Where Are We Now?

The cursor blinks,

like my eyes blink,

as I try to recall

the very specific set

of sentiments, senses, surroundings

that germinated

this collection of words and friends.

Blink,

and fifteen-and-a-half years fly by.

An entire childhood

since we were only

just barely

no longer children ourselves,

just starting to sort the world out.

Spoiler: it's still unsorted,

like my laundry.

Only, my world has shrunk

and my laundry's doubled.

unfinished

in dreams
you're colors only you
can be
the only hues
i see
they are outside
of me
and it seems
(in dreams)
you've got inside
of me
you've tried
to hide
in me
(could you abide in me?)
maybe just for a while
if you needed to rest
for it seems that
for dreams
to be constantly dressed
in the spectrum of you
and in shades this true
well it seems, dear friend,
such an obvious clue:
you are weary
and lost
and have somehow crossed
from your own restless slumber
on into mine
and i'll welcome you warmly
and lay down a bed
fitted with flannel
(come, lay down your head)
and i'll tell you a story
of old kings and glory
and how i'm so sorry..
(come, lay down your head)

a wrinkle in time

my long lost friends,

every so often i wander back here in the hopes that someone else has as well. today i opened to page to find a new entry by Shaina dated September 28 of this year! what excitement! but then, as i went to comment after Adam, i noticed his comment was made on March 13? so strange. needless to say, something, somewhere cause a clock to shift.

nevertheless, i miss this place.

sense of place has been something i've been thinking a lot about recently. i'm in-a-sense homeless at the moment, waiting for my apartment to be ready. i sleep on couches and borrowed beds, live out of boxes, bags, and a suitcase. i find myself longing for my own space, somewhere to arrange, decorate, inhabit, claim as my own. and i also find that without that basic need fulfilled, everything else about me feels scattered.

it's a funny place to be in. especially with school underway. it doesn't even feel like it's begun, and yet october is 1/4 done.

anyway, i hope i'm not the only one who peeks in on this little space of ours. i've got some new work i'll put up at some point. or maybe i will just write something altogether new, just for here.

see you around.

ages

..it's been a while! lots has happened to keep me away from the internet...i hope to drop in and catch up on what i've missed someday soon.

for now, i only stop in for a moment, to leave a scrap of something that tumbled out of a tired pen and sleepy eyes after a very long drive and an even longer neglected concept.

imagine it on kindergarten construction paper.
light pink perhaps.
forgotten in a crumbling cardboard box in an attic somewhere.



and he'll wait for her forever
till she's grown
until he's old

till the farthest star she flickers
and the earth is glazed in gold

his soles shall tread above the dead
as he'll traverse the lands
with diamonds fixed where once were eyes
and stones where once were hands

he'll search for his beloved
till she's flown
until he's cold

till the farthest moon has gone to sleep
and the story's been untold

his soul shall dread the shallow bed
he made just underfoot
was where she rested all along
and he his treasure put.

020//abroad.

Roper, if you could, please print out "letter to a generation." and leave copies of it around campus.

Miss/Love you all.

Here's a sample of what I've written (this is excluding the six new songs).

Enjoy.

---



this is our adventure.

cigarettes burn long and hot, the fumes slowly sift into the fresh lungs of our youth. we are at woodstock, and Jesus is our Jimi Hendrix. everyone is wide eyed, searching, optimistic and diverse. Benjamin sings American songs; Jean smokes his french cigarettes; Virginia wants to teach her heart how to love more. we're all here for something...bigger. something to trust; something to hold close, or something to hold us. i'm here to find a truth, in amongst the smoke. somewhere in these hills there has to be some thin air. so i'll keep searching.

what is it about this place that draws us all so close. the world seems to shy further and further away from the sacred everyday, but this place is so countercultural in that it defies that modernity. the sun sets in an orange blaze, behind the green hills, and God smiles along with us. i can see why God rested on the 7th; I could spend an eternity resting and admiring. soon we'll wave our goodbyes, one kiss on each cheek in tender platony, and we won't cry any tears, because there's no time for tears. we are golden, and the world has too much to discover. besides, we'll all be together soon enough, when we've finally found home, at the place where all searching ends.

