Sunday, February 22, 2009

Highways of Gold

You've got time in one hand and you're squeezing it tight to get everything out of it. In the other hand you've got the juice of time. Essence De Temp. So you're doing nothing with the juice. You do so so so much but the taste is bitter so nobody wants it. You don't want to use it. You're not going to use it. Just move on.

We had our first official sleep over last night. This means that Julianna spent the night here while my parents were here and it was nice. We watched Wall - E and I rocket ship noise. So there was a fun time to be had be all the two of us. You could say before we went to bed that I was a separation anxiety. I wanted to stay beside her and nuzzle my head into her neck. I wanted to sleep right there on her chest and just feel her breath. I wasn't aloud. It was turmoil. But even being a separation anxiety I some how brought myself to go to bed on my own.

I move a lot in my sleep and therefore a couch provides me with cold feet and colder hands. It was a cold night altogether. There was a whole lot of grumble grumble and I woke up some. It was well worth it though. I thought about her upstairs for awhile to bring me some measure of comfort. I knew she was safe, but I was hoping her worry about being closer to my parents than to me wasn't overcoming her.

You could say I woke her up gracefully, but because she was nearly against the wall and not facing away from me, I couldn't kitchen utensil her. It was unfortunate, but I threw her arm around a little bit and she moved over to put her head on my chest. It was a perfect moment as some might say. We got up together. I changed and made her close her eyes as it would only seem polite. We left shortly after, finding out we were both a separation anxiety. I didn't want to let her walk through the door. I love you I love you I love you kiss kiss kiss and she was gone until Tuesday. It was a terrible goodbye because we both knew it might be awhile.

I put 100$ on my paypal account so that I may purchase some of the clothing on crystal children's website. It's the clothing line of Mr. Johnny Whitney, who sings for The Blood Brothers and currently Jaguar Love. They are dandy bands and their ""threads"" are fantastic. I want some, to go along with the music I listen to by them to go along with idolatry I have with Mr. Johnny Whitney.

Live at the Apocalypse Cabaret: Planting baby heads in the ground, don't make baby trees

My story:

(about julianna's future roomates) : if they don't like fish then they're satanists and I'll kill them for the christian church and sell their heads for money on eBay or Amazon and then when I get the money from their heads I'll buy more fish and then release the fish into the ocean and cry for a little while then write a song about the whole situation and record it and put it on youtube, then I'll be so popular people will want to know more about me, so I'll write a book and lots of people will buy it cause I killed satanists for Jesus, and then I'll be famous and have an entourage and I'll make them all carry little speckled trout in giant tanks and these tanks will be incredibly heavy so I'll have to get the Hulk and batman to be my entourage to carry the tanks. Then when me Batman and the Hulk are strolling through town the fish will get killed by bad guys and my fame will go down the drain cause I'll kill more people so I'll be poor and totally depressed, and sitting in my dingy single bedroom apartment, and then I'll get a bowl out and see how it's empty like my heart, but then I'll pour some Reeses Puffs Cereal.




Saturday, February 21, 2009

Solo Music


Friday, February 20, 2009


So there's four fingernails stuck in the cleavage where your upper arm meets your lower arm. An excess of skin punctuated by spear enamel. You don't bleed, they're not that kind of fingernails, but you kind of feel them move around just enough to irritate you, to remind you of how they got there. It's sort of like having a monkey on your back that you can't seem to shake. A monkey that goes around and flings shit at other people. You can't help but think you're the reason the fault the problem. Everywhere.

It's a complex that seems all too firmiliar but it offers you comfort knowing you've seen it before. You wish you could do more for yourself but you feel guilty even thinking of it. There's so little time, so much to think about. Listen to sad songs, put them on loop, find a guitar, play them on loop.

You see it actually is your fault because you're being selfish deligating your time. Giving it to one where it should be shared elsewhere, should be given to her a little bit more. She needs you, she needs to talk, she needs you to know and you're out wagging your tail with a Panda Farm. You should've been could've been had to have been there to hear her out. You weren't.

You have to wonder how many mistakes you can make before that 110% you started out pushing through becomes something less than 0%. Every mistake you make seems to tick something else off the list of possible wrong answers, and it slowly counts down.


You're not really doing as much as you can. You're not putting enough effort forward, it's probably becoming evident.


You've got less and less time together, and you didn't even know something's happened, you just went on assuming.


Stop the car and get out to look around. No one's watching, so you walk out onto the frozen water and look up at the stars. You hate all this perfect, you want to ruin it, you want it to know how you feel when you think everyone around you seems to have the worst shit happen to them. You kick through the ice and hope to fall through. It's not going to happen.


There's one person.


You can't seem to get a grip on it at all any more. You just go on blindly guessing, knowing it's probably your own fault.


Game over.

Thursday, February 19, 2009

But the rest of the backdrop was white

You can't see out beyond on you because of something something something. Either your mind doesn't want to let you see it or the rest of the dreams disintegrated in your memory. You probably just can't remember, move on over it and start taking note of a different detail. It's not that important that there's an entirely white backdrop. If it's important do what any one would do and just haul out some swatches and paint that shit red.

Gotta have something to be excited about so why not that excitement come from slaughter?

Thing is, you didn't sleep much last night. Again.

You were up quite a few times, twisting and turning and rolling and making mumbling noises that made perfect literal sense to you in the dazed state of post dream. Post Nightmare. You've got a problem with having nightmares a lot, you should really get that checked out.

So I started reading this book, it's supposed to be a satire on comic books, but it's actually more like a comic book with description instead of pictures. It's a Comic book in novel form. It's wonderful so far, lots of character depth. It's called "Soon, I will be invincible" it's Austin Grossman's debut and I'm glad my friend Jordan helped me find it a couple days ago. He works at indigo you see. Anyway, the book has all of those stupendous comic book aspects but with stunning diction and character personality depth.

