this glancing life is like a morning star

Once I found myself, I realized God was there all along.

- postsecret.com

I'm working on a paper right now, and its not working out so well. Although, yesterday i came home and realized i did not have much to do... that the concerts i am putting on were fully planned, and the homework was reasonable.

But, now being back for a day and a half i'm starting to feel some anxiety creep up on me. Which sucks.

I have this weird thing about me, i have realized. I feel good about once or twice a year. For one or two days a year i get to feel confident, relaxed, purposeful. And it seems like the rest of the year is spent building up to that day.

then the next day its back to normal. I'm also starting to realize how down of a person I am, and I have this fear that my friends don't like me as much because I'm always complaining.

shit.

I think that the small things in life pile up after awhile. And the to do list gets so backed up, that it shuts you down. And in the mess of trying to get things done you forget the important things; like writing, breathing, having time to just "be".

I think there is something to be said for living a simple life. With the time we spend doing less, we could spend time with the ones we love, being real. And with the cash we save by buying less useless crap, we could buy some food and invite our friends over.

I have a lot of weird ideas like that. I tell myself, often, that trying to live this simple life I'm always talking about will effectively wreck my "feel good about once or twice a year" theory.

deep sigh. hmm. anyway, I think in my next random, seemingly pointless, entry I'm going to talk about local food. and farmers. and the importance thereof. and then i can make you some pie.

if we do decide to share pie, please reassure me of something- that people don't hate me because I complain too much. I'm trying to give this whole "learning to love yourself" thing a shot.

see you later. ;)



PS- i was wondering something. i think that i have a lot of love to give. and i think one of the reasons I feel down is I'm having a hard time finding out how to give love. but thats another conversation altogether (this "trying to be human" thing is more work than i thought it would be).

weekend in the city 4: in a way i lost everything i believed in

i think this is going to be my last entry until next week. because i'm thinking too much.

stuff that happened, that was not neccesarily a big deal, all that much;

1) saw some picassos, warhols, and rembrandts, and greek-women-statues at an arts museum.
2) ate an amish sandwhich
3) drank some sam adams (it kind of sucked).
4) reflected on new york.

i have never loved vancouver more since coming to new york. this place has big landmarks, but it doesen't have a single coffeehouse that i can find, or much of a community mindset.

commercial drive on the other hand...

5) sat in my room at the seafarers.

feeling: sad-esque. i'm not really "taking this all in" as much as i am just "letting it happen", as dave described it.

realizing: i am a very self-reflective person, which is both good and horrible. for all the trying to figure out who i am, i'm still having trouble with loving myself (unselfishly). or something.

6) the sessions today were about factory farms, and local food. i'm considering becoming a vegan again.

7) listened to some damien rice. no wonder i feel so down.

i'm coming home tomorrow, to plan events and write that ten page paper. i wish i could describe this trip a little better, or at least pull some kind of profound statement out of it, but its just not happening.

i promise you, yet again, some prose. as soon as i find a decent coffehouse / as soon as i get back to the pacific northwest. and i promise to listen a little more, instead of talking all the time.

we'll see, soon.

weekend in the city chapter 3: let down and hanging around

i'll keep this list short because
a) i'm getting sick of my own voice
b) i'm sitting in a session, overlooking the UN building. Yesterday we (dave, renee, and other random people and I)

a) took a tour of the UN
b) stood beside east river
c) ate sketchy mozza ball soup from carnegie
d) rode sketchy subways
e) took in a comedy show on broadway

f) walked down times square, the land that never sees the dark of night. more stories later.
g) considered seeing rent. still considering.
h) hung out with abby. more stories later.
i) heard dave tell the story about how he almost got shot the first night, twice.

thats the short of it. New York never stops moving. its kind of a gong show.

more later. i am too worn down to write.

PS- i was lying. theres no more stories later. i'm just feeling really apathetic. thus is New York.

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.

maybe when we're older I'll be less afraid

mother free me,
they beat my body blue,
bloody.
so boldly take me up to you.

I'm in no shape to share my point of view.
maybe failing's the first thing I can do.

devil, angel,
anyone you are.
place me safely
somewhere very far.