---

the stars seem to call out with such vigor, more so than i have ever seen before. calling out, not so much as an attempt to receive an answer to some rhetorical question, but merely to proclaim the goodness that is your love. the light that they create is but a spark compared to the light you create, and they call THAT out. they cry, "you, not us, are the chose ones! what a gift life is! to love, to laugh, to sing, to dance, to cry, to fear, to forgive, to remember, to mourn, to miss and to praise!" what a waste it would be to have such a gift, and to have it be friviously kept a secret. we should be screaming, "holy, holy is the Lord God Almighty" from the highest of heights.

hopefully someday we will find our words, and our ways, and we will finally give God what he truly deserves.

---

the ghost of you lingers.

(if you were here)

running and racing, our windows down, the warm air rushing from west winds, from one side of the car to the other. nothing stale about this sepia scene: I came to pick you up, take you away from another apathetic afternoon. the small towns rush by like briefcase holding business men, late for tea with client a or b. we're on our way to the coast, the ocean seems forever away, and forever sounds pretty damn good. we're in this moment, this single frame of time when the combination of air and smoke in our lungs, tones in our ears and warm air carressing our soft faces, feels like eternity. in motion to the ocean. an open road before us, and nothing but history behind us. history's never done much for us anyways, so we're all casual smiles, swaying hair and waves of smiles.

our eyes will never deceive us again; we'll learn to trust, to love and, finally, how to cry.

---

letter to a generation.

raise your heads, raise your voices, you electric children. life is more than the selfish desires that have been imposed upon us; life is more than our constant pursuit of an impossible happiness, which has been contrued by the people who have decided to sell it. we have a chance to dream, and we have the ability to imagine a world that is so much better than the one we're in. this world of our fathers is passing, and the responsibility is being placed upon us. what kind of state do we want to leave the world in?

raise your heads, raise your voices, you children of apathy. hope is real; love is real. we are not slaves to our idealism, and we are not slaves to our desires. when will our prophets begin to speak? when will we begin to create some sort of change? how long will we stay silent?

raise your heads, raise your voices, you children of hope. let's begin an insurgance of love, let's begin to tear down the barriers of hate that we've grown up in. let's destroy every label we've learned to accept and apply. let's let our stories cross our divides, adn let's begin to share. we can share our love, hope, experiences, ideas, and we can begin to sing songs that will echo the cry of our new found childlikeness.

raise your heads, raise your voices, you sleepy-eyed children. let's fall in love with the mysteries, and begin to look at our lives through the eyes of a child. when did we lose our innocence? when did success replace love? let's dream up a world where we truly love our neighbor and where the common good replaces selfishness. i have hope that this world can exist, and you do too, whether you realize it or not. because inside you beats the heart of a dreamer, you jaded cynics. we were created to dream; to imagine a world where we know, and experience, the true meaning of home.

so raise your heads, raise your voices, you children of today. we were given hope, and we were given voices. so let's teach our hearts to show love to one another, and let's teach our mouths how to speak truth.

---

needless to say, europe is having an affect on me.

Jamison.

oh, things and stuff

I like the looks of this.

Enjoy the Ride

I'd like to post it as a "hey..i'm proud of ya" / "welcome back to this strange place" present to my friend Logan, who recently wrapped up a year of challenging himself in a big way.



And I'd like to post this one as a present to myself, because I just think it's neat-looking as well and I'd really like a sweater like that. (and a crew of magical BMX creatures.)

What's A Girl to Do


It's almost Valentine's Day.
groooossss.


Here's another video.
It's cute.

(these are probably all super old and all the trendy kids have seen them...but that's alright, because i haven't. they're new to me!)

