prevents full understanding of human social behaviour. I guess that means they won't be able to clear that up for me, either.

It's hard work being among these bodiless entities. As cool as it has been to see this unknown part of the universe and learn how we connect to it, I feel exhausted and have a deep need to be alone someplace on earth, where I may be surrounded by other humans, but my thoughts are safe within the walls of my own cranium.

And with that, I Iearn that it's not just the lives of earthlings of which these beings are fond. Apparently, some of them have developed an affinity for certain places on earth. Someone asks me if I've ever been to Amlapura. I explain that I've never heard of it, until now. They think me all kinds of images and perceptions of the place, inspiring my own sense of curiosity.

While these universal beings have grown to love humans and planet earth, they are also well aware of the atrocities we are capable of committing, and do commit, at an alarming scale. People murdering each other in cold blood, using each other for personal gain, defiling the most innocent of our species. We may abhor these nightmarish occurrences, but we don't experience them the way the universal beings do.  Feeling everything the victims feel, seeing through the perpetrators' eyes, and then watching as we do almost nothing about it, is a heavy burden for the universal beings to bear. And they're only the messengers.

Finally, they're fascinated and a bit appalled by the value we place on certain individuals over others. Perhaps one of their flaws is that while they clearly have favourite humans whose lives they pay more attention to, they think we're petty and silly for elevating some humans above others because of the way they look, behave, or because of the things they make or do for the enjoyment of others. It's not so much that they don't understand the value of art, but they don't understand what makes one piece of art better than another, and why some people receive acclaim for it while others are judged harshly or receive no credit at all. And why are some of these people valued higher than those who work toward saving or improving the lives of others?

That's a question I can't even begin to answer, except to say that... well... we humans aren't perfect. In comparison to other creatures, we kind of suck. But we're not all bad. And if I've learned anything from these universal beings, it's that they're not perfect either. I mean, they're pretty cool and all, and it helps to know that maybe our lives do have some kind of meaning and purpose connected to something greater than ourselves. But I'm glad I'm just some silly little human. Even if it is that time of the month.

*****

It's not that time of the month, at least not at the time of writing this. And what I really mean by that is that this is a work of pure fiction. I don't want anyone to get the idea that I think this is how the universe actually works. I've read some books that propose some similar ideas (such lovely ideas!) but I'm not prepared to accept them as gospel. I simply enjoy twisting my mind and thinking about things that I can't ever possibly get close to understanding.

Does everything happen for a reason? Is there some kind of order in the universe, directed by something with some kind of intelligence? My inclination is to say "Nope. Things happen and then you die". That might scare a lot of people, but I actually find it quite comforting.

My listening of Tin Machine II (not the most mindblowing name for this album, is it?) happened to coincide with a friend's recent Facebook rant about The Universe and what he calls The Truth. I suspect his ideas are not fully formed (apart from Stephen Hawking, whose are?) and he's a bit of a conspiracy theorist, but it's always interesting to discover other points of view.

This post was also somewhat inspired by a Ted talk I saw recently featuring a man named RupertSheldrake explaining his theory of morphic resonance (the idea that all things in nature have a collective memory). Again, I'm not ready to say that I think it's The Truth, but I find the idea very intriguing.

So what is the connection between Tin Machine II and all of these highfaluting ideas about the universe, collective memory, and what it all means to be alive? In a word, nothing. Tin Machine II is a collection of songs about very human, physical things - love, sex, violence, and the state of having a body, basically. I guess I just wondered how a species of beings without bodies would see us, what our physical needs and desires would look like to them, how our corporeal needs drive our actions. Putting this album in that context helped me to find and make connections between the songs - something my brain just wants to do, for some reason.

I like this album a lot. In many ways, it sounds like a return to the early 70's in terms of the overall sound and themes. Baby Universal is kind of post-Ziggy and Amlapura could have been right at home on Hunky Dory. Stateside is one of my favourite songs off this album, with the lead vocal by band member Hunt Sales - he has a great voice! Overall, this is a fun album to rock out to. And so far, my new neighbours haven't banged on the door and asked me to turn it down :)