So it's really good, and if you can find the comic book version make a day of it and buy both. I promise it will not disappoint. With the protagonist and antagonist in their own respective narratives through out the book, it kind of feels like you're an omnipresent god watching over  all of this with no hope of stopping it from happening

Think maybe God's just a guy reading our book? And when he weeps at the sad parts, that's rain ect.? Probably not, but I think it would be ironic to know that we're put in the position sometimes where we can't help any one we know is about to see some terrible turmoil.

God help us.

Sorry, he can't right now. Too busy reading.

Tuesday, February 17, 2009

Karmatic Sorbet

Sometimes you've gotta wonder about all the things you've ever done wrong so you can understand just how much bad karma you've got, that way you can probably gague just have possible it is for you to get lucky in a given situation. You weigh the letters numbers times that you've written, all the events that have turned out just right, and you minus them from all the good karma that's paid off. Then you take out all the bad things from the bad karma kount and you get what's left. This is your good time potential. It all breaks down to some sort of mathematical equation. This is how to approximate the chances of you having a good day.

It never works properly.

So you kind of walk on egg shells in the beginning of the day until things start going down hill or up hill and you follow the trend trying to make things go just like you want them to with the given out come of your karmatic reflux. If you've ever tried running up the down escaltor, this is what a bad day is like. If you've ever sprinted down a high slope in hopes to get to your location faster, this is what a good day feels like. On a bad day, when you get done running up against a downward force you feel a little more accomplished for making a bad day good. When you trip up from all the speedy self-indulgence on the good day slope, this is what throwing up at a party feels like.

So I finished reading Fight Club last night.

There's a sort of moral at the end of it, but I probably couldn't do it justice. I like the way books like this go, it's like a shakespearean tragedy but sans Ophelia. The main character starts out in the slums of life, has a little bit of success, rides on that success for a little while but ultimately ends up dead. It's so tragic romantic final. You don't really have to get attatched to the character if you don't want to, you don't have to pay attention to the settings if you really don't want to, you just sort of have to get in their shoes and partake in their ficitional pain. It's kind of nice.

Sometimes I wish I could fly.

I finished learning a dance solo for the musical at my school last night, so now I'm going to be able to spin around twice in a row without falling over. I think this is one of the greater accomplishments I've made in the last little while. I'm sort of proud of myself.

Well, I have to go study Coulomb's law of Electrostatics and make sure I don't confuse Electric Field intensity with Electric Potential difference tody.

At this point I'd jump up and click my heels sarcastically.

Monday, February 16, 2009

I'm so Zen

Passing Time

Tick-Tock on the sill
Tap-Tap all worry away
Drum-Drum my finger

On Any Sunday

All the clouds were gone
It's warm arm did come to me
Sunday, always snows

Late Night

Eyes as cold as ice
Say, I dare not look away
I wake, eyes held shut

Social Epitome

I think I'm finding more and more solace in solitude. It's lunchtime, I'm alone in the Student Council room. How ironic, the epitome of social involvment come here every day for lunch after they drive down in their cars to the mall to buy fast food or something better than a bagged lunch and I'm in their room using their computer, typing my things about them, alone.

How ironic.

You've gotta wonder where your friends go at lunch while you're usually busy, because they're not here the day you've finally got time to sit around and talk chat converse. It's funny, so I'm hittin' it up alone in the SRC room eating nothing because the bank machine's broken and my meager lunch got chewed up during physics.

I'm listening to Coheed and Cambria.

There's still no one here, but I'm standing on pins and needles waiting for them to come in. I'm just waiting for them to come in and see me typing things on their computer, in the epitome of a "simonds social area", eating nothing, listening to alternative music, alone. That would be a sight to see, me, JEFF COOK, alone some where when I could be swimming talking working guitaring dancing singing acting. But I'm not, I'm in here the epitome of social life completely and entirely alone with my words. I sort of like it like that.

I'm working on site traffic, but I don't think I provide much quality. What are people looking for anyway? Satire? Comedy? Seriousness? Something to think about? What are they going to tip-itty-tap into google next time they fire up internet explorer.

It'll probably be something along the lines of:



And I'm sad to say that I can't provide that, merely the run of my day and my insights and my different little things you might like to hear about or laugh about or chuckle pertaining to. Sorry I can't let you see all those things you want to beat off to, as much as I'd like to let you see them, it's just not my style y'know? Just not my thing.

Words can be burned, from your grave

Plucked from a fist, full of straws.

In four months, I'll be graduated and accepted to memorial university Newfoundland with a clean slate and a new set of rules. Me and Quinn are living on campus together, a dynamic duo if nothing else. It's going to be nice to have some one like him to keep me in check though, otherwise I think I surely would get thrown overboard to the hungry maw of self-indulgence and impending failure.
Thing is, I just won't party as much as people think I will.
I really want to do well, impress people, make a good life for myself. I just have to go away to do that. For the experience more than anything else, but getting away won't hurt.

We got a rocketship alarm for the dorm.

It's just gonna be good being able to have Julianna over night/going to see Julianna over night. We're going to the same university, hopefully, and We'll finally live closer to each other than opposite sides of town than now. We're both so busy too... hopefully this will change all that, and we'll actually see as much of each other as we wish to.

Thing is, I didn't sleep much last night.

I'm starting to feel like I've got my own Tyler Durden. I don't sleep nearly as much, and while I'm tossing and turning my thoughts are always on this radical things that I don't think I'll ever be able to bring myself to do. I'm sure that some night I'm going to fall asleep and wake up with blood on my hands from doing something Tyler Durden-esque. Note: If I ever sleep walk again, watch me carefully and at arms length.

Saturday, February 14, 2009


Old christian people are like cheese.