Jesus Saves, I Spend


Yep, that's all. Nothing wise or modern or clever to say. Sometimes I just feel blessed when I see creative things, like movies or videos or picatures or shoes or tattoos or well-placed domestic foliage...and I hope you do too. :)

ships

Lent always pissed me off 'cause it just seemed to've been reduced to some kind of mediocre self-righteous religious mockery.

Could have been due to the majority of my exposure to it occurring at bible college.

I'm trying to change my perception of that.

(Lent and bible college. Lent first though. Bible college is probably going to take decades.)

I just mentioned in an e-mail to Nanc' my general disdain with being bound to time being at odds with my interest in the church calendar and spiritual disciplines.

She's invited me to participate in a Lent journey with her and a couple other folks who might join forces to comprise a little online community. It looks pretty rad. If you're like me and you're thinking halfheartedly about Lent and you need a friend to send an idea your way, let me know. I'll send you the thing we're checkin' out--has a lot to do with confronting barriers--between ourselves and God's will/his creation/other people/unity in the church/etc. A weekly exploration that involves a little less giving up coffee and a little more engaging in the world around you.



So speaking of mysterious journeys, ships seem to be my recurring theme of the year.

And I don't know how to post videos on here still, or else I would.
So just go watch these ones.
Because they're good songs.

Your Rocky Spine

One Last Song

* * *

Mixed and matched.

Was looking through some papers tonight and came across a little something i wrote just after America Thanksgiving.

With Andy Shauf serenading me through headphones and a hot coffee ready at my disposal I make my way north to Vancouver on the train from Seattle. The sun is rising on my right and the Puget Sound drifts by on my left with the early morning mist still concealing islands. Almost as if they were playing Hide and Seek.

All of this is putting me in a rather pensive state and I can't help but realize how much I have at that moment, much less remember all the times I've been blessed over my lifetime. The last 4 days spent with my sister, grandma and relatives have shown me how much I have been given and how little I appreciate it at times.

They say that "Distance makes the heart grow fonder", but what they forget to tell you is that a lot of the time it makes you forget too.

My time in Seattle has been a time of remembrance. A time of remembering how beautiful it is to walk down to the beach or just looking out over the sound through my grandparents living room windows. A time of remembering past gatherings sitting around the kids table with my fellow cousins causing a ruckus while all the parents talked of weather, work, travel and the trading of information of more distant relatives. A time of of remembering good food.. and even better family.

Heading back to Vancouver has me filled with mixed feelings. A mixture of happiness at having an amazing time with family, yet saddened at the idea that I might not see them again for quite some time.

There is also the confusion of coming from mixed worlds. Part of me wants to stay in the city and become more refined (or in-tune with it at least). The complexity of the "ME" culture yet the simplicity of mindless materialism.
The other part , the one most likely to win, aches to be distant from anything with a monetary value. Where your worth is based on you and what you have.

It is doubtful that I will ever come to terms completely with that.

The last couple days have been days of realizations... of how wrong I am about most of my opinions of people.


Life is full of constant realizations.
Realizations of how significant our past is.. for better or worse.
Realizations of how much we have to look forward to.

It's rather strange how you miss your relatives the most the moment you leave them.

whispers

do you get those times where everything in life seems to pile up on each other to the point where what should be the most restful, most satisfying time [that point where your pillow meets your head] turns into to something you dread and more than anything you just want to go to sleep and let it all be far away, but it won't let you sleep until you get so tired from trying not to think that you don't notice your brain has slowed and your eyes have closed?

it's been like that for me lately...

