roommates and pages

(sorry if my writing has been infrequent, anyone who cares)

i moved. i now live with this guy,



and this guy.




oh no, wait... this guy.




Its a pretty handsome house, I must say. The house that i wrote about for the past year is no more. except that the house i moved into is identical, in layout. alas.

oh yeah... I adjusted my hairstyle today. now I look like this guy-




more writings to come. as soon as i get my stuff together.

crows and life

I was at work today (actually, i'm still at work. i'm just taking my break at home), and i almost got attacked by a crow!! aargh!

I was walking towards Columbia Hall, aka the girl's dorms, and i heard a crow in small bush. I didn't realize it was a baby crow until i saw his mom (or dad) fly out of a tree, towards my face!

so then i ran to a different door, yelling in my cheesy high pitch voice, while the crow chased me.

that was about it. not much else happens at work, save for me almost getting eaten by birds, and kicking the steamcleaner when it stops working.

prose

i miss the long stretching summer days,
sitting by the water writing prose.

i miss writing prose.
i miss the thoughts that would stretch my arm span,
open like leaves, in the air floating about
from my hands across the sea.
i miss my couch and my coffee,
miss my kind relationships.
and i miss how it go away,
couldn't keep the days around, how they wouldn't stay
i can't much help when the seasons stay.
when they come, or when they leave.

i miss the thought of writing prose.

22

so, i know my thoughts have been really down the past couple of days... but thats life. its been one of those weeks.

I haven't got much sleep in the past three days. just lots of running around with youth kids, and singing it up. i got to perform a bit of poetry on Saturday, at a worship workshop... and somehow i gave the 200 people there the impression that i was divorced. my words exactly, introducing a poem were "i was going through a divorce at the time", talking about my parents. oh well.

good times.

I got to see my old salvation army youth group from nanaimo. man, i miss those guys. I was sitting across the arena from them, and every so often i would walk over and visit. i got a little emotional, because i realized that I'm not going back to Nanaimo anytime soon. i had to let go of some old relationships. its a tough thing.

a line that stuck out for me this weekend- its not who you are, but whose you are.

thats all i'm really up for writing right now. i need to catch up on some sleep, and some tea. i guess i can talk about my birthday some other time. it was a pretty lonely day.

we'll see.

full or deep consideration

this is the 2nd annual list of all the things i've done on my birthday, so far.

1) woke up
2) ate cheerios
3) wrote a bad poem, and thought about the ocean
4) steamcleaned floors until i was burned out
5) contemplated love, for a minute or two.
6) talked to a pretty girl, named natalie (me and ben travelled with her to Vancouver, over spring break).
7) talked to my sister, and brother on the phone.
8) realized that ever person knows it is my birthday today, because of facebook. grr.

confession: i was trying to ignore my birthday this year. i didn't want to even think about it this year. alas.

9) turned on some Keane.
10) smelled coffee across the room, sitting in front of the fireplace.

i think for the rest of the day, i will clean my house, sip Tanzanian coffee, shower, sleep, read some Complicated Kindness, write about spain...

and go bowling. yech. bowling is my sworn enemy. bowling represents everything that is soul-less and wrong (i have to go, because its a youth group event. i tell ya').

11) contemplated the odds of me being kissed on my birthday. its not looking too likely. sigh.

12) daydreamed, about writing. i hope i'll have more to say, tomorrow. or, maybe on monday, when my lap-top comes back into commission. i have to stash it for the weekend, because it is a clutterfest, and some youth group boys are staying for the weekend.

see you later.

the stuff of life

i've been feeling down for the past couple days. And, for the past week it seems like i haven't had a good thought worth writing about, or any drive at all to write. which makes me kind of angry. so, here is whats bringing me down, in list form (not that i'm trying to play the self-pity card... not this time)-

a) my mom moved to washington, over the easter weekend while i was still in abbostford. and my sister is moving to duncan. which means i no longer have any family living in nanaimo. it's like ever last chance i had for that place to be home again, is gone.

a.2) on mothers day, all i could think about was my dad.

b) i'm wrestling with the notion of just getting the hell away from this job, and trying to pick up an internship in nanaimo again. but maybe i just need to step up, be a man, and get used to working.

my big excuse for not liking a labor job, is my messed up foot (anyone who knows me well enough knows that, indeed, i have a messed up foot, because of a childhood accident). i've bought two pairs of shoes for this job so far, both of which have caused my foot to twist into an uncomfortable angle, for hours. its a stupid reason, i know.

c) but mostly, i'm just pissed off because i don't feel like anything. i can't seem to articulate a single thought that makes any sense. everything i feel is unbalanced. i know that i'm supposed to work hard, and earn my keep, but why am i so bitter about it? i don't know.

it feels like somethings missing (john mayer said it best). my life is the same, minus the stupid adventures, which always gave me something to write about.

i hurt myself today

Andrew: You know that point in your life when you realize that the house that you grew up in isn't really your home anymore? All of the sudden even though you have some place where you can put your shit that idea of home is gone.