- miracle fortress, poetaster

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

listening to: miracle fortress

thinking: you

worrying: way too much

guess i made it through

guess i made it through this time.
not sure that i'm much the same.
its weird how much changes in one day,
let alone a couple hours.

don't read between the lines.
i'm not writing about you.
not really. still thinking of you.
i'm thinking of feeling loved
all the time.

its good.
made it through without that guilt.
life keeps on, and its a tough go.
whether or not i decide to notice..

i'm so damn vague,
not sure how to feel. i used to believe anything.
i'm more open in my stumbling.
and all the better just for trying.

tasting a narrative part 2

this morning in class, when i should have been learning about the book of Geneisis, i was looking for ways to roast my own coffee beans at home. so... I'm going to wrap up all my thoughts about java and put it to rest... right now... go-

I have this habit of drinking coffee, whereas i buy a fair trade coffee from a specific country (as opposed to a blend of different countries). One month I'll buy a coffee from Peru, another month I'll buy a coffee from Tanzania, just so i can get a feel for a coffee, and figure out what makes one country's coffee distinct from another. This is just something i've been trying for awhile.

Knowing exactly where a coffee is from, and taking time to prepare it carefully and sip it slowly, is the only way to do coffee. You're not just drinking a cup of coffee, you're drinking a story. so why not make it a really good story. (insert shameless plug for "fair trade" here). incidently, i kept one of the beans of the coffee, that the Pastor was serving, and I taped it in my artsty journal with the text "This coffee bean has a story".

The coffee I talked about last time was distinctly Sumatran. in a coffee there are certain flavours that are unique to a country, dependent on numerous factors- height above sea level, weather, soil... not that i am, or ever will be, one of those guys that will be able to taste all those weird nuances.

But good coffee doesn't need to be a complex issue. I'll make it simple for you;
1) Fair Trade (Level Ground sells some good stuff).
2) Whole Bean
3) Freshly ground

that said, i will stop bugging you about coffee. i'm not as much of a coffee freak as I try and make people think I am (try saying that 3 times in a row). I'm just a really bored college student who talks about a lot of unconventional stuff. And I've pretty much talked the life out of coffee by now.

that said, consider this the end of a chapter. I'm going to turn some pages next time.

later.

tasting a narrative

Hey Hey. I thought I would try a new look for my journal. I really like it. I also thought i would sit down in the collegium today, with half a pot of "kick ass", and "miracle fortress" playing in the background. This really is one of those great moments of life.

Speaking of great moments; I have offically tasted the worlds rarest coffee. And here is a fantastic story to go along with it- A pastor friend of mine invite me to his church yesterday to try out this "rare" coffee he had bought on wholesale. being the coffee freak i am, i took him up on his offer... and I invite a girl that I like (but that is a different, proabably more interesting, story). This rare coffee was from Indonesia, and named "Kopi Luwak".

Kopi Luwak coffeee is regarded as the worlds rarest, and most expensive coffee, in the world. At retail, the coffee sells for $200-$400 a pound. This coffee is grown and cultivated on the island of Sumatra, in Indonesia (arguably, the place where the finest coffees of the world are found).

Now heres how the coffee is produced. On the island of Sumatra there is a species of cat-like mammal called the Palm Civet. At night Palm Civets forage through coffee bushes, eating only the finest coffee fruits. It is said that the animal will starve to find just the right berries.

The Palm Civet is known to have a unique digestive system, which is only able to process the "fruit" part of the coffee berries. So, the bean of the coffee fruit is then "excreted". So farmers will search for the feces of this animal to harvest the rare beans.

So, the coffee is essentially Civet crap. And I drank that yesterday. Ah ha ha ha! (i love being a coffee lover).

The story, as the pastor explained, illustrated a profound point about faith. When God chooses to work He doesen't choose the best, the most perfect, means. He chooses the refuse of life.

One story the pastor told was of how Jesus once spit in the sand to heal a man's blindness. And if you think about it, spitting is one of the greatest insults you can inflict at another person. In that story the worst was used for the best means.

And i took this as a humbling lesson. We don't need to be perfect, or aspire to be perfect, in our characters. Somehow, God works in the ugly and awkward places in life- in the dirt, the crap, and the places where we don't think He belongs.

and this all started with a small cup of coffee. In the same way that a Civet's crap can produce the world's finest coffee, we can find the most beautiful moments of life in the crap of life... the moments of being human, and trying to feel loved.

as far as the flavor of the coffee is concerned, here is my critique-

um, it wasn't, like, the most spectacular coffee i have ever tasted. but the aroma was absolutel alluring, and sensuous - unlike any aroma i have smelled before. oh yeah. the coffee had a distinctive Sumatra flavor. I can't really think of any way to describe other than just saying "Sumatra".