* * *

whispers

there's a gentle breeze

blowing though the grass

brushing our legs just

below the knees and it's

whispering to all the little

babies "hush now it is time

to sleep"

but not in my ears no

in mine it is a howling

wind driving waves and

with each gust it rains

it rains

i'd be better

if i were indoors but

all the doors look like they're

closed and the lights are

already switched off and

nobody answers when i

knock

wish I had a river

home.
you know I'd like to go there,
but I don't think it's a place I belong.
home, I'd love to wake up there,
but how can I plan on waking up feeling rested?

home could have less to do with arrival.
i could leave all my love on the climbing way,
with painful steps and slow.
"and love is not the easy thing, the only baggage you can bring",
I'll leave all my fears behind.

home.
if you've never had one, what is it like?
is there really anything to "go back to"?
maybe everything is waiting in some open arms.
but I might find meaning, either way.
home. you know I'd love to wake up there.

~

...the journey continues, or maybe it needs to end.
maybe its time I stopped running away.
Its another chapter and I still don't have it all together.

missing

I've never been one to miss people much.
I'll think of them fondly and wish to see them--I'm naturally quite transient and prone to visits...it's never goodbye, just see-you-soon.
Never that miss that climbs up your throat like hot arms straining their way out of your heart into the tangible realm, bent on reaching through distances between.

But sometimes someone goes away. Too far away. For too long.
Over Christmas I was in the company of home, and that was nice after a month away.
But there's been someone I've been missing. I'd never tell you I loved him. I'd tell you "I'm bored" or "I just miss the times we spent together." I spent some time missing him, spent some thoughts wondering what things might have been if I hadn't run away from him, wondering who we were meant to be to each other.

I wonder this same thing about God all the time--who we're meant to be to each other.
I like to explore a new aspect of that relationship each year or two. I've been through the token Jesus-is-my-bff phase that comes along with being in a youth group. I've walked the path with a curious Teacher who calls me to follow him. I've stood at the back of the proverbial temple, guilty and afraid and wary of approaching a holy God. I've laid physically broken on the altar and in the arms of the Healer and Sustainer of life. The more I think about it, the more I realize this past while has been spent being the whore. Running from the one who wants to love me. I'll trick you all by being friends with everyone...because really all I do is flee from love.

I received Word about a month ago that the time was approaching for a new aspect to be explored. The worst one of all: the bride of Christ.

I imagine this perspective differs between guys and girls (I'd love to hear how you guys perceive that aspect of the divine relationship in your own lives). And I know the bride refers to the church--but I feel there is a certain individual element of it that begs to be acknowledged and experienced as well.

It was a slow start because I've always been so independent and proud and unavailable and never anywhere near being married...how do you explore that aspect of your relationship with the Lord when you've not even explored or genuinely considered the human version? I'm the kind of person who'd be fine with either life--as a single person doing God's work, or as a married person doing his work, however it best suited his Will. So now here I am, in these strange and uncertain new circumstances, trying to trust a Provider to keep me safe and warm and fed and clothed rather than working myself to death to DIY...trying to accept grace and gifts and love and attention rather than deflecting or fleeing from them...trying to come home and tell him I love him rather than sneaking in after he's asleep...trying to be a mother to his children rather than someone fleeting and familiar...


One night as I missed my faroff friend, I wondered if I would miss him worse if we never saw each other again or if we came back together only to be separated by tragedy...what if I let myself love him and he left this realm? Died after only a few years, or months, or days? And it was there in the nighttime of that thought that I realized the deep love and tragic "miss" I have -- had hidden away all this time? -- for my Lover. How we really were meant for each other and how the distance of dimensions has come between us... How somewhere very deep and sacred, there lies embers of a blaze snuffed out too soon--before I had a chance to know... How I walk the streets alone with his Ghost... How I long for his Presence and feel like everything is all wrong without him there... How I am a stranger in an unfamiliar place, waiting and straining for the day we are restored.