Sam: I still feel at home in my house.

Andrew: You'll see when you move out. Just sort of happens one day and it's just gone. And you can never get it back. It's like you get homesick for a place that doesn't exist. Maybe it's like this rite of passage, you know? You won't have this feeling again until you create a new idea of home for yourself. For your kids, for the family you start. It's like a cycle or something. I miss the idea of it...

...Maybe that's all family really is. A group of people who miss the same imaginary place.

-garden state

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i came to a conclusion today. i realized that if i try and do any of the things that i feel are ethical, if i try and live out my convictions, alone, nothing will change. i will keep buying my soy products, buying my locally produced commodities, thinking about poverty and justice and nothing will really change. eventually i will get bored of my convictions, and leave them behind, and worry about other things, like going on dates or watching movies, or buying music.

... if i try and do it alone. if I'm in a group of friends who feel the same way, and who want to walk with me on the difficult road i choose, than that road will be easier to walk. this is what the church should be. we should be people that care for each other, and care about trying to love people, trying to understand the humanity we all share. trying to understand the issues that our world faces, and the reason they exist. justice is asking the "why", then the "how". why does injustice exist, and how can we reason with it.

this is what we are all missing in life. belonging.

books

i'm trying to publish an independent book of writings and pictures, that i can sell at my friends' shows. should it be poetry and prose, or just poetry?

should it be a mix between my travel narratives and my poetry (the narratives are really more of an occasional hobby).

what kind of software should I use? please help me brainstorm, my friends.

no alarms, and no surprises

I tried submitting one of my poems to "The Mind's Eye", this Nanaimo youth newspaper that i used to send poems to, back when i was in 11th grade.

I'm wondering if I should feel cheap for doing so, being that a) I'm 21, hardly a melodramatic teen anymore and b) i don't live in Nanaimo anymore.

well, we'll see. I'll pay a visit to the Island in June and see if my good friend, Mr. Poem, makes it into publication.

in other news, i was steam cleaning floors today, and my day felt a lot more short than ususal. the only explanation i can think of is that the chemicals i was breathing in killed some brain cells, and temporarily disabled my short term memory, and disrupted my cognitive ability.

in other other news, i'm trying to see 4 different concerts in the next two months, even though i definitely cannot afford them/ feel convicted for spending my money in such irresponsible ways when there is a world of people who don't have money. conviction is a strange thing.

so the question of, is art practical, comes into question again. I'm buying music, when I should be buying food- the thing i need to survive. But, there is a sustaining quality about music, an inspiring quality. In ten years i won't remember what i ate, but i'll probably remember exactly how i felt at concerts. i don't know why art works like that.

in any case, the concerts are Jason King, Arcade Fire, John Mayer, Jamison (opening up for Bradley Hathaway) and Historymaker- the youth conference that I turned 18 and 19 at (another mainstay of my high school years).

things don't feel as exciting as they did when I was a teenager. Back then there were no set routines. everything was a surprise. like seeing something i wrote published in a newspaper, or walking into an arena filled with youth group kids, like myself. i don't think those things will ever feel the same.

whatever.

this is my life.

some free verse

empty days / what it looks like here

leaves still wilted
haven't grown enough to stand alone.
the wind, the flowers of the trees,
soft pink petals for the grass.
when it rains they don't grow anymore.

teas not that filled
watered down flavor, sugar and spice.
coffees too potent,
conscious and anxious all at once.
music wanes me from wasting away,
head resting on the table.
haven't grown enough to stand alone.

windy days
still hate what I do,
"Its not me" I used to say.
What will ever make it change?
Not sure whats living,
what needs help. what is dying,
or won't stop changing.
I'm either as far-gone as I think I am,
or i just don't know any better.

leaves not grown yet,
the green, the white,
flowers by my hands and feet.
when it rains they don't grow anymore.

water falls, and i feel it

1) In my writing project, which i gave to most of my friends, I wrote the line "art is impractical". i was wrong. there are elements of art that are very practical. I was a fool for not considering art's practical nature.

I hope this, (explaining away all the questionable words in my project) doesn't become a habit. alas.

2) I got some free stuff at work today, that some college kids left behind. i love free stuff. so, there is this-



and this-



i can't decide which to drink first.

3) i came across this piece of paper, in the pile of notes from this past year. i'm pretty sure i wrote this at youth group one day, with a dying blue marker.

this is another chapter of my epic pilgrimage, which i have never been on.

rain falls

the rain made fools of my traveling mate and I, washing away our open, unprotected campsite, soaking all our gear. i reach for come clean clothing, and try to find some shade to keep my dry clothes from getting too wet... when i realize i have no dry clothing.