I'll explain it to you later... over some chai. I need a break from coffee.

some hurting

"if theres no love, you try and find it wherever"

-me.

.... yeah. its just a weird kind of day.

some expectation

dallas green was pretty darn great. i must say. i still have that "relaxed/chill/wow, acoustic music is my heart" feeling. its cool.

The concert was at stanley park... so imagine a clear starry night, and a stage circled with evergreen trees (arguably the best type of tree) and sitting in the cool grass with blankets to keep warm. i love it.

Before the concert a friend and I shared horribly overpriced halibut and a beer that tasted like bread. after the concert i fell asleep.

oh, completely random and pointless- i had a 5 second sleep last night. which, for you who don't know, is 8 hours of sleep that feels like 5 seconds.

Then today i tried to get my passport application in, at a passport office in Abbotsford. They told me i had to go process it in surrey. Which kind of steamed me off. Why have a passport office if you can't process a passport? Damn government.

Meh. I shouldn't complain. If i lived anywhere else in the world i would be arrested for typing in that last sentence. I owe you some better writing... about my fun and entertaing personal life, of chasing after girls, and then being too afraid to talk to them. what a life.

later.

PS- i had a dream about teapots last night. Anyone down for a walk to MCC?

menno food and dallas green

I'm having one of those "arg, i feel like crap... but i shouldn't complain because i have no reason to feel like crap" days.

This feeling could have been brought on by a number of things;

- eating sketchy farmer sausage, with bun.
- eating a deep fried ball of dough, with special guest... raisins. it had some crazy name, but i can't remember what it is.
(mennonites eat some weird stuff, i must say).

or - working on my indie poetry book. i wrote some freaking heavy stuff during the summer. man.

it was a depressing 4 or so hours.

Before the end of this week, if not the end of this year, i resolve to

- not eat mennonite food
- not work on poetry projects and
- actually hold hands with a girl (i have to stay at least somewhat optimistic about this last one).

we will see.

oh, by the way, i'm seeing City and Color in two days. finally. details to follow.

as soon as i stop feeling weird.

I'm still living. somewhat.

my plan, for the next three days or so;

1) sit in class for 8 hours
2) fall asleep in 8 hour class.
3) Get Passport for New York
4) Watch "Dead Man Walking"
5) Sauce (preferably, tomato)
5.1) eat farmer sausage and perogies.

6) Watch "Benny and Joon"
7) Listen to Our Lady Peace (and lots of it). or maybe some Kings of Convenience

8) watch City and Colour in Stanley Park.

9) Write less pointless entries.
9.1) feel less like an insensitive... blah.
10) Hold hands with a girl.

(the last one might be a bit of a stretch... we'll see).

its hard for me but I'm trying

(I know I've quoted this book before... but this time it looks different. so ha).

Everybody has to change, or they expire. Everybody has to leave, everybody has to leave their home and come back so they can love it again for all new reasons.

I want to keep my soul fertile for the changes, so things keep getting born in me, so things keep dying when it is time for things to die. I want to keep walking away from the person I was a moment ago, because a mind was made to figure things out, not to read the same page recurrently.

Only the good stories have the characters different at the end than they were at the beginning. And the closest thing I can liken life to is a book, the way it stretches out on paper, page after page, as if to trick the mind into thinking it isn't all happening at once.

- Donald Miller, Through Painted Deserts.

i might become a mess of love

the "jacob and lily" show at my school today worked out pretty awesomely. i must say.

here, check out some music...

and, i'll have some prose ready for you after i get some sleep. later.

its like lightning in a clear blue sky

today was the first day of schoool. and i am horribly tired. I got to try out one of my really bad one liners, in front of all the new students (and their parents).

"Hi, I'm Adam, I'm the arts rep. If your an artsy person, or if your the kid in high school that no-one talked to, talk to me."

...well, they thought it was funny. in retrospect, i should never talk in front of a large crowd...ever.