And the heat, it rises in my throat, reaching and aching and calling out the speechless things that only Love can communicate...waiting, for Home.

dreamers, part three.

another killin' on the dance floor!

download here

tracks.
bloc party - i still remember (sebastiAn remix)
digitalism - magnets
daft punk - rollin and scratchin
lcd soundsystem - all my friends
kavinsky - testarossa (sebastiAn remix)
the field - a paw in the face
phoenix - long distance call (25 hours a day remix)
justice - b.e.a.t. (extended)
dragonette - i get around (midnight juggernauts remix)
justice - phantom pt. ii (boys noize remix)
mstrkrft - street justice (2007 remix)
chromeo - fancy footwork

get down!

019//longing.

art is cheap, photography is cheaper

Nils Vik and I met after an Andy and Dallas show (remember them?). His band, Wide Awake City, had headlined the show, and I had struck up a conversation with them, about Winnipeg, or Belle and Sebastian, or something. Through the wonders of the internet, Nils and I leave each other facebook comments every once and a while, and I ended up remixing a WAC song.

Nils is a brilliant photographer, in my opinion, and his photography exibit "Art Is Cheap, Photography Is Cheaper" is full of relevant, important pictures. Pictures that manage to be beautiful and prophetic, the combination being an art form in itself.

It makes me wonder about the merit of art in the church (this wouldn't be a good kingdom post if it didn't feature a raving rant on the state of the modern church, right?). Where are our prophets? I'm convinced that my church, an average Fraser Valley MB church, does not consider art in the church relevant, or important at all.

What's upsetting about this is the connection between stories, art, and the way that we present the love of Christ. Preachers have got a serious thing for this format: funny story, connect it to the Gospel, repeat. But it seems like the times when the word of God really gets across is through an actual story. So think of the stories that are told through pieces of art, like Nils' pictures. I think we need to give people like Nils more of an oppurtunity to speak truth, and give less oppurtunities to useless words from preachers.

25 minutes and a punch in the chest

i've got 25 minutes remaining on my battery, about that much consciousness left in my day, and i'm taking you up on your assignment, adam.

the thing i've chosen to share...
isn't a cute christmas anecdote about my funny family or my dad's partially severed finger or telling my friend adam "the christmas man" i'd decorate his house like christmas every day if he paid me.

it's kind of about a movie.
which i realize i probably refer to often.
probably because my best friend is a film fiend. and also because movie theatres are the sanctuaries and studies of our culture--filmmakers and screenwriters are the modern day theologians, regardless of whether they (or we) know it.

it's kind of about me.
which i realize i also refer to often.
probably because it's my primary perspective?

i went to see P.S. I Love You yesterday.
my best friend cried through the whole thing.
it was kind of like that. it was really great. and really awful.
the movie opened with this argument and the guy said something to the girl to the effect of "stop waiting for life to start..we're already living" ... and i'm pretty sure someone else brought it up later in the movie, about how she was in this crippling suspended state of preparation ... in any case, it was like someone behind the lights and sounds and characters who weren't exactly talking to me punched me right in the chest.

it's my biggest secret.
it's probably ruining me.
i'm putting life off.

some regret, some sad

So, after a long day of too much thinking and not enough conversation I want to think about something other than "home", for a little while.

Here is an assignment. Write something that you experienced this season, and post it here. Joyful, challenging or otherwise. A story. After that we should sit around with hot cocoa, and laugh at the weirdness of our families.

Most of my season was this- Spending too much time alone which, to be more hard on myself than I need to, felt very self-imposed. Instead of calling friends, making plans, anything I just watched movies and wrote bad poems all day.

It felt like it was just one lazy day, which turned into 5. I think the reason this happened is that a person needs something to start the day, some purpose to wake up for. If you waste a morning the entire day is wasted. For me at least.

So, I will have more cheery posts in awhile. Some joy is still meant to be found. I'm in that pre-traveling feeling- that sense of regret and wonder. mostly, regret.

