occurances

I haven't been doing much this week, besides sitting at home alone drinking coffee from Peru, and lying inside emotional streams of consciousness. I should be in some actual streams, because an entire summer without swimming is just wrong.

I picked up a copy of Simply in Season, finally. My dream of becoming an attractive vegetarian is now underway... the vegetarian part at least.

My new favorite movie, for the time being (wow, i'm jumping from one thought to the next here) is "The Secret Life of Words". Man, if i was just a little more emotional I would have been crying.

I promise that I will do something worth writing about this week, and make our conversations more interesting. I'm starting to get sick of just talking about myself all the time.

later

-Adam

chapters and overpriced tea

The last Saturday portion of my adventure to Vancouver was not as exciting as Friday. It involved sitting by a pier, across the water from a dock where "Romeo Must Die" and "Dark Angel" were filmed, with a slightly overpriced pita ( i should have bought my first choice... pizza).

Well, I'm skimming over a lot of details here. The pier was right outside a place called "Q Place Market", or some unoriginal name, which is further across the water from downtown Vancouver. We were supposed to go to Stanley Park, but for some reason eating crappy pitas on a sketchy dock seemed more appealing.

A little later an old friend and I took the Sea Bus into Vancouver, about two blocks away from Historic Gastown. Then he dragged me to a movie theater, all the while I was complaining about how much money I spent the day before (i am lame). I tried getting some tickets for Transformers, but it was sold out. So I saw Harry Potter 5 instead.

I actualy really enjoyed it. For being the 5th in a series the movie was great graphically, and story-wise (story-ly is clearly not a word). It was a dark sort of film. I was actually a little shaken afterwards. I seriously need to read those books... it seems like I'm always 5 steps behind everything cool.

~

Today my friend and I walked on the green hill outside Science World, one of the places I frequent in Van. We walked around a bit, talking about love and relationships, because thats what guys talk about when they take long walks near the ocean. I love the feeling of "wow, this is huge" standing on the hill looking out, and watching the current lines wrinkle and smooth on the surface of the water. Heres a picture from my last trip-




Then I bought some random Chinese tea, that I'm sure will taste like dirt, and took the greyhound home. Yes. I am writing the dry details of my day to day life, with the weird little hope that it will make them seem more interesting (ha ha. I loathe bloggers who do that... and i loathe the word "bloggers").

I think thats about it... oh wait, I never told you about the trees on Commercial, have I? Welllll, when you walk down Commercial drive there are these cute sidestreets, stretching a long way until the road slopes down and disappears. On the side of those sidestreets there are flowered trees that shade the sidewalks, and when its springtime the petals in those trees fall like a soft and colorful rain. Hmm. I love it. It reminds me of a kinder, more accessible Victoria.

(If only Vancouver Island was a little more friendly).

So now I'm going to drink my cold tea that tastes like dirt, watch a random film, practice a little magic, and sleep. Thus ending another weird chapter in my life. Well... later.

-Adam

PS - I'm only somewhat proud of myself for using proper upper cased lettering this time... take that E.E. Cummings.

search high and low, scan skies and land

Yesterday a friend and I spent a couple hours on commercial drive. We had some great penne, with curry alfredo and sundried tomatoe, then stopped into Ten Thousand Villages- a local fair trade store. I picked up a bag of Peruvian coffee and a black notebook with rope binding and handmade pages.

Then we sat down at Cafe de Soleil (probably my favorite coffeehouse). The coffee there is a little averge, but the enviroment there is euphoric (big word that sounds cool / not sure what it means). the tables are misshapen, the walls have off color paint, and the cups they use are random and chipped- the kind of cups you would find sitting on a thrift store shelf, but cafe has this very open and comfortable feel. its the kind of place you could sit and listen to the traffic, watch interesting people walk by, and write very content prose... if you like, writing that is. who doesen't like writing?

It might just be my oustide bias, as a person who does not live on Commercial, but to me Commercial seems like the "too good to be true" place to live. I feel pretty at home on that street.

