Wednesday, December 31, 2008

I still love you lying down

I'm looking at the wrong map, this is bullshit. Sick and tired crap. God dammit, I've been listening to all the wrong music all at the same time. You'll open my eyes to whatever my ears don't want to see. Man this is really fucked up, you're really fucked up. And better yet it does no fucking good. No musical inclination or literary goddess. Holy shit I'm cracking up. STOP thinking. Be your own, whatever the fuck you want. Well maybe, dear artist with no leash, you are exactly what I fucking want and the girl I hate to be can't tell you that. I'm only her when you're around. I swear you'd love me any other way. But she is mine. I trapped her in my nervousness and saved her to pay my debts. She is the hold, lock, shut. She is the fear in your faded footsteps, she is the obligation in your goodbye kiss. The only thing I ever knew how to do was be in love and stay in love and make people believe I was actually in nauseating love. Man, what I'd kill to have me back. Men are like dogs, but only really in the way that they can sense your fear. At least mine. It was one thing I could never hide. To be the girl so unafraid of how this all is supposed to go. To be the one who doesn't walk away when you kiss her cheek and wrap yourself inside of her. I don't know what it means. After the nothings and the too many somethings. I can't tell who is who or which is what anymore. I am nothing, a ghost of love I'd kill to give. Love too strong for the men in my bed. 

Sunday, December 28, 2008

the more I say, the less you'll think

"I just want time to be myself, to fuck around. You know, before I have to take care of someone else"
"But, that is who I am"

I'm reading this Hemmingway book called "The Sun Also Rises" and honestly it's never something I would have continued past the first page had it not been Trevor who recommended it. It's solidly written, but I can see quite clearly why his literary style is so controversial. Half the time the book makes absolutely no sense, and it's as though that's the point. The fact that it's dated back to the 40s or something doesn't make the language any simpler to comprehend. But I've caught on and I'm actually enjoying it, however, there is a love in it I don't understand yet. Some forbidden nature between two characters who openly yearn for each other. I'm scared to find out why they cannot be together, and the cynical nature of the book tells me such circumstances aren't going to change. I'm not asking for a happy ending, I just don't really want to handle the one I'm afraid of in my own life. 
Yesterday Dan told me I should stop thinking, and just do. You know, the advice of a lifetime you can never really follow. He says when I think, I convince myself that whatever I have isn't what I'm looking for, but if I stop I'll realize that it probably is. I mean, it's a vague assumption at best, but it's true. I realized this about sex. Of course that wasn't at all what the conversation was about, but last night I had some sort of epiphany on it that happened to involve some explicit activity. No matter the who or the where or the why; sex is always another thought process. I can barely count the times I've allowed myself to be devoured in pure physicality, sober anyway. Last night I realized, the only time I can really enjoy sex, is when the foreplay isn't about myself. When I'm focused on making him feel good, my mind is off in that concentration, and the joy I get in having the ability to do that. And then, and really only then, when he is so out of control that the only thing he craves is sex, can I let myself go. It works in and the same on the basis of emotional relationships. 
Anyway, after an eight and a half hour shift on boxing day I went to smoke with Ben and his friends from Scarborough. Than around one we went back to my place and watched 'Heathers', but I kept drifting in and out of sleep. Than after work yesterday I came back to Toronto to hangout with Trev. He finally fixed my guitar and got exceedingly happy about it, so taking advantage of his good mood I made him learn 'Sink, Florida, Sink' and 'Play Crack the Sky'. By that I mean showed him the tabs and he learned it within five seconds of seeing them. We watched 'The Last Waltz', which is a dvd about The Band's final show featuring Neil Young, Bob Dylan, Janice Joplin, Eric Clapton, etc. I was thoroughly impressed, but I'd still argue that it isn't comparable to Woodstock (which yes, I did get for Christmas). So yeah, the usual, I will leave out the bedroom details in fear of who may read this. 

Thursday, December 25, 2008

"People have to really suffer before they can risk doing what they love."