Anyway, i still have a hundred thousand things to think about before school gets into the swing of things... meeting itinerarys, introductions, calenders, classes... GAH.

Its going to be quite the long year. I may, or may not, be going to New York and St. Lewis this year... and Europe/Spain in 2 years.

what a life. So, i have been promising myself for way too long to sit and write prose over a cup of coffee. erg. I should really get on that before "paper-writing season" kicks in. shudder.

we will have to see. later.

All that noise, and all that sound,

... sometimes the day keeps me up all night.
and i wonder if its worth staying here.
call my bluff, i'm not alright. i'm running away.
I just need a place that sleep calls home.

so, for the past week i have been working like a madman, trying to plan a concert, finish work, and figure out Student Council information all at once.

I wasn't able to get the last three days of summer off, which means i have to miss every single Leadership Training meeting- thus it also means that i have no effing idea what i am doing.

Anyway, deep sigh, as you can see i still haven't had anything interesting to say in over a week. This is a weird sensation for me, a guy who likes to keep his online journal very up to date. This could, in the end, be my downfall... my generalized writing style is starting to rub off into my real journaling (the kind with paper). So my personal wrestlings, which are not meant to grace the pages of an online journal, are starting to get less honest and more vague. hm.

I'm starting to feel the downness of being too busy. I wish i had/really want a couple days to slow down and reflect... it would be a shame to let an entire summer of insight just go to waste- or to just shrug off the precious details in the rush of starting a new chapter. bleh.

If you know me please ask me for a conversation. If you don't know me, we'll have to fix that... send me an e-mail or something.

talk to you later.

reprise;

try this link- i think it actually works now. we'll see;

Midlake

moving helps to make the day seem shorter

I still really have nothing to write about... sooo

stuff that makes life feel like home-

- my new townhouse (right beside my old one, which was considerable louder).
- a pot of tea everyday after work. today it was an orange spice, from EA.
- writing... which i have not done all week. gah. no wonder i feel so disconnected.
- school, which starts in just over a week.
- new faces... you get a lot of those at a college...
- by the way, some of the new students came early, thus the "new faces".

- Leaning over the side of a pier and seeing a big seal rush by, ten feet away (that was cool).
- not spending 17 bucks for a small pizza (effing Boston Pizza... so expensive).

- coffee from peru. which i haven't had in a week... again, disconnected.
- Blaga Dimitrova. And Anne Lamont.
- And, Madeleine L'Engle.
- Midlake
- The first five seconds out the door before work, getting to breathe in fresh air. mmm.

- Dirty dishes and piles of books on my desk and coffee table.
- Not my coffee table... it has a glass top, and gold painted steel legs... shudder. I do not like glass coffee tables.
- Alexander Keith's


- My broken hammock.
- Learning to write shorter, more concise, less pointless entries (not to mention, less emo).
- My artsy fair-trade paper journal which i carelessly use for personal stuff.
- Tomatoes and Pasta, with grated garlic and parmesan cheese.
- My mom's pizza... which i haven't eaten in over a year.
- The five seconds after a conversation on a moonlit dock at midnight... realizing how beautiful the person you are talking to is.

-Writing... which I need to do more often. As soon as I have something to write about... we'll see.

later

-Adam

PS- I did have something to write about- a latenight roadtrip to Whiterock, and a huge dock- but meh. it didn't come to me until just now. it happens.

waiting is lame

I really have nothing to write about... (thus, my absence). soooo

Only a week and a half until school. Woot.

I can't wait. At all. So instead I'm filling the time between now and then with buying old books and cheap t-shirts. Being a twentysomething is not so bad.

four walls and lonely evenings

cry, blaga dimitrova

When will you come to me?
When I have gone,
and my departing steps
echo distantly?
When will you be with me?
When you've been immured
within the four walls
of your lonely evening?

When will you discover me?
When I pass by
pressed close against another,
my eyes cast down?
When will you call my name?
Only when you see
you are losing me - a stranger,
remote, unknown?

Love me fully now,
When I love you!
While I am yours
crave me, long for me,
reach out your open hands
while I will run to you.
For tomorrow will be late
and beyond repair.

cold chai and contradictory lines

I climbed this hill, this time last summer.