The older cheese gets, the more valuable it gets to it's creator. Once it reaches a ripe old age, it's one purpose is to become part of it's creator, the human race.

The older a christian gets, the wiser they become on account of their dedication to the religion. Once they reach that final ripe old age, they're final purpose is to become part of their creator, or god.

Friday, February 13, 2009

My immense fascination with abstract music

I think it started when the back street boys went down hill. I sat down with my sister and I asked her to introduce me to music that wasn't the backstreet boys. So there we were, sitting there watching the country music station listening to something something something by Alan Jackson. It was after a few moments that she flicked over to much music, and much of my life became fascinatingly different. There it was, infront of me, it was the greatest video I'd ever seen, mind you at age six you haven't seen very much. Anyway, there it was. Clumsy by Our Lady Peace. Of course not the most abstract of pieces, but at the time it was the only thing in the mainstream at the time that was moderatly alternative, and that a six year old could listen to publically.


Absolute bliss in my eyes. So there it was, my little gateway into a little bit of abstract heaven. Our Lady Peace. I owned Clumsy (1997) as of my seventh birthday, and beyond that it was sort of the rising action of a story. From Our Lady Peace it went to Pink Floyd, from Pink Floyd it went to several other classic rock outfits,The Mahavishnu Orchestra, King Crimson ect. Blah blah blah on and on until about grade 7. This was when it all kind of picked up for me. Here was this song in my Guitarworld magazine. It was called The Widow, and the guitar player presenting it looked at least a little presentable. So wham bam BOOM! I downloaded the song like any self respecting data pirate would. 

Point being, I hated it.

I really didn't like The Mars Volta at first, I really didn't, but something caught me when I saw the song on much music later that winter. It was still the same song, but they had an abstract video with it on "The Wedge", so I got intrigued, and I watched it, and I really got into the groove of the song.

I bought the CD.

Let's just say, Frances the Mute, is an experience, not just music. You have to listen to it from track 1 - 3, take a pee break, and from 4 - finish, because that's how it's meant, it's like a film, it's an experience. I loved it, I loved every little bit of it, and that entire night I played the CD on loop in my room while I played some blah blah blah stereotypical video game. I own all their CDs now, and am currently awaiting their new release, which is unknown date.

Finally, I've reached a climax and come to love The Blood Brothers and HORSE the band. There's no one much better at the abstract, avant garde art than these two. I strongly recommend them to anyone who enjoys a little bit of a challenge, something in aquired taste, or that just likes really good music. I'll leave you with the Blood Brothers last video, as unfortunately, they've since dilapitated musically.

Last Words

I watched Bernie Mac's last feature film yesterday while I was home "sick". I don't know if I thought it was all that good because I was sick, because the movie actually held some value or because of the surreal idea that the man in the movie was dead and that this was the last thing he created before he ate dirt. I think it must have been the latter because it's hard to think that Soul Men:
Would actually capture my attention in the way that it did. But look at big old B-Mac with his white suit on. It looks like he was ready to be going to heaven before the movie even hit the big screen. He's dressed up like a hollywood god in his white suit. Maybe they were setting him up for failure. But not to take away from the actual film itself. It was well made, with a little bit of satire here and there, a good amount of humor, wonderful music. It wasn't all that bad. And now Bernie Mac is dead and it's a great movie.

I think this same thing happened with the Dark Knight. And not to offend any one at all, because I loved the movie, and Heath Ledgers performance, but just the fact that Heath died just before this movie was released causes us to feel that just being part of this movie, part of Heath Ledgers final act, was an experience all in itself.

Okay, so you should watch both films. They were pretty good. I watched something else yesterday. Which is sad, because watching this one alone is kind of a sad sad sad kind of revelation because it's meant to be watched with some one you share a kind of relationship with. Anyway, it was eleven o'clock and I was lonely so I watched Nick and Norah's Infinite Playlist. It wasn't that bad either. Actually, despite some of the shoddy acting on the bandmates' parts, the movie also well made. I enjoyed it most yesterday.
So that's the end of it, my first and probably only movie review because quite frankly I didn't do anything all that exciting yesterday. Now I'm off to school, though I should be staying home today instead of yesterday. I feel like shit today.

Ps. - I'll always pick you up, don't be afraid to call

Thursday, February 12, 2009


You said you should have a guest spot in my blog. You were right. It was the moment that we started being friends that mom and dad started to really disagree with me, and that's good, because then, now, that's what I wanted, some measure of separation. You told me to not care about what mom said. You were right right right. It helped more then you could have known. It gave me that little bit of distance and let me grow up and become some one.So thank you, and I appreciate it, and it means a lot. You became a catalyst for the maturity I took on as a pastel to compliment my psyche. Don't think it's a bad thing that you got me to grow up grow up act my age. I made the mistakes I've made out of my own weakness in character, so don't take too much of that into consideration, really, it's mostly my fault. So don't lay the blame anywhere, me me me.
Do you know I'm talking about you yet? Sister? Because I have been. It was all the happiness in the world when we started driving places in your car and I drove shotgun. That's the seat of a young fellah. That's where I stopped being just your little brother. I was like a guest in your Doctor Phil civic, and I asked all the advice a derranged guest on such a show might. You were the one with the most insightful answers. I should've figured. You were older, you've been through this that and all of it before. So you were the one that let it all come out of me and make some good decisions.

I have to thank you for the Elizabeth thing too. You always knew, all along that it wasn't right, and you were the one in the end that really helped me realize what was good for me. How what I was doing was unhealthy. It's true, it wasn't right me being there with her, being part of her life, being part of that misery. You saved me from all that because you reassured me that the sadness I was feeling wasn't right. You'd probably heard mom telling me, and me not believeing her because you're not supposed to care about what mom says. So I cut it off.

You saved me from that.