I miss all of you, to the extent that it feels embarassing to say it. I'll make us all some nice organic-fair-trade hot chocolate when this is all over.

later.

i do wanna love you, i do wanna try

that's right, kids. hedley lyrics.

it's been a quiet while.
i'm trying to mean things.
i've been venturing into strange places (eg: a hedley song--usually the sight of them prompts drown-out hollaring until i can find a remote. see also: the historic romance story i accidentally read, and learning to play yahtzee.)

i don't like people much.
i do, but sometimes i think it's maybe more in an i-love-you-'cause-you're-in-my-family kind of way.
that's the thing i'm trying to figure out--what i mean, and what i just have done so long i think i mean it.
that's why i refrain from singing a lot of things sung in church. jamison mentioned stuff of this in his post below. i implemented a discipline in relation to this in my own life a year or two ago. i dunno, i don't like verbal obesity. i don't like saying words that aren't mine. i don't like lying. i suppose i'm much graver than i let on.



i probably said 11 sentences that whole time i visited those wester cities, maybe 1.5 of them that mattered.
not for any reason. just didn't have much to say that i'd have meant.

"how do you mean?"
that's one of my old people phrases i often use to clarify what folks are telling me.
i wonder a lot, when things are said and done, just how they were meant.



so the thing i've been thinking about on and off for several months is this.

sadistic voyeurism.

(that's what i call it anyways.)


i don't imagine anyone would readily stake a participatory claim in it.

i suppose the popular culture cycles by it every so often.
so now instead of the colosseum or the gallows we gather at the colossus or the galaxy.

i wonder what went through the minds of the spectators at the ancient events, what their motivation was for participating in this kind of consumption: a hunger for justice to be served? a thirst for social involvement? a satanic lust for the agony and destruction of humanity?

sounds like crazy church talk, but it's true isn't it?
he wants us to suffer and die. he likes it best when we do it to ourselves, to each other.
i've never seen satan cut a man to pieces. have you?

i have seen this, though:

alright.
i just went to youtube to find the trailer and link it, but i can't even handle it, it's disgusting..it wasn't the trailer i found first, but whatever it was gave me a feeling i do not want to have ever again. i won't even mention what it's called, but if you see the trailer like i did at a movie the other night or come across it somewhere, you'll know it.

basically, the premise is something like a bunch of tapes are discovered that document someone's killing spree, as shot by the killer himself.

when i saw it, it was the proverbial "cherry on top" of the previously-pondered-in-this-category Hostel/Saw/etc.

i began a bit of an essay on the same topic one day at work a while back...here's an exerpt:

So my brother and I liked this movie, House on Haunted Hill, when we were teenagers.
He called on Saturday and mentioned the sequel that was just released this year (coincidentally I had noticed it listed as rentable on the dish earlier that day). So today I decided to check out the trailer.

As it turns out, if you watch this particular film on HD DVD or Blue Ray, you have the option of essentially directing the progression of the story:

"With 96 frightening possibilities, their fate is in your hands...You decide who lives, or how they die."

It blows my mind that our culture considers this "enhanced entertainment."


last night i just saw a preview for this one, which i thought was interesting and may pose a relevant challenge to the cinema-going, internet-gorged culture (if they bother to think about it?):

http://youtube.com/watch?v=OLYo5tMylQM

reminded me of that video a few years back of the hostage decapitation. i didn't see it. i know people who did. what urges a person to "tune in" to these things? a hunger for justice? thirst for social involvement? or the other thing...

018//christmas, christmas, christmas, christmas.

Anyone been to a mall these days? It's hard to have faith in mankind around this time of year. But I've decided to not let it get me down. I'm normally not a fan of malls to begin with; I've gone on many rants about the level of caring that occurs at malls. One morning I was walking for some bubble tea with Alison and Erin, and I went into one of these rants. I guess it struck a chord with them, because the next thing I knew they were telling me about how they had an interesting experience at the mall. I guess they sat in the food court and just talked with people. Consider how detached we're all becoming, it's cool to hear of people actually reaching out to people, hearing stories, telling stories, living live in community.