(i write a lot of love poems about no-one. this is one of them).

the day i spent with you was like memories,
as captivating as the day it was painted
with fingerprints and intentional imperfections,
and opposite lines to divide our hands.

in the scheme of things we look like we were patched together
with undefined insights, and a question mark,
with tired brush strokes, and saddened afterthought.
painted together in a late blue period,
between the renaissance and the age of reason.

behind the subtle shades of expectation,
an artist has drawn you back to me.
an illogical placement of colors falls together,
and our faces are drawn out with contradictory lines.

me and all my friends

yesterday was probably the most awkward day of my entire life. i realized this somewhere between;
-missing my bus at 9 am, arriving in Vancouver two hours late
-tripping down some skytrain steps
-losing my friend in a crowd of thousands (twice).
-almost having to sleep in some grass outside the bus depot (which is what i would have done last night, if i didn't find my said friend).

and there are thousands of other small/ somewhat pointless stories, which i won't bug you with... weeell... maybe over some coffee.

so. I'm in Vancouver. Last night i decided to check out some fireworks, at English Bay, and there just so happened to be half a million people huddled besided the ocean, watching thousands of dollars worth of sparks, colors, and light colliding with the reflection of the pacific ocean.

The fact that fireworks are set off beside the ocean makes everything hugely better.

so then every person in vancouver, and their mom, walked down Denman, Robson, and Davie street to get home, followed by police on motorcycles and giant horses (which was very intimidating, i must say)

It was really cool. a few times I would look ten blocks down the road and see the giant wave of people filling the four lane streets like a giant parade... this is something you should do at least once, if not 5 times.

~

Before that me and Heather (who is going to dislike me greatly for referencing her, as i am sure she shares my dislike for being referenced online) walked down commercial drive for awhile. some stuff we managed to do;

- Cappuchinos at JJ Bean
- purchased tea from Ten Thousand Villages
- looked at pictures at an artsy print-store.
- shopped for murses (man purse) at a hemp store... though, i could not decide on one... maybe next time.
- considered buying an alpaca sweater. again, maybe next time.
-ate some been donairs

- wandered into commercial street park for an outdoor concert / event. It took about 5 minutes for me to realize that the event was a "Gay Pride" gathering... ha ha. i had to laugh at that.

- walked down some sidestreets and pointed out which houses we would like to live in... i love how quiet some of those sidestreets are.
- watched "the bourne ultimatum", which was actually really sweet/awesome/yeah.

So, anyway, I'm sorry if this entry has seemed blah/a little lifeless/un-prosy. i was awake for a good 20 hours yesterday, and you would be surprised how many diverse and ranging emotions one can feel in that amount of time.

Getting far away from home can do that to you. In the past two years I've had a lot of running away from home, then running back wondering why i left in the first place. Its the grace of being a backpacker, i suppose.

more later, once i try this "sleep" thing everyone is talking about. possible plans for today
- stanley park
- buying pants at Mountain Equpiment co-op
-touring old downtown churches (maybe next time).
- prose
- a pint of maple-cream ale
- purchasing an artsy man-purse

we'll see.

-Adam

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.

rainstorms

... and rain. some of the best memories of my life happen in the rain.

(i'm not so sure if anyone who reads this shares my love for large expanses of water, being the lack of comment. i must have a lot of readers from the prairies.

even then, Manitoba has a lot of lakes and rain. and where theres rain, theres sliding across wet grass and getting muddy, and feeling the pain of it all later. and commenting on friend's journals who have done the same.

or, at least there should be).

green tea,
tired eyes. frail dreams,
and grace to try.

its kind of nice when the sun separates from the blue,
and shadows on the trees across the way.
sleepless night,
followed by the thought,
the feeling that somethings wrong.

some old things on the floor, the shelf
new music. fresh life,
and cold in the window, again,
to remind me what life feels like.

cold tea,
tired eyes, frail heart,
(some life i don't want to face),
and grace to try.

-Adam.

running water

...I think that all my best memories have the sound of running water in the background.