I think if i I lived here i would turn a little weird, and write very eyebrow raising prose, just like Douglas Copeland. Or i might turn vegetarian, start an acoustic folk band, and grow a hippy beard.

maybe i'll stick with my townhouse in the heart of Abbotsford for now. I'll admit, Abbotsford doesen't seem to have a lot of heart, but i love a lot of people who live there and everything i need is within walking distance. So i'm not too worried yet. I'll save the worrying for when i'm done school in two years... or i could just not worry ever.

mmm. i can't wait to try this new coffee.

three sisters

some occurrences.

My brother fell 4o feet on a hiking trip in Canmore, a couple days ago. He's at the Calgary hospital right now. He broke three bones in his back, but he's not paralyzed. miracles happen.

of stars and coming storms

...but after vast valleys I am so ready for this
low notch in the gorge, the intimate cottonwoods
lifting their leafy skirts and blowing their soft
kisses into my tent on the wasteland’s stringy
breath. The spaces between the gusts are rich
with silence. I am ready to stay, sleep, dream,
breathe the grace of wind and earth that is
never too much, and more than I will ever need...

-luci shaw, tenting escalante

i heart literature

I've been meaning to sit down and write a decent article, worth submitting to someone.

But, its been mostly being too busy with the small details in life- the cashing of cheques, buying of food, and e-mailing contacts for the arts and peace festival (Nov 7-9. you should go). I'm trying to finish East of Eden, and i'm at the part of the book where every detail of every character begins to drive the story, and realize the difficult themes that come with mr. Steinbeck's writing.

from what i can gather, from my years of reading john Steinbeck, the most interesting and compelling characters are also the most broken. the depth of character comes from unmet expectations, and unrealized dreams. Its kind of an grim outlook on life- realize the despair of the human condition, and fail miserable time and again at trying to find redemption in that.

I'm sure there are other, less complicated, ways to express how Steinbeck's characters are formed, in relation to his view of the world. maybe later. with less commas.

I was thinking about reaching down to pick up the said book, to try and find a good excerpt, but its nowhere near the orange camp chair, outside on my back deck. ok. i'll go find it...

..."It was a deluge of winter in the Salina Valley, wet and wonderful. The rains fell gently and soaked in and did not freshet. The feed was deep in January, and in February the hills were fat with grass and the coats of the cattle looked tight and sleek. In March the soft rains continued, and each storm waited courteously until its predecessor sank beneath the ground. Then warmth flooded the valley and the earth burst into bloom-yellow blue and gold."

-east of eden, chapter 25. there are much better excerpts than this... i just couldn't find them.
.
I've been meaning to read some Anne Lamott for a heck of a long time. I was walking along one of the library shelves today, trying to waste the last ten minutes of work, and i came across "Travelling Mercies", nesteled between lesser books of dry prose. So i read the first short paragraph, and i was sold -

"My coming to faith did not start with a leap but rather a series of staggers from what seemed like one safe place to another. Like lily pads, round and green, these places summoned and then held me up while I grew. Each prepared me for the next leaf on which I would land, and in this way I moved across the swamp of doubt and fear. When I look back at some of these early resting places--the boisterous home of the Catholics, the soft armchair of the Christian Science mom, adoption by ardent Jews--I can see how flimsy and indirect a path they made. Yet each step brought me closer to the verdant pad of faith on which I somehow stay afloat today."

If anyone is considering purchasing a late-birthday gift for me, i think this would be a good choice.