So Jay, I guess you're an avid reader? Y'know I never got the chance to tell you how much I appreciate your support. You watch all my videos, you read my blogs, you like my music. It's amazing, it's like having an older brother that actually cares. Not the incredibly harsh ones you see in so many movies. So you've become some what of a reason I keep making things. A lot of people have let the novelty wear off, but you're sticking around for one reason or another. I like that.

All the times you've let me hang out, everytime Melissa's asked you to just let me go about my way and you insisted I came and hung out with you and the guys, it was nice. I don't know if you knew, or even to this point know, but, I don't really have "boys". It's more like the crew that gets together and plays video games, and that's not very often. There's no one I really go to for anything masculin at all. It was good. You were the first one to ever offer me a beer. I was long over due, needless to say, but it was that kind of kin ship that made it bigger for me.

So you both know now, because I neglect to mention. I guess getting caught up in the throes of all of the crazy dramatics I can weave, I forget about the little things, the people to thank and let know I care. I just want to look pitied. But I need to let you two know, that it's more to me to have you two there. Like a couple of impromptu older friends. It's nice. Thank you both. So much.

Wednesday, February 11, 2009

A curious incident.

So you just laughed at some one with autism. Congratulations, you’ve just proved Darwin right.

Welcome to McDonalds, would like fries with that?

You laughed at him and you didn’t even feel bad about it. What’s his name? Do you know what condition he has? Do you even know what the term retard means? Why it applies? How degrading it is? Judging by how emotionally handicapped you are, I might actually suggest that you’re retarded. A direct insult, that’s right. Get over it.
There’s a boy in my school, his name’s Carl. He has autism. Every day, he stands in the top floor and says. Goodbye (name), and they reply, and he leaves them with, have a nice day (name). It’s how his day ends, it’s how he categorizes the end of the day. Did you know they work in lists? People with autism? It’s the way they categorize everything they do in the day so that they don’t get confused by a missing step. They use lists. It’s the easier way to remember.
So Carl says good morning, and goodbye to every one every day. Would you say it back? Or would you laugh. Were you embarrassed? It doesn’t matter, you’re going to get the karmatic reflux no matter what. Feel it creeping up behind you? Because it’s so potent it’s almost tangible. Anyway, Carl meets and greats, and we all say hello, and goodbye, and have a nice day, and it’s great. This is how we are, generally accepting.

The meeting for I.B. is now taking place in the auditorium.

There’s another boy, his name’s Ryan. I’ve seen it happen to him, his temper get taken advantage of. It’s a push, and then an “I’m going to kick your ass.” He doesn’t have autism, but mentally, he’s not right. What do we do? Most people high five him, give him a hello. He’s Ryan, he’s a nice kid, he’s just not too bright. Would you laugh? Would you “leave him hanging?” Get over yourself.

There’s only a few autistic people at my school, but they’re not really aloud around anyone else.

There’s some classes, where the “resource” students are aloud to take part. That’s how they refer to them, “Resource”, because it’s a nicer way to say it, and most kids stick to that name. No one calls them the “retards”, no one would degrade themselves that way. The way it works here is, you’re over looked if you don’t fit because you’ve got some where to hide, so when you’re not hiding, no one knows enough to throw a slight your way. So the “resource” students are aloud to take part. They’re always in the variety show. Are you sick right now? Terribly “grossed out” because you can’t imagine students co-operating with resource students to make something public? It’s such a horrible concept isn’t it.

I don’t like to hear about such injustice.

So I know about the media, and how it’s blown it up, books, movies, talk shows, publicity. I’ve seen a few of the things that take part in all of it, but there are some jokes. Some serious satire, but that’s okay. I’m fine with that, don’t think I’m a one man army, I was just upset to hear about people thinking that the capabilities of those who are less mentally fortunate that we are, are so inhuman.

Listen, I watched I am Sam too, and I liked it, it wasn’t bad, but I didn’t cry. It was a good film… just don’t read to far into it. Just use it as respect.

I like prime numbers.

If you really want to know how I got to this perspective, read this book:

It's absolutely wonderful, it was referred to me by some one at work, and it's absolutely wonderful. I think everyone should at least try to pick it up.

Tuesday, February 10, 2009


What's in a number but something incredibly simple to take and twist your mind around. They say people that find systems in numbers are absolutely insane, however the Fibonacci sequence and the golden ratio were only the products of some one else's concentrated madness. I've broken down numbers in my day for something to do, finding correlations here and there just to make time go by, making coincidences where there were no coincidences before.

I guess people have been doing this forever. I used to do it in church. This like has five syllables, this one has seven, this one eight four two. I'd
 do some foolish little simple math to make all these numbers add and subtract to equal the number of the hymn we'd sing next. I would tell my mother, and make predictions using my new system.

They were never right.

I think this fascination with numbers is the reason I want to work with physics so badly. They don't let anything get out of their control, they just create a constant that makes everything work out perfectly for them. Take Coulomb's law for example:

Coulomb came up with his constant, or K, which equals out to about roughly 9000000000. Just roughly though. What this constant does, is it makes sure that the resulting answer, which in this case is always a force, is measured in newtons and newtons only. Basically, he let the equation equal an unknown, solved for it, several times, and through a common answer found his constant. Endless work for the facilitation of many other physicists.

Take Paul Dirac for example. He used a multitude of different constants to find out how to explain nearly every property of any electron:

 (There was one problem, he found that the answer for charge could be positive or negative, thus leading to suspicion and in turn mathematical proof of antimatter.) His equation was confusing, but it just goes to show that numbers can have extreme power over us. Telling us that the world is in fact mirrored by another.

So I used to sit in church and fiddle my thumbs and make up numbers. If I'd known I could make a constant to fix all of it back then, I would have. It would have made my life so much easier. I could have been a prodigy. Too bad for me I suppose.