...seems like I'm always on my own

this was a good weekend. oh man.

a friend of mine from school came into town, after spending three months in Eurpoe, and another month in Africa. If you can picture it, a bunch of us guys sat in the living room, telling long and deeply inspired stories, with numerous honey lagers.

we talked intently about shalom, and home, and loving God. I think we all share a common idea about how we find shalom by reaching out to the least. shalom exists when everyone has enough.

i woke up at about 10 the next day, to find that the rest of my party had crashed on couches. and we summoned the comfort of the couches, and pots deep, rich, Tanzanian coffee and chai tea with unrefined sugar, writing music and playing guitars (well, i can't play guitar, so i was playing with a round shaker thing). to me this felt like community as its finest, a revival of sorts.

later on that night an even older (as in, how long i've known her), and maybe even more dear, friend showed up, and more music ensued.

i'm starting to wish i had written all this down yesterday, when the thoughts were still writing themselves in my head. today i'm much more tired, and way more overly caffeinated and obnoxious. i still have a lot to learn about writing it seems. either write when the moment occurs, or write long after in a slowed down reflective mood, pulling together a warmth of insights as if they were kept safe in a precious room in the heart. I think its those kinds of reflective times that shed light on how profound a moment was.

i'm in neither of those places right now. if the "standing on a mountaintop" analogy works at all in this situation, i'm climbing down at the moment, the air still fresh in my lungs. and i'm already trying to plan the next great hike in my mind.

listening to : Augustana

(reprise)

i think i was wrong when i wrote "the poor playing home at night". its not the poor who are playing home... its us.

lets talk about it sometime.

frail hands and home, part 2

today at worked i listed toooo;

a) showbread, no sir nihilism is not practical

b) POD, testify

c) ben harper, diamonds on the inside

d) imogen heap, i megaphone

and e) brand new, the devil and god are raging inside me.

It was a pretty epic day, in terms of music. all day long i was in suspense, wondering if my ipod was going to die. it didn't

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

today wasn't such a lousy day. for the past month i've been cleaning Montecito Place, the place where most of the guys on CBC campus call home, 8 months a year. my job is to wash the walls, and clean the carpets, in order to remove weirdy looking stains that hang around the walls and carpets, like a creeper at a club.

my roommate shared some insight about this job, which in the past all i have done is complain about. he said that people probably wouldn't notice that the job was done... but they would notice if the job wasn't done.

which was a comforting thought today. rather than think about dorm guys thanklessly scuffing up the nice clean walls and creating questionable stains, i thought more about guys sitting in the dorm rooms reflecting and wrestling with things raised in class...

... rather than being distracted by odd marks, saying "what the heck is that bug shaped thing on the carpet in the corner?!?... it kind of looks like the Eucharist."

so, my job is to get rid of distractions, negative things that interrupt the work of grace. this makes the job less annoying... even so, two months and counting and i'll be finished (insert positive face here).

------------------------------
you know, i realized something today, by one means or another (its a rather long story, filled with irony and conviction... which i can tell you some other time).

when i stay home and worry about my pains, and anxieties, i start to live a really selfish life. i start trying to live by my own strength, it crashes down, and i wrestle with God wondering why it crashed, blaming the circumstances.

then i get too stuck on my own shit, and forget that there is a world of other things to worry about, let alone my own small worries. why should i be so stuck on my worries when there are people who love me and care enough to help me carry them. and it goes both ways.

i'd hate to think that these worries are "all there is in life". and thats a danger that comes up when i live my life like this. i start to think that my immediate worries are all there is in life, then dwell on them completely, wrestling with sadness. but if i get out i realize that there is so much more "out there". i think that the kingdom of God concept isn't something for the "loners", not to say time spent alone, solitude, is not valuable. the concept of a kingdom is for the poor in spirit to come and gather, praying "God, have mercy on us... we're in this thing".

umm. yeah. i feel a little free-er tonight, as i said by one means or another. i hope it lasts more than a couple hours... well, maybe it will if i start acting practically, rather than just talking about it all the time. lets have coffee sometime soon, share some conversation. or maybe, over the phone, since half the population of people that read this, i'm sure, live hundreds of kilometers away.

oh well. much has yet to be said, but enough has for now. goodnight.

simple dreams and grace to try

i think sometime, in the next 5 years, i'm going to backpack across europe. i'll hit up my homeland (italy), check out Iona, and pass through Greece.

but before that i'm going to plan concerts, and try to pick up a minor in worship arts.

we'll see.

unbalance and the discontent thereof

i'm not articulate everyday.
i wish just one good day would last longer,
wish the ratio, the range, were not so unbalanced.
i wish one good morning would last all afternoon.