Now, don't get me wrong, I'm just as bad as the rest of us trendy post-modernists. As I write, I'm in a coffee shop, with my headphones on, trying my hardest not to interact with anyone. In my defense, it is early in the morning, and I've only ingested a small amount of egg nog, and a large amount of coffee, so my breath is probably not at it's best scent. Regardless, what is stopping me from going to someone's table, sitting down, introducing myself, and meeting someone new? Is it pride? Embarrassment? I don't consider myself to be an incredibly prideful person, and I can't say I get embarrassed very easily. Maybe I care too much about what people think of me. I wish I had the assertiveness of those girls, but I guess it's something that I can work on.

Now, another thought has come into my mind these days, which has to do with the conundrum of a distant love. This way of thinking really struck me last year, during a worship service at school. I was sitting closer to the front, which is a pretty rare occurrence to begin with, but I found it really amazing to hear everyone singing from behind me. So I have this epic choir singing behind me, and when we got to this one line, I was really struck by this thought of distant love. "Jesus, I am so in love with you." As we sang it, I was stopped dead in my tracks. All these people singing their hearts out, but how many of us really mean that line when we sing it. I was overcome with guilt, and I had this thought staring me right in the face: I am not "so in love" with Jesus. I mean, it's something that I think we're all working on, but having 150, or so, people singing that from behind me really made me wonder whether all those people had it figured out. How can we love someone, or something, when we can't experience them, or it, with our senses. Too many of us have experienced a long distance relationship, which is one of the most trying relationships that we can experience. How much different from a long distance relationship is our relationship with Christ? Something to think about I suppose.

This whole distant love idea was inspired by some words that came out of me a few weeks ago.

The tip of my tongue is tapping the keys in four four time, clicking away filler words that fill up this blank white box. My mind's rambles rumble behind my eyes, trembling at the thought of the next few weeks.

Brown boxes are being packed up, the smell of old cardboard fills up the air; the aroma of leaving. I lost track of you last night, and I've forgotten whether it's today or tomorrow when you'll be gone, but I guess it doesn't make a difference. On a Friday, you'll be gone, far from my outstretched arms. A province away; a life away.

The ground is still wet from last night's pitiful attempt at snow. Cold enough for a scarf, but so warm that it's basically falling slush. We waited outside the theatre, for nothing, catching these temporary snowflakes in our temporary mouths. Trying to fill a void with some sort of thin air. Maybe there will be more snow for Christmas, maybe you'll dream of my hands on a cold winter's night. It's just like that song I sang you once. I thought those might have been tears in your eyes, but it was too dark, and I had already drank too much wine.

And where are we now? Separated by mounds of earth, rock and water, connected only by these weak signals. A friend once told me that no matter what sort of distance exists, if love is true, it can transcend anything. I'd say I agree with that, but agreeing doesn't necessarily make things easier. This common trend is frustrating, but maybe that's what love really is: being able to love in spite of whatever distance exists, whether it's a physical distance, an emotional distance, or a spiritual distance.

Have a good Christmas, try not to get too bogged down in the bad aspects of it.

Jamison.

spare time.

this is what i do:



dreamers, part two. a mix by le tremudance.

download here

tracks.
css - knife
the knife - girls' night out
shout out louds - normandie
mixtapes and cellmates - the better half of cynical boys
the field - silent
holy fuck - lovely allen
digitalism - pogo
the tremulance - we'll settle this on the dance floor.

get down kids!

thought that I saw you in the oncoming cars

Home.

I'm wondering, how are you all feeling about "returning home"?

I know this can be a hard time of year, being that we are becoming adults, some of us redefining home, finding a place to call home that is not the place we grew up.

Thats how I feel, at least. Being back in Nanaimo really scares me, and fills me with great cynicism. I'm scared because I don't think my character can continue to develop here. I need to be in a place that is safe, where I know I can find care.

So, I know I think too much. I should really be enjoying these days in Nanaimo, of seeing masses of green again. But I am starting to get homesick.