I think that, to re-write the cliche', you are what you read. and what i tend to read is anything but dry- prose that comes out as reflections upon life, from a perspective of a imaginative heart. not that i'm trying to toot my own metaphorical horn or anyhting.

which, actually, leads to a good point. I was listening to an interview of Anne Lamont on the best ever podcast called "the brown sessions" (I insist you download it now! the allure? interviews with Donald Miller, Renee Altson, and Shane Claiborne). In this interview she mentioned how "sometimes writers try too hard to be a writer". and thats me, i'll be quite honest. for the past couple days i picture myself sitting here, outside, writing anything with a pot of coffee sitting beside me.

in other words, i intentionally try and build a mood for myself, so that i can write something good. or, something that i think others will perceive as good. i'll look back on these writings and realize how much of what i do, how i write, is dependent on who i read. if i read sad novels i will write sadly. if i read Anne Lamott, i will probably write very reflectively.

this is the beauty of literature. it reveals a part of yourself that would have otherwise gone unnoticed. when i read the reflective prose style writers i picture myself feeling the same things they have, thinking the same insights they have. the difference is that i don't have words for them. the grace of literature is that for every word we can't picture, someone else will be there to draw it for us (someday i'll thank Anne Lamott, and Madeline L'Engle for this).

So, thats my thought for the day. i'm not sure if any magazine would accept this random string of reflections. they might just send it back, saying "you do not seem to have one distinct discernible thought, or solid idea". so... i'll have to work on that.

(my head is spinning because i am dehydrated, and drinking coffee. boo me).

-Adam
(forgive my use of lower casing. its not intentional at all).

infusion and some imagining

(i don't like the word "infusion" all that much. its like the "hey, look at me" of words).

this will be my last cup of coffee,
on the cafe built beside some cobblestone streets,
old London, or Paris, i can't remember
all a long memory, i can't separate the two.
was it in europe, with wine, that day,
or was i tasting some coffee all alone?

this will by my first summer alone,
far removed from my lofty dreams of romance.
sometimes the place live stops feeling like home.
and we'll taste anything with flavor,
stand in any rainstorm to remind us what it was like.

I have made this cup well, in this house that feels quite calm.
i chose a place that most felt like safe, to me.
but sometimes the day keeps me up all night,
and I'd try anything recapture some innocence.
I start you wonder if it's worth staying here.

lets stop this beautiful mess we've fallen in.
and we'll take that last cup of coffee.

something beautiful always starts that way,
really unexpected and unreasonable.
and something unimaginable pulls itself together,
bound with some old hope, and a little bit of sadness.

and, i think thats as close to love as i have come in years.

they say the sun sits higher, more rich
in the clouds of somewhere unfamiliar.
and, i hope i'll find out for myself, sometime.

~

for the record, I've never been to Paris or London. My imagination is just alluringly alive today.

if only i lived beside the lake...

today at the library i listened to some Ravi Zacharias... and i was ridiculously challenged. i actually had to stop for ten minutes, and take down some notes.

and then i listened to some justin king, and put my worries to rest. nothing makes me realize the infinite simple beauty of a summer day like acoustic guitar. i still have a lot (a lot) to learn.

~

after that i found a bible, with metal hinges, from 1879. it had that "old forgotten treasure" smell.

i need to find a ride to lake. so i can use the sound "woot" in the proper context. the lack of a ride, and the knowledge that i used to live within walking distance of a lake in nanaimo, is a drag.

oh well. i need to put my worries to rest again... and never combine coffee and philosophy ever again. dangerous mix.

~
update- the next morning.

i never did end up going to the lake... which doesn't really make much sense. what do you do if you are hot in canada? go to a lake. what if you live in abbotsford? sit around and complain how much life is boring and useless, even though life isn't useless, you just live in a culturally dry and lifeless city. but thats just my biased opinion. hm. life goes on.

22

besides being completely emo on Sunday nights, I've been writing lots... or at least, trying to. my new laptop, that i picked up from my roommate, allows me to sit on my back deck, with a pot of green tea, listening to the wind in the trees. which is much better than sitting in my dark little room, feeling like *something derogatory*. ahhhh.

I read an article in Geez today, whilst sitting in a closed library on my break, and i read that "North Americans spend 90% of their time inside". and that struck me. i wonder if thats what drives my evenings of feeling sad- being alone at home for hours, not listening to Relient K (i'm never sad when i'm listening to Relient K).

hm. just a thought.

~

And lately, the weather has been so bi-polar
And consequently, so have I.

