weekend in the city 2: you belong to me

(man, was my last entry ever down. i need to cheer up, get some cranberry juice, or something).

I'm in new york right down, typing on a tiny computer in a hostel, loacted something on manhatten island. which, is weird. the reality of me being here has not caught up with me yet. i'm going to try and write this entry as unself-righteously as possible. we'll see.

we started our jouney by almost missing our bus to seattle, at 7 am. Then we flew from seattle, across america, the mississippi and lake michgan. the flight was half empty, so dave, renee, and I had three seats to ourselves- which allowed for some prime sleep.

and the flight had this TV screeny thing built into the backs of seats, which had some good music. most of my flight was listening to "neon bible" and "wincing the night away".

then we touched down in NY- really abruptly. Then we found the subway and ended up in manhatten. taking the subway, by the way, is a lot more adventurous (an sketchy) than taking a cab. dave, renee, and I understand the concept of being a "backpacker" over a tourist.

being a backpacker allows you to step into the life of a place you are visiting, rather than observe the culture at arms length.

its halloween here, so the sub was packed with constumed people. after we found our hostel we found our first sketchy New York pizza.

quick tangent- new york pizza places are very straightforward. as in, say what you want, pick it up, go. its not like a typical subway where you take ten minutes to order and gradually go to the cashier. i'll explain it later. long story short, i shouted 'stromboli!" and ten minutes later i was eating a ball of dough with special guest- cheese.

after that we wandered into a park crowded with people, smoking clove cigarettes (to my shame. i feel lightheaded, and my mouth has a dry taste to it. never again).

so now i'm trying to find the balance of keeping to myself to avoid conflict, and meeting interesting people. tommorow we're going to try and watch a broadway show, and drink pints of samuel adams.

and maybe, sometime between being tired and anxious, we'll get to walk through the village. i almost feel guilty for getting to do all this.

there are many more details, which are probably irrelevant, and i'm dead tired. tomorrow, we start discussing sustainability and climate. my head will be full for years to come.

later.

a weekend in the city, chapter 1: ghosts from broken homes

I'm flying out tomorrow. so starting a travel journal seemed appropriate. I'll be on the run until Sunday, so hopefully that inspires many "prodigal son"esque writing. meanwhile, i'm stressing out about next weeks peace festival.

I'm trying to figure out which books to bring. my heart is telling me Blue Like Jazz and Traveling Mercies. If my copy of Life After God had arrived via mail by now, that would probably find some space in my backpack as well.

I checked out the hostel i'm staying at online- the seafarers- which definitely seems built for the sake of young adulthood. I'm down.

I wrote a pre-trip poem, which turned out a little bitter and scared of the unsureness of this trip. I swear a lot, i won't lie. swearing is one of those "i really want to feel human" things that i love. right up there with beer and artsy movies.

I realized that i don't have a good jacket... so rather than try and find a ride to commercial drive, the place where all good jackets reside, i stopped into Valhalla Pure. $100 later, i have a new jacket... and a whole lot of conviction. damn.

i really want to listen to some music, and forget about stress. forever. i promise that these journals will be progressivley less crappy and depressing. it just feels like one of those nights.

i'm having a lot of those lately. lets have some down-time when i get back. i'll bring the tea.

later

listening to: cities

- Adam

because this city, this city is haunted.
theres no hope left for these souls.

- alexisonfire

but I still haven't found what I'm looking for

merits of discussion:

a) my indie poetry book is coming together. does anyone know where i can publish this thing, other than staples? furtney?

b) mark centre was pretty good. i was too afraid to leave most of the time, so i slept in pure solitude the whole time. my reflection is that :
b.1) I need to listen more
b.2) I am a solidtude driven person
b.3) I need to find a place of solitude and quiet i can call my own.
b.4) I am a very insecure/self-conscious person

i think the proper responce, is to try and thank God as sincerely as I know how, and walk on.

on a lighter note, this week i'm starting to care less about "having a relationship" for once in 6 years.

c) i was walking by safeway a bit depressed (because my new value village pants look like crap and feel like shit) so i bought a couple holstens at a nearby "store". one to celebrate leaving, and one to celebrate returning home.