I feel bad for constants in differentiable calculus, they're always over looked because they're insignificant when you derive.

A hundred Thousand

You've gotta really consider all the facts when you're pushing past people in the hallways. It's started to bother me to the very core having to suck it in and squeeze through every corrider. They just won't move move move. It's not just walking, one place to another, it's common courtesy. It's the way most people act or don't act on a day to day basis. I'm not saying I'm perfect, I'm just saying that I put a good foot forward to avoid arguments. Avoidance Avoidance Avoidance, you stay away from confrontation because frankly you can't take it.

I've put the good foot forward and it's been stepped on a couple of times, but that's okay, no shoes are bigger than mine right now. I've got a lot of stuff to worry about, it's okay, lay it on me. I try to help as best I can so you'll get an equal amount of my effort to try to make your day that much easier. Will I tell you I can't? No. Will I tell you I'll get around to it? Yes. But remind me, because I'm not good with memory when I've got so much to remember.

I enjoy it, helping people, doing a favor here and there and it helps. I like to think it's my own personal way of showing all the people I know that I sort of care. That I sort of care care give a shit that they trust me with something they want done. Even though I'd do it for anyone. It's just a shared trust we've opened up through you asking me for a favor. I'm going to do it. Thank you. You're welcome.

Another thing.

Today I couldn't stop thinking about her. It's weird because normally the only time that I really get this excited is if I'm going to be waking up to boatloads of presents that I'm being spoiled in recieving. Kind of crazy hmmm? Well it's true, the only time I was this excited, I was four years old, and I soiled my favorite new pajamas because it was christmas morning and I got a new nintendo. They were some nice PJs too. And I'm excited. Genuinely excited stoked anxious. I just want to see her again.

It's only been three, maybe four days? And now I'm getting this growing gut feeling that I'm not gonna see her ever again because we had a little hiccup and didn't get to see each other in between. We had to talk it out on the phone. Because that's what couples do. We talk it out. You don't have to worry about it at all after you talk it out. It's like it's still there, but you've both done your part, and you both understand it was a little crazy. You're better you talked it out.

So I can't wait to see her. I'm not about to drop a bomb in my PJs like christmas years and years ago, however, it's the feeling you get when you're nervous. It's been a while, y'know, months-wise, however, that little bit of nervousness was gone. Well relatively, you're never honestly completely comfortably with some one. Any way, the way it goes, you end up being a little bit less nervous. This time is so different though.

I'm so incredibly anxious excited nervous.

I just want to see her.


In Xandu

I'm going to start keeping a dream log, because I want to write a book. Kubla-khan came to Coleridge in the the throes of an opium trip, so maybe my true inspiration will come to me in a dream like state as well.

A stately pleasure-dome decree

I'm trying not to be pompous. I'm only eighteen and I'm trying to become an author. I think it's going to be an incredibly long and arduous task, but will merit me something in the end. I'm going to take everything I've ever known about writing and throw it down on the page. This is going to be hard though, as I don't want to sound like Salvitoire, Palahniuk, or Chirchton, each of there voices resounding in my psyche as I plot out words on the page. I want to be my own original and entirely embodied self. My thoughts given voice.

But Oh! That deep romantic chasm that slanted

Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover!

You start to ponder ponder think and lose control over your hands when you write sometimes. This is going to become common. Just take a shot at the page, lose control. It'll be invigorating, you'll feel like Alfred Molina in a tu-tu at a wedding. This is freedom I suppose. why not. why why why anything. You're going to be writing free and completely liberated, get a tea and enjoy it. You'll be loving the experience.

A mighty fountain momently was forced

It's going to take forever, that's all I'm convinced of, as I don't have much time, but at this point I've settled in for the long run and it doesn't much matter how long I'll be stuck behind this computer. I want a conduit, I want some way for people to know my name, and this is my talent. This is my calling. And I'm going to share it with as many people as I find I possibly can.

For he on honey-dew hath fed,

And drunk the milk of Paradise.

Monday, February 9, 2009

Me and My Star

You've gotta watch the trends in a sad song closely or you're never gonna pick up on the emotion at the right time. I was playing something melancholy just tonight, watching the few people in the crowd and I kinda hoped to bring them to tears. It was a horrible horrible wish, but I wanted the message to get out to them, to know I'd touched them so deeply that they could cry. One of their father's had died.

And he wondered/when his/father will return/but he's not coming back...

There was a girl in the crowd who I knew had lost her father and I was singing about a boy who had a likewise experience. She didn't cry, I was happy, I was disappointed. That was about it, the range of emotions I felt at the moment. It wasn't exactly the craziest of things to happen, nor am I going to write at extreme length about it.

Something peculiar happened to me today, I wanted to share it with you.

Symphonic Insinuation

I've got a ton of reasons just built up all over the place, but it's not going to get me anywhere.

I was falling asleep one night, not too long ago, and I started to think of a picture I'd seen not long at all ago. It was something Bill Henson had created, that I started thinking about. It was a natural scene, destroyed and hopeless, with a little bit of light cresting the horizon. Fallen branches in the foreground, the color green just showing through the bleak decay of the rest. Every bit of art I see is surrealism to me, because it's usually something with so much metaphorical meaning, that I'll never truly grasp it's reasoning, yet I'm here, seeing it, being a part of it. Just seeing it makes it surreal to me.

So I was falling asleep.

I played this little flute line in the back of my head, stage instructions were to breath slowly. The line repeated, and fell and swelled and did when music does. The violins were next. They came in softer, as though they were sneaking up from the back of my psyche. Then there they were. They just were. I didn't really come up with how they would sound. They just came in with their own independent composition. The stage instructions were telling me to count.