i was looking back at some old entries, where my writing seems to have a good flow, strong transition, and solid conclusion. it seems like these kinds of entries only show up once or twice a year, when i feel inspired and content with myself, for the short span of a couple hours that i happen to feel good.

i'll slow down, and explain what i'm talking about. since i left high school, i feel like i've only had a handful of "good days"- days when i feel right about myself, and where i feel good about what kind of life i'm in. on those days i feel confident, outgoing, outspoken... all that good stuff that is supposed to be social accaptability.

i can't control which days are good. i mean, i've tried to force good days, but they just turn out awkward. does anyone know what i mean?

i'm always wondering why i can't have more days of feeling good about myself, days where thoughts flow with ease, days where i'm not fighting waves of down-ness. i have to ask God everday, why can't i feel like i'm socially on top of things all the time? why the long periods of time when all i can think about is how off i feel? i hope i'm not alone in this.

houses, part two

made this day to
shelter me.
these days aren't much
like houses...
more like the poor playing home at night
like cardboard boxes and alleyways,
the downcast eyes and complications,
the dreams of dignity and grace.

made this rain to,
carry me.
these lives aren't warm
like tea...
more like the depressed playing security,
more unsure than i've ever known.
the lies that say it will heal with time,
memories yelling, I'm not worth love.

(pain takes more than time to heal,
it takes love and belonging as well).

i don't live like,
(shelter me)
i've got some life.
save some for me,
these houses
aren't much to cover
to keep me safe.

i originally i wrote this poem for facebook, of all things. then I thought of some new lines i could add to it at a conert, and wrote them back of a cheque. i originally thought about reading it in public at my homechurch in nanaimo, one of these days. but, i don't think its going to happen.

anyway, i hope this expanded version doesn't wreck it.

why the fear

i used to be sick of living with people.
well, i guess i still am.
but i can't live alone,
and i can't lie awake,
i guess i'm still the same.

the days used to have this mystery
and i could taste it in everything
the lightest rain,
the water glass.
God, why the constant losing faith?
why the fear of praying anymore?

i used to love writing, time with you,
but today, nothing is the same,
the constant lows,
i don't feel like it,
i guess i'm still the same.

prone to wander, Lord, I feel it

today I listened to "Songs For Christmas" by Sufjan Stevens, in its entirety, while washing walls and 30 year old carpets. It was a good place to be.

Then I felt horribly convicted about all the free music I've been adding to my computer lately. i wonder how an artist would feel about me.

or i wonder, even more, how I'm supposed to feel about myself... as an artist. hmm. i think too much.

Bradley Hathaway, by the way, is awesome in concert. I feel very inclined to learn some guitar, take writing seriously, and go on tour sometime.

sometime. we'll see. All i can really think about these days is how easily i could have a more enjoyable job. and then, i wander back to recognizing how much a blessing the job i have now is- being that it's right beside my house, and it pays well. gr. This is one of those things I've realized in the past year, one of the side effects of maturity-

we will always wrestle with our blessings. we're always wishing that there was more. and maybe thats a side effect of our broken nature- we are prone to feel incomplete.

alas. I feel too down to write a lot today. what a horrible way to feel.

concerts and convictions

John Mayer is pretty spectacular in concert. and, the Gorge has the best acoustics i have ever heard. i could hear every word Johnny Boy was singing, without distortion, in perfect clarity AND i could hear my own voice as i was making comments with my friends

get this- the very first thing John Mayer said was "So, who's sleeping in my tent tonight". Hmmm. Then he said "this venue has a great backdrop. Its like, when you look out at it theres no problems... no problems." I think the highlight of the night was the acoustic set, lit dimly with purple lights, and a dark blue, starred atmosphere.

Ben Folds was a very solid act, as well. It was, i will say with confidence, the best show i have seen in my short 5 years of seeing shows.

I can't wait for September, when i'll get to plan shows. i was considering putting together a small coffeehouse concert, with my housemates. that would be pretty cool. but its pretty much just a dream right now. i dunno. part of me just doesen't feel like putting the effort in. its probably because i was awake for 20 hours yesterday.

PS, i've promised myself that I will write some thoughts down next week, in the form of prose. Though, I've already broken the promise to never let good thoughts go to waste.

until then, waiting for... a lot of things.

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

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

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.

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

...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...