hmm. it does feel a bit like I've hit rock bottom, now that you mention it. its not such a bad thing. the journey continues.

listening to: Aiden Knight

walk on home

I'm sitting beside the big window at my school, the one that faces the parking lot where the boys dorms used to be. and i'm sitting beside an empty cup with a spoon, where ice cream used to be. i want some more ice cream.

and i want a silent retreat. a lot. abbotsford is much different that nanaimo, in that there are no places to escape... no random secluded forests, no waterfalls or lakes or oceans. its not hard to feel really disconnected in this town.

I think if you spend too much time inside it will become too familiar, and thus stop giving you the sense of comfort and safety that it used to. its one of those annoying little life lessons college is teaching me, thus the search for a place to call home continues.

next week I'm flying to the united nations in new york, to talk about environmental issues.then the very next week i'm putting on a poetry show, planning a concert, and trying to get my mom to cater a dinner at my school. what a life.

I'm really worried about this trip, i won't lie. well, I'm not so worried about the travel itself, as much as I am worried about the dress code: "business casual".

I don't have a single pair of pants that fits that description. (pants have made my life stressful yet again). So i'm going to go down to value village to buy some, just to spite the term "business".

my life will never be centered around the concept of "being busy". screw that.

tonight, i'm getting a case to share with my friends, and i'm going to reflect on my perpetual singleness. mmm. i love a good case. and i (kind of) love being single, as being single gives me the license to take stupid adventures and write pointless journals.

in other news, something has to change. my life, as it is now, feels disconnected, and insincere. i need some escape to a quiet place, very soon.

the library sessions: I'm afraid of what you'd say

and i've asked myself to walk that road tonight.
is it worth the wait, the cold and sleepless nights?
when will I get it all together?...
or is it all supposed to fall into place?

the day is long and restless.
I've asked myself not to feel so worthless.
its hard trying to feel loved sometimes,
and the words don't feel enough.

there is an ocean two hours from my house,
and i wonder if it still tastes the same.
my shirts are all dry, and lost of that
and my hands need something more.

I wish some time alone would feel more comforting,
I'd give you more peace if I could.

to be continued

my girl america's just a youth in this world.

(I'm writing a paper right now, and I don't know what I'm talking about. so I'm going to distract myself).

Its a pretty overcast day today. I'm sitting in CBC's Collegium right now (aka, the place off campus students chill), and feeling generally alright, besides getting only 4 hours of sleep because i was up until 1 last night reading blaga dimitrova. it looks something like this:

and i'm listening to some mat kearney. its a good life.

My first concert is tonight- a show called "CBC Storytellers". As far as I know, its going to be 7 artists playing songs on guitar, drinking sumatran coffee, and telling stories. I think I might read some poems too. I have high expectations.

and the spot we picked for it is rocking. Its in the student lounge, in front of 3 big windows that face three trees to the left, and Columbia Place. And its going to be rainy, which should give it that "BC Concert" feel. I wish I could show you a picture.

Yeah. man. Life is on a bit of a drag. The whole 4 hours of sleep, 3 papers due, talking to friends who feel the same, thing can get tiring. I got to have coffee with a friend, who i'm pretty sure does not read this, last night, which was cool. We sat outside starbucks watching south fraser drive at night, and laughing at a girl two tables over who was saying "i really wish i could get married".

then we hung out at her place, at a short table with pillows to recline on. it felt very "last supper" esque.

So. i'll wrap this up. Its going to be a whirlwind of a day.

listening: kendall payne
reading: travelling mercies
drinking: water
thinking: you

later.

the balcony sessions

wb yeats: he remembers forgotten beauty

Then my arms wrap you round I press

My heart upon the loveliness

That has long faded from the world;

The jewelled crowns that kings have hurled

In shadowy pools, when armies fled;

The love-tales wrought with silken thread

By dreaming ladies upon cloth

That has made fat the murderous moth;

The roses that of old time were

Woven by ladies in their hair,

The dew-cold lilies ladies bore

Through many a sacred corridor

Where such grey clouds of incense rose

That only God's eyes did not close:

For that pale breast and lingering hand

Come from a more dream-heavy land,

A more dream-heavy hour than this;

And when you sigh from kiss to kiss

I hear white Beauty sighing, too,

For hours when all must fade like dew,

But flame on flame, and deep on deep,

Throne over throne where in half sleep,

Their swords upon their iron knees,

Brood her high lonely mysteries.