The picture never faded, even as the tattoo of drums began to ring in the mix of what seemed like at least forty instruments. I was Beethoven taking a nap. The stage instructions were telling me to keep my eyes closed, it would work faster that way. I remember trying to get up, trying to write this symphony down, but that picture kept reverberating in my eyesight, and it was like I was waiting for something. Some beautiful release.

The entire symphony was playing now. Thrashing about and falling into a groove. Rising and falling like human emotion itself. I heard it so vividly, in all of it's movements, how ever many there were, but couldn't remember this my own miraculous work for the life of me. I've been exaggerating when I tell people that I dream of conducting an orchestra, I didn't think it would actually happen.

That's more or less all I have to say for now. I'll post later tonight most likely.

For one to another.

Saturday, February 7, 2009


Every car ride is a portable emotional calamity.

Feeling like you're up to doing something tonight? You'd better walk, because once you get into that car you're going to get harassed beyond your own comprehension. Feeling like going to a friends house? Just get the to pick you up, because chances are, if you ask your parents to drive you over they're going to put you in a shitty mood and you're going to have to lie to your friends with the smiley face that you're so good at making when you get there. They should come pick you up anyway right? Or make some effort to come to you for once? Maybe if they cared about seeing you at all? Feeling like going bowling for school, don't ask to stay at any one's house for the night. You're lying lying lying and they think you're going to be drunk high sexually exposed. You might as well just get dropped off by some one later, it'll be easier than them knowing you don't have the rebellious gene to just go somewhere on your own.

Every time I leave my room they stare at me.

I should just stay in here because I think I must've developed some sort of disease. They won't look at me the same way. It's like every word I say is a vicious venom that seeps into them and the only way they can abate the horrendous pain of my presence is to just try to break my self-esteem down in some way. It's killing me slowly. It's like working incredibly hard your entire life to try to make people happy about the things you do, and as soon as they know exactly what you do, as soon as you can't lie any more, that's when the fists start flying. Emotionally at least.

So I might be valedictorian.

who cares?

I might be getting 2000$ towards my tuition just with my average.

could be more.

I want to study particle physics in a lab with amazingly insightful people.

there'd be better things to do.

I want to follow my dream.

Then keep sleeping.

You can only hear enough of your original ideas being crushed before you'd just like to stop thinking. It's like pushing an unmovable object. You just keep forcing and forcing as the fatigue builds up but with no give. There isn't an infinite amount of perseverance in me. Now picture yourself again, pushing an immovable, you're body aching and crying out for release, now picture the fists and deadly pointed egos of others burying into your flesh as you try so desperately to get ahead. This is the metaphor of what my grade 12 year has been like. How much longer can I do this?

So you're in the moving emotional calamity.

I don't think I've ever wished for the car to go out of control so much in my entire life. Just praying for some chaos in this life. Just praying for something to get away from the cookie cutter she loves so much. I'm sick of ginger-bread-men let's just make some mishapen balls of dough.

I think I'll just walk out soon.

I can picture their reactions, I can picture my witty come backs.

Where are you going?


Out where?

Why does it matter?

Because we care about you and want to know where you are.

Then I'm going to Derrick's.

You're lying.

You're right.

This is how it would go, and I'd like to see how it would play out. Things have been breaking the mould a little bit lately though. My father's been swearing at me. I've never heard him openly swear in his entire life. My mother's starting to cry all the time because she thinks I hate her. Today she told me that I can buy my own razors to shave with now (I'd never had to before) because I had enough money for cabs back and forth to some one's house once. Just once.

I impulsively spent 11$, I am now fully and utterly financially secure, and therefore independant.

I want the keys to an apartment.

Last night was special. Not really.

Tonight will be work. I'll like that. I can see why people enjoy work, it's like when there's nothing to really do in real life anymore, you entertain yourself somewhere else. It's the closest place to home because people are still giving you orders, and you still have your own little rebellions to make it exciting. It's like life for dummies. Just a nice little simulation of how you're supposed to act in your own home. So you test things out to scale there, and then try them out when you get back home. It's The Sims: Sobeys edition. Tonight, at ten, I'm off work. Want a drive home from work? You'd better walk, because as soon as you get in that car it's just more fights fights confrontations.

Friday, February 6, 2009

Big Clock

This is a metaphor of how I came to fall in love.

There's a big red clock toworrow that arches out over this small town, and for a long time you've sat on it's hands looking out over the city and crying out for some release. The clock keeps ticking and moving tick tick tick. It passes milestones around every corner and they simply pass you by. Pass you by on the ticking hands of the big red clock. So you sit sit sit and wait wait wait and then you get up and take a jump.

Fast forward through the terrifying fall through the dark blue night sky. It's not much to talk about. Anyway, fast forward. You're hitting the ground and your legs are giving out underneath you because it was to much to truly take in all at one. Your legs buckle, your arms collapse at your side and your head pivots to stare back up at the big red clock. It's your time to be part of those events you see on it's illuminated dias. It's time to stand up and stop worrying like you used to. So you get to your feet and you look around. There's some one there to dance with. But you're not sure. She's the most beautiful rose you'd ever laid your eyes on. Even from watching on top of that big red clock she hadn't been one that you know. But now she's here, and she looks like she can dance. She's the most beautiful rose you've ever seen.

So you come about doing it, and dance and you sing and you both laugh a lot and it's all jovial good cordial and absolutely invigorating love. You can't believe she's there with you, sweeping her feet around the soft swept streets of the little town where you were observant and merely that. The big red clock is starting to say it's time for something new. Time to take it to the next step, but you'd waited so long before that you don't entirely mind waiting for the most beautiful rose you've ever seen. So the clock takes a backseat. It knows where it is not wanted.