-I remember the night before, looking across at a rich blue sunset, my friend saying how nice a night it was, and that we should sleep outside tonight. it seemed like a good idea at the time, and we were both way too worn out to care about unpacking our gear. we fall asleep, with the chirping of crickets (though, i'm not sure if crickets live here), and the stars awaking to dance above our heads- irony is an interesting thing. we trade a peaceful evening for a peaceful rain filled morning.

We set up the tent quickly, and lay frustrated, slipping into a strange state of listening. the rain calms for a moment, and we can hear small drops dripping into the puddles outside.

I start to imagine the existance of God, in the rain. when it rains its as if the earth weeping, with the very thing that gives it life. its like feeling the life-giving element stream a cold line down my cheek, in a broken state, wondering why. It's as if God is in the rain, his hands tracing lines on my face, when I look up.

When it rains we wonder, why the grimness, why the cold? why doesn't the sun shine all the time, and why does heaven seem to fall around us while we stand in the wake? i love rain for this very reason- it carries with it a certain grace. we need it to sustain life, to give dampness to the ground, and keep the earth from catching on fire. but, why it has to fall, why it feels so cold... this mystery is where we find a humbleness, a grace of not knowing why. its as if the rain covers us, fills out clothing and sends a chill to our skin, so we can know what feeling cold is like. or, we can know what feeling is at all.

My mate does not share my interests towards rain, talking low about how long it will take us to walk to shelter and dry off. We would be about a day behind. i never seemed to worry about time, he told me. "thats why i have you" i say back to him. he turns suddenly, sits up, and crawls out of the tent, running towards his tarp covered pack. "my wallet! the money!" he shouts to me, scrambling under the tarp. he returns, a handful of flimsy currency, and we both break out lauging.

And we sit in the tent, our pesos hung on string line at the top of the tent, waiting for the water to decide it has given us enough life for one day. if i could capture that moment, of waiting and the expectation of having to walk 3 miles in the rain to get to the next refugio, i would use the word "content"...

...more later.

4) I ate some under-cooked bison for dinner, and I'm pretty sure I'm not going to make it through the night. we'll see.

epiphanies, and art

I had an epiphany today, while washing walls in my school's teaching center, beside the worship arts department. i tend to have epiphanies in the most random places... mostly in the shower.

epihpany, in a holistic sense, is finally seeing how the small parts of some insight relate to the whole. in this case, the epiphany relates to art (i'm sure the definition has much more depth. thus is life. look it up).

the epiphany happened while i was listening to Keane, and the lyrics reminded me of an art project i finished, last month, filled with random lyrics that i didn't write. i don't feel like the project captured the heart of what i am, because most of the styles i used were not unique to me. they were more styles of books, and authors, that i like. I'll try and explain more.

the last year of my life has been my renaissance. I've spent a lot of time trying to learn about art, and trying to figure out who i am. I've spent a lot of time thinking about art, theorizing, brainstorming, and assuming trying to get a grasp of what art is, at the heart. though, on a side note, i spent a lot of the year feeling very lost.

So, i realized today that my art is not my own yet. if there is a line between inspiration, and imitation i have crossed it many times. there are some artists that are inspired by works of art, so they try and adapt a bit of the style to their own art. then there are artists who flat out copy the exact style, and make art that is a lesser version of a greater artist's turmoil. well, yeah, i feel like I've been too much like the latter in the past 3 months.

I've spent a lot of time using artistic methods like lower casing all my letters. which, as any blogger would know, is not intentional. its something that comes as a result of typing into a small letter box with little or no formatting. this is not my style when i write by hand. its just not me, so why should it be part of why i do my art?

this is a new chapter for me, i think. trying to make my own style of writing, rather than trying to make cheap stylistic copies of other writers. what my own style looks like, i don't know. the nature of an art piece is that it is never fully explained. and the heart of the artist is to never stay the same, but to stay in a process of change. and, to keep re-fining the style with which they create.

I think, what life most reminds me of is art. art is something which is created, for us to breathe the words back to ourselves, replay the images, in wonder and ecstasy.

And, i think that the world of art is drawn with lines to divide profound concepts. if there are connections to be made in art, there must be separate things to connect. there are lines between inspiration, integration, pain, joy... and we have to recognize how these things work, separately, if we are to know how they work together.

One of the elements of art is to make connections, to tie things together. another thing about art, I've realized, is that it tries to reveal beautiful things to those who can't recognize them. and, I've been trying to figure out how to do that for quite a while now.

... and, I'm still trying.

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...nothing i say makes sense to me,
something i can't fix.
the lights not bright enough, so I'm
stuck trying to make sense of the dark.
I'm trying to do something i don't know how to do,
never sure what I'm supposed to find...