- later.

the collegium sessions: chapter 3

growing up lovely's not like it seemed.
you said you'd never end up that way.
and words, words spent more than seconds.
time wasted to feel beautiful.

walking likely is not as loving,
your step is predictably illusive
if not misinterpreted.
you said you never tried that way.

growing up is not without its pressure.
you perform or fall short of grace.
forgiveness is a concept seeming unfamiliar.
or else, love is impossible to predict.

growing up beautiful's not worth much.
you said you'd never look that way.
and worth is worthless if theres no love.
if only someone told you, all along.

waking with guilt is a tragic reprise,
you said the harsh words didn't hurt that much.
and you'd carry that, all you deserve,
never entitled to arms, or holding close.
growing up lovely's more than it seemed.

see the forest, when its wet with rain

man, what a beautiful day. I'm sitting on the back deck of my townhouse watching it rain, and listening to "you belong to me" by jason wade".

with the sound of rain the background. ahh. life is really significant in the rain. especially after a week of tearing myself, and all my theories on love, apart... and just generally being too hard on myself.

screw that. i'm going to try something different this week

instead of testing the water, i'm going to jump on in and worry about what to do with the cold later.

this goes for life. and love in general. the whole "talk about something more than you live it out" / "map out a journey you don't intend to take" approach is not cool.

hmm. sigh. we'll see how it goes. if anything, by this time next week i will have stopped worrying. theres always the chance.

I'm going to toss my dreams of becoming an attractive philosopher. the philosopher part, at least.

~

theres something cold in the rain i can't explain
a transition to life, or lack thereof.
there is fear, we cover
as if to think that will save.
cover is a myth, and safety...

safety is something we use to run away.

there is something about standing i can't explain.
an awkward minute, or resistance to life.
there is fear of the rain.
standing still doesn't make any sense.
because
I overthought it way too much.

~

there is fear, I cover,
as if to think that will save me.
nothing makes sense.
some things don't need to.
i'm not one to get stuck testing the water
instead of jumping in.

i'll screw up. its worth it.
lose sleep. i don't care.
its still worth it.
think i'll try today.
its worth the risk of feeling broken

there is something about rain i can't explain.

i've never immersed myself in the ocean

"If you try and find intimacy with another person before achieving a sense of identity on your own, all your relationships become an attempt to complete yourself"

- Les and Leslie Parrot

I'm not sure, but I think that this quote is wrecking my life.

~

further, "chasing after another person to have a relationship that makes you feel better about yourself spells certain disaster".

ever feel like you don't know where to turn?

in the morning, in the winter shade

It was hailing today, just outside my window. I walked outside for a second to watch it, thousands of small pieces of ice hitting every surface, tapping the roof on impact. it was sweet.

I was busy buying books online at the time. I think i have an addiction. Last week i payed 40 dollars for a book by Blaga Dimitrova- an obscure bulgarian author no-one has ever heard of. and i felt bad for a good three days.

Then today i picked up 6 books... ranging in price from 1 cent to 73 cents. The books were less than 6 bucks, whereas the shipping was 20. a mixed blessing I think.

I will come right out, and confess my sins. I ordered:
Life After God, Douglas Coupland -17 cents
A complicated kindness, Miriam Toews - 1 cent
Eleanor Rigby, Douglas Coupland - 82 cents
Bird by Bird, Anne Lammot - $4
Walking on Water, Madeleine L'Engle - $2.40
What the light was like, Luci Shaw, $10.80

and Journey to Oneself, Blaga Dimitrova - $38.

I'm going to feel real bad come tomorrow. then laugh about it when the books arrive, then feel discontent for lack of books again next year.

being a guy is weird.