You were dancing, did I mention that? You and this rose. You were just having a great time. Then she looked you in the eye and told you she loves you. Which shocks you. It's not something you hear every day and it's something that scared you so much before. Now it seems only right. You return the sentiment, and the world is flashing around you. The most gorgeous array of colors and sounds swirl up to meet your face, wet with the tears of such shear euphoria.

She loves you. She loves you. You love her.

You're down to the last layer of the world onion on this one. You don't really know how much better to let her know you care. I love you I love you I love you. It doesn't seem like it's quite enough to say at this point anymore. Like you'd like to explode and share with her the same kind of emotion you're getting from this absolute sheer ecstacy. But that's hard you see. You can't say more than I love you. So you kiss her, and hug her, and let her know a lot with the physical things you do.

She's so perfect perfect immaculate. You fit together like a well designed puzzle, and you curl in each others arms like the most playful of kittens. You've pretty much got everything for both of you. Why ruin that?

So you stare up at your BIG RED CLOCK and you know that the times coming soon, and your mind races, but it might as well lay at rest because you beat the clock before. If you need to hold it off, the beautiful rose will fully understand. It'll be like everything has just halted a little bit because you're not too sure about how much this scares you.

This is a metaphor of how I came to fall in love.

Wednesday, February 4, 2009


It's at this point you're hoping for hypothermia to kick in.

The way things are going, you're a visitor in my home now.

You keep walking, head down, listening to another depressing song. It's on loop. You can't really get the thoughts out of your head efficiently, they keep popping up and making it all seem like an endless chant. You're not in the right state, and you're stumbling from one side of the road to the other. It's at this point that you hope for a car to go out of control nearby.

You're not who you were in that picture anymore, that's for sure.

It's not really a question of how far you walk, just as long as you're walking. Not to keep warm, not to keep yourself from thinking, just to move and consider yourself capable of moving. It's now that you realize you've been alone in your own home for some odd months now. It's at this point you realize every one else in your family means more to you because all they see are your mistakes. All you see are you mistakes too though, it's all you want to see, it's all you ever see it's all you can ever make out in the mist. You're usually too busy making the positives better to take them into consideration. You focus on the negatives so you can make them better and get them off the list. You're fat inconsiderate incapable of trust. It's at this point that you know you're still going to be alone when you walk in the door.

Get in the car... please. No.

It's right now that you keep on walking in a criss cross criss cross on the road and wait for some one anyone to swerve. You don't want to die, you don't want to get mortally wounded, you don't even want to get hurt that bad. A minor sprain break fracture. Something to get you away from all the constant time and life movement. It's all too stressful and you need something that seems tragic so people think it's not your fault that you got hit. If it's because of this party, it's not because you can't take the pressure of being you.

Where are you going?

You'd think it would matter, arriving somewhere. It didn't. You'd think it would matter, that you're cold. It didn't. It was the self torture you get off to. The thing that keeps you going. If they didn't insult every new idea you had, or anything you were proud of, you wouldn't want to prove them wrong by making it better. It's at this point that you start to walk home.

Did your father pick you up?

You don't want to go back because you want to see them. You want to go back because it's warmer than it is outside, and you know you're being stupid and stubborn. You don't even know why you left in the first place. It was just the rebellious thing to do at the time.

I'll be gone in six months.

Six people sat on the edge of a beach, watching everything around them swell and fall swell and fall swell and fall. It was like the way the lives of their peers had been acting ever since high school started. Swelling and falling over and over time and again. It was like everything they had ever believed was embodied here in completely natural phenomena. They all knew what was coming, they all saw it becoming so much more of a reality. Swelling and Falling. Everyone around them could feel the oscillating power, and related it to the frustration and euphoria that came and went in their life.

Five people were fatalists. No the kind that believes in fate, but the kind that would tell you not much matters in your life because one day you'll be in the ground and you'll be dead. One day they'll all let you know just how dead you'll be. It's not that they don't try, their lives still has the same waves as everyone else's, they want to be as happy as they can be, but in the hardest times they find it's best to just let it go, to let it slip be. We're all dying after all. Every day brings you one step closer closer nearer to the ultimate end. This is what kind of fatalist all these five people are.

Four people are clinically depressed. They're crying inside all the time, they're dying a little bit more with every day because of the stress and terrible things that are happening in their lives. These three people though, there's not actually much terrible about their lives. Fact is, they're not depressed, they're clinically spoiled and emotionally soiled. You can't just give in to everything like that, bite down hard and give it your all. You see some one rise out the ashes and you're proud of them, and you're proud of them, and you're sad to see that you couldn't over come barriers and do the same. For a second, you're sad you didn't have it hard

Three people have something wrong with their boyfriend/girlfriend/spouse/sibling. You base everything off this one relationship in your life and now it's all going to shit. It's become some what of a torture for you to be around them. You've got three people who can't stand another three people who can't stand to look at these waves and feel them swell and fall. It's the people that torture them, it's people that see the world in one dimension emotionally, a swell or a fall. Not depressed, just no movement no emotion no nothing. Just tears tears tears. Their face is soaked again and these three people just don't want to have to deal with it any more and it's time to not deal with it anymore. They let it out once and only once and it's over. 

Two people are reborn. They've gone through something that's more difficult for them emotionally than you could have imagined, but it's okay because there's more to life than that. There two still wish sometimes that they had it harder. It's not really a question as to how they got over the difficulty they did. There was only one after all. They just got over it, and now it's time to move move digress into the opaque mystery that is the good life. You see them writing in new ways, talking in new ways. Drinking smoking grinding laughing crying. More emotion than these two have ever felt before. They grew up so fast it left stretch marks on their psyches. But they're smart now. They're reborn on the edge of freedom.