But now I'm sunny with a high of 75,
Since You took my heavy heart, and made it light.
And it's funny how you find you enjoy your life,
When you're happy to be alive

-Relient K

...and its more than i can handle

things to talk about (not interesting, but whatever);

one) I was reading some of my old poems, in my secret journals (oooo. mysterious. i can hear the owls hooting in the background... whoot!), and man... i am a very sad person. i was feeling down last night, and even most of the day at work, because of my little trip into not-so-far-past-thoughts.

but, i guess thats one of the good things about poetry- you get to express the lousy sadnesses, which are not always a joy to talk about.

two) i haven't felt a lot like writing lately. what else is new? (my thoughts and feelings are always on a gradual shift from low to high to low). the reason, i think, is that i have started to hate work less... and thus, i have changed my mindset from hating work and loving being at home, to disliking sitting around home and working all day.

its a weird shift to make. i'm going to work some Saturdays, so the mindset will return to normal.

three) i'm trying to take days off work, which always feels like an awkward thing to do, so i can spend some weekends in Vancouver. i'm thinking english bay, the drive, some "celebration of lights" action, and... hm.... maybe some granville island fun. we'll see.

well, until then i'll be counting the days, so work goes fast. and after all this travelling i will contin ue to count the days, remembering all the fun. with those two key strategies to "make time fly" in place, i should be in school in no time.

four) i really need to stop spending so much time on ze computer. i really should be reading, writing, and conversing (all of which can be done from the safety of my own couch). and, i should really be spending my time online managing the cash i am earning, and figuring out how i can give some of it away to better causes... better, that is, than my cause of wanting candy. that is a lame cause.

i've been telling myself that for the past two months. one of these days, it might actually happen
.
five) it seems like no matter how many books i read / buy, there is always someone around to remind me which books i should be reading... apart from the ones i've already bought... grrrr.

why do i even buy books? for my current situation, i really don't need to. my current situation being that i live beside a college, with a library, filled with all the books that i should read (like Travelling Mercies, or some Wendell Barry).

and its funny, the job that i will be doing for the next two weeks at my job is washing bookshelves in the library. so, i will literally have to pick up every single book in the library, keeping a long subconscious list of good sounding book titles, to remind me of how little i read in ratio of how much i spend on books...ah!

i'm getting a lot of book titles read. thats one good thing. it is a very humbling (slash tedious) experience.

six) i changed my mind on this one. the CD that is defining my summer is "The Message: Psalms".

and i've had a lot of the songs from the "Sisterhood of the Travelling Pants" soundtrack in my head... like that one Five For Fighting song. so good. maybe its my subconscious telling me i should travel... and that i should wear pants.

stupid subconscious. its making my whole plan of "not having fun or enjoying life, but only focusing on work" plan difficult. i'm feeling a real conviction, as so many punk rock songs have told me about before, to live life.

(the movie that has define my summer so far- Stranger than Fiction).

ok. i'll leave you alone now. unless you want to come over, and share coffee with me. that would be nice. Ethical Addictions has a very nice Guatemalan. it kind of tastes like dirt.


-Adam.

for the writer / some place with strength

you're hands hold writing block in one,
and a sense of loss in the other.
in you're heart, the constant fear of failing,
not being good enough to love.

and you try.

you're feet walk empty roads, and ocean banks,
only one set of footprints.
in you're hands, the summer air
not enough to fill this place.

you try.

you're mornings waking up with music,
sip tea waiting for good weather.
you're hands hold old paper, quill pens in the other,
trying to find someplace to write.

------------

it feels a lot like
that kind of day.
give me a reason to run
somewhere with water.
or somewhere quiet, a monestary.
give me a reason.

i'm not much
of a poet today.
not much of a wordsmith
or writer of prose.
i'm not much built for
these sorts of days.
even so, i've done alright.

it feels much like,
those days of longing
to write beside a brook.
to be somewhere else,
with no real reason, i suppose.
some place with strength.
or somewhere with the sound of running water.