My head is not really together. I was hoping this would turn into a profound statement about community, rather than a few dry statements. I just get a sense that its harder to feel alive during this season, unless your surrounded by a warm glow of a fire and candles, or at home with friends... or something. It gets hard to feel safe this time of year.

I'll be home soon.

PS - on my other journal I said "I can't wait to get back on the road again". Now, I just want to get back home.

PPS - I have been wondering what christmas is like in England for awhile (ever since watching the Muppets Christmas Carol again).

all the more beautiful

I'm working on a poem right now, which I want to finish my indie poem book with. I'm probably going to make 30 or so rough copies to give away, whilst i continue putting time into it and writing.

so if you want a copy just let me know. here is what i have so far-

cups of coffee and college music on our backdeck,
I recorded this song beside a fire,
and old piece of wood from a broken fence,
a crackling loud background of orange flames.
I should have been more careful.

and a cold night, maybe tonight i'll walk you home.
awkward smiles and goodbyes. and
i want to stay up until unreasonable hours,
sharing some guitar and conversation,
some old tea i never got around too,
cold coffee on a quiet thursday night.

we make up our own weekends, out of fridays and occasional jazz music shows,
of nelson boschmans and lance odegaards.
of artsy movies and afterthoughts, the occasional awkward look,
i notice your looking in my eyes, wondering what i'm feeling.

and its a beautiful thing.
its a good life, this small space we share,
moments and mornings waking up feeling bad.
shows and friends on friday nights,
and road trips to vancouver. the simple life.
its the simple things in life that mean the most.

its the things you do when you think no one is watching
walking in crossed lines, singing in fields or by yourself at home.
lines with eyes that took pain, and broken nights to make.
those are what make life all the more beautiful.

Speaking of hanging out with college students / young adults, I'm stuck on this random band I stumbled across, that I am intrigued by for some unknown reason.

Edison Glass. There is this unspoken maturity about how this band does music, challenging the typical, dry and uninspiring pop-punk out there. i would call them unconventional. give these guys a listen.

lets get together this Christmas. and we can talk more about music. later.

a funny place

i started this one a little while ago, in the thick of papers. it's still relevant...

i'm in a funny place. it's a place where the inspirations are so built up i'm afraid they may fade. do you ever get there? it feels like this...
i want to write a song...but i really need to do my paper
i've just watched a warm and wonderful movie...but i don't know what to do with it but sit here and smile for a bit
i want to take on the world, see it one awe-inspiring bit at a time...but i have class on monday
i want to sleep out in the park under the stars or go walk around the city all night...but it's cold, and i have work to do tomorrow and really, it's probably best to just go home
how do you find that space between responsibility and spontaneity?
between what "makes sense" and what makes experiences?

reconciling

I realize the last couple of pieces i've been writing have been embarrassingly bad, almost insensitive... and it seems like a lot of my conversations in the past week have been the same.

thus is paper season.

So I'll try and make up for it. lately i have been feeling cynical about my hours spent on facebook. and my resulting bomb of a personal life as a result.

I think that everyone has two personalities; The paper self, which is a description of yourself as a person, or maybe the person you would like to be, that you sit down and type. with socializing online you type up this description and say "this is me".

Then there is the real self. the person that you do not see in yourself. the real self is what your friends see in those few moments where you let down your guard, and stop trying to impress everyone.

if you live online, or try dating someone online, you miss the big picture. everyone has those weird quirks about them, these strange and insignificant habits that make you unique. say you make a weird sound when you eat, or you walk a certain way, or you have lines in your eyes that you get from feeling sad.

i dunno. its the small things that your friends notice... that is what is most beautiful about a person. its the stuff that doesn't fit into small description boxes.

but i could be wrong. on a minor note, i am having trouble with relationships. lets talk about it this week.

on an even more minor note, i had to re-format my computer and I almost lost everything... ten page papers, poetry, and music. someone up there likes me.

later.