One person sits looking across at the girl he'd be hoping so much had the same feelings for him. You're together now, clothes on clothes. It's like you couldn't be happier, but friends can cuddle too. It's not an outward burst of outward affection. Friends cuddle too. It's coming down to crunch time now though. Edie Sedgewick's dead at this point and there's not a whole lot left to do. You've sat there long enough to realize how foolish you've been to wait. Her head's in your lap now. She's caressing the hand you've draped over her collar bone delicately with her hand. There must be something more to this. You bend over, fighting the fear inside yourself and gently let your lips press against her forehead in a tender kiss. She begins to sit up immediately, and you prepare yourself for the confrontation of a life time. She embraces you though, kissing you with some outward passion you'd yet to experience.

Is that what you wanted me to do?

No people sit by the beach any more, this is because it's all passed. In the past past past. The future is to come, but nostalgia was aching at my bones. It wished to be released. There it is.

Tuesday, February 3, 2009

I'm a comedian

This is how I came to realize people don't understand each other.

When some one's talking to some one else it's just one big toss back and forth. Just one person doing their own thing and adding just enough to be heard on their own terms. Bouncing back and forth. Hello. How are you. Good, You. It's never really a whole lot like a real talk. It's more like each person waiting their turn to say something. Sitting around your table would be exactly the same. Talking talking conversing but not really. Just waiting patiently for your turn to say something new.

I'm not really bitter about this, I don't entirely mind it, it's just sort of there. It just something else I noticed about people. Everyone that wants to be heard is going to be heard even less and ever one that holds it in is just going to get over looked because, honestly, how could you ride if you didn't stand in line? Stoicism and stoicism and keeping it in. Don't bother, it's not going to get you anywhere but throwing yourself the wrong way off of a cliff. Just another bad tumble onto yourself and more more more tears.

I don't say holding it in is terrible. It's not bad horrible stupid. It's just not how I would go about it because I can't hold it in like that. I guess I just like knowing what's wrong, and I like to tell people what's wrong. Resolution comes easier that way. You don't have to say anything at all, but enough would be fine. Wait your turn, be patient, then let it out. You'll get compassionate patience for a little while, and then when it's their turn, you'll get a compassionate speel that they hope will make them look like a better person. And help you in some way.

Talking's really counterproductive, just masturbation without a mess. You just keep repeating a process to attain an end.

Talk talk talk

Up down up down

Talk talk talk

It's all really the same, if you look at it that way.

I don't care if you confide in me. I enjoy it, so please indulge, and I'll do my best to help. I'm sorry though, I'll probably confide in you too, when my turn comes. That's how it work, you trust me, you tell me, I trust you I tell you and so on and so forth over and over time and again. 

Note to self: Don't talk to Miranda something.  :)

Monday, February 2, 2009


If I compared you to a summer day I wouldn't be doing you justice. 

This weekend was something that I wanted for oh so long. I longed for it craved it wished it and it came. It wasn't so much a vice satiated as a fantasy playing itself out in all the right ways. I had a dream that brought me into the shadows and gave me a chill to tell me it might actually come true. It didn't. When you can defy surrealism you found in a dream with people with friends with family, that's when you can tell yourself you've come very very far. So far far away. This was something I did and you could say it's pride that's making me so happy ecstatic joyful but I would say it's more of an after-glow of an amazing weekend that's keeping everything so strong inside me. Did I mention that it almost happened?

All the chaos on account of me reminds me of freedom reminds me of her but mostly reminds me of you. I look back on it a million times and you're the one on my mind. You're the epitome of all the crazy insane free things. Like a symbol in the clouds that you pick out and tell yourself it's the new divinty. That was how I used you. I told myself early early on that you would be everything that would make me happy and weeks later you became that for me. My platypus shaped cloud, my new divinity.

This weekend was a great success. We partied we laughed we cried we had touch. It was all your senses opened out into your pores so that they could absorb all the experiences and dead set them into your memory. The deep seated happiness that everyone wants to be able to look back on when their gold fish dies. It would only make sense that these experiences, the ones that embody the loss of order, are the ones that you look back on when a gold fish dies because for a lot of people getting up in the morning to feed that simple mind is all the order and routine you really have.

Oh you you you. I can't exactly get you off my mind now. But I like that. We hung out like normal people and we did things like normal people and we were normal people. It was surprising because we're so irregular and we like to move move digress, but we were normal people for a night because we had become so comfortable with each other. Don't let the word normal take away from the experience, it was more than reading doing homework hoping the superbowl didn't get over. It was more like the coming of the normality in a relationship, the ability to be so comfortable with each other you can be yourself. To allow the mundane to become a part of who you are with the one you love shows you that you can actually be with them as yourself. We were normal normal mundane as a grey shirt with no stains and a ham sandwich.

There's a few stains on the floor now but I'm not upset. I was too busy to enjoy too much at my own thing so now I'll look back on those stains and I'll know I was somehow part of it and how I somehow will be part of it forever and always embedded in memory. I feel like an enabler, but giving them a reason to let go and the oppurtunity to do so isn't so much of a sin. I don't really feel all the bad at all. It was worth it. That's what I mean.

I don't really know what the future holds for me now. I'm still not comfortable in my skin, but I'm getting there. I've got to keep moving on. There's not a whole lot more to it. I think I've applied to university. It's how I do, it's how I want to become part of the big scary world. It's how I want to be free and happy and careless and careful all in the same light. I'll be living with Quinn, if all goes right, in a proper dorm with proper things and healthy food. The meal plan simply won't do for both of us. I think that's the rub for us. A meal plan. We're both incredibly individual individuals and if we don't do our own thing it's going to be a calamity wrapped up in some whole wheat flax seed bread. Here we go though. To the free post.

It's over now, I've got to go to school, but I want to remember that night forever. Right now, in this moment is like a sunset, the end of one section of my life and break out into the next. A flip of a coin turn of a crank evolution of the mind. Dive in.

"No one ever said that hope would be so beautiful."