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.