I know I just posted, and well, this one isn't really much about Christmas; though knowing me it could quite possibly turn onto that topic, hence it being Christmas day and all. I need a new direction. In life, in whatever the fuck I'm doing. It's 5 a.m. and really the only hour logic consumes me and I feel like myself, or the person I'm content being. The free one. I guess that's why journalism made sense, in the fine words of one of my professors, journalists don't have business hours. In fact, writers aren't exactly sleepers. But this structure, this going out and writing what the people want to hear, this building up; this isn't what I want. I grew up in a family that didn't follow any order, my parents didn't go to college. Now I see them and despite their good financial state, they have no organization, there were never any goals. My mom works a 9 to 5 job, she likes it well enough, but what does that even mean? I've read the stories she wrote in high school, I've seen the pictures of her as a gymnast and how inconceivably good she was at both. But she was in a rush to live, she found love and had kids and stuck out the rough patches. I had an unbelievable childhood. I'd be a liar to say I wouldn't love to just quit this all and be free from the structural chains. I hate that to do what I love for the rest of my life means going through four years of something I hate. I'm not cut out for school, I know that, I have always known that. But I'm good at it. When I want to be. The motive isn't there, I'm only here because this is where everyone with intellect goes, I am torturing myself for proof that I'm just as good. I am the first and probably the only in my family to be going to college, and the people and even the program is great. My brother is so smart, and he's wasted it on alcohol and having the world handed to him. I know I will never waste what I have, I would never throw away my love for art and literature, but does that really have to mean I must follow what everyone considers to be achievement? Writing a book while my baby naps and my husband plays his guitar sounds like fucking achievement to me. And you know what is really, truly, sad? That it sounds like naivety to everyone else. But there is always better. The poet from Ryerson structures their words a little more gracefully, the director a more clever thought, the photographer a clearer eye. So they sell more books, their commercial airs a few seconds longer, they afford a better lens. One day I would love to wake up and just do it. One day just go out and throw my talents at companies and see what the fuck happens. The greatest writers never studied Shakespeare. I'm as good as I want the world to see, not where their systems place me. Why bother with the stress of numbers and times? Because I don't want to be the seed of judgement, the one people can pretend they are better than because their number was higher. Never in my life have I made someone feel low just because a system told me I was better than they were. I can't conceive it. Maybe you think I'm lazy because I don't know how to fit into a place where you go to decide your future. I'm not looking for a shortcut, I'm just not looking to have every change of mind cost me thousands. When I think out loud in reference to why I'm here, they say "because you're good at it". No, I'm just half decent at a lot of things, I'm only good at what I love. I do not love this. Working for a newspaper for a few years, being the pest, following the schedules of wherever the action is; it isn't what I want. I'm here because one day I was reading a music magazine that has literally changed my life and all I could think is how fucking outstanding it would be to someday write whatever the hell I want about whatever band I want, or movie or anything. To have my opinion matter, or acknowledged by some punk ass teenagers who don't give a shit about anything else. To have my career be part of the easygoing scene of music, or something like it. But I accepted somewhere that if I were lucky I'd be writing online for some stupid Toronto newspaper with editors that fuck lead singers for interviews. I mean, shit, if I had this attitude all the time I'd be golden, but by morning the structure is going to eat me alive and I'm going to forget why I even bothered with questioning. So they give you awards, they give you grades they say represent something publishable. Guess what? They give those to me too, when I care enough. I am so far from jealous that it eats me alive. Because this loathe for the people that eat up the fact that they know they've done better, it's there to prove that I stand completely aware of their misconception of what better is. I'm not a goddamn journalist, I'm not an author and I'm certainly not a photographer. I'm a writer, I love art and I try my damn hardest to create it. Of course it isn't any better than yours, the reason for that is that no matter how hard you try, I'm never going to care as much as you do. I do not care how good structure believes I am. If it counts for anything at all, I am not trying to punish anyone. I am not placing the blame of my hatred towards ideals onto any given person place or thing. People live their lives as best they can and I am so happy for the majority that can do that the way they were taught to. I am not stuck between a family of no structure and a life I was meant to lead. I've just always belonged in the middle, without choice, without decision. Now it's my turn to really decide and I won't because being between never meant moving, not until now. I miss acting, I miss directing, I miss designing; I miss everything I won't ever be. The reason; I am too fucking afraid of my certainty that the world will tell me that there's better. But man was I good. There's somewhere I really need to be, there is someplace and someone that will help me prove the world my head created wasn't just the stupid idea of an artist. I am not waiting for the boy with the guitar to sweep me away and pay the bills. I'm not a blathering idiot heading nowhere. I am someone who wants to do something beyond the books, but refuses to do that if it means making the people trying to be the same thing feel lesser about themselves. I literally refuse to become the sort of person that made me hate what I once loved. Maybe I'll never reach any of this, but trying can only get me somewhere different. Somewhere else. Somewhere I need to be.
Anyway, Merry Christmas. 

Wednesday, December 24, 2008

my headache


I don't remember the last thing I posted, it's irrelevant anyway. This week I know I haven't noted anything on the day Connor and Dan decided to destroy my bedroom and take me to down a bottle of wine when I worked the next day. It was fun, though, to say the least. 
Last night Ben came to pick me up in the God awful weather (not that I have a single resentment towards the snow itself, just driving conditions aren't exactly preferable). We went back to Scarborough, went to Tim Hortons, where I got my first encounter of a sketchy homeless guy lying on a table. Once we got to the mall I decided I wanted to see a more cheerful movie, so Four Christmases didn't start until 9:55 and it was about 7 at latest. We walked around the mall for what seemed like forever, and despite my dreadful headache I really enjoyed it. Scarborough Town is actually decent if not, dare I say, good. After a long wait we went to see the movie, which wasn't half bad, and back to Tim's. Where we established, despite the storm, he'd drive me home. Really because Ben is a sweetheart and wouldn't ever have me take the bus. Anyway, I had a really nice time and it sort of makes up for my potentially lonely Christmas. 
Tonight my brother and I are going to drink up for the holiday, and if I can convince him, watch Titanic. Merry Christmas if I don't get back for a few days!

Friday, December 19, 2008

let it snow

Seriously, the ground is covered and despite the complaints coming from every direction, I'm stoked. White Christmas? Hopefully. Anyway, there's been a load of nothing going on the past couple days. Yesterday I worked mostly, got my Christmas shopping completely done, and came home to watch t.v. and wrap. The bus driver at Yorkdale was a complete and utter dick, I usually just make it, so I always have exact change and just buy my ticket on the bus. Well when I tried to do so he coarsely told me "Go buy it in the station like everyone else", and when I rushed to do so he pulled away, leaving me to wait an hour for the next bus. Not to mention, I was wearing a santa hat for pissing out loud.

Anyway, due to the storm today I called into work and they said it was cool if I didn't come in. So I spent the past three hours 'napping', after being up so late photoshopping. Now I'm gonna go get ready for dinner with my old friends from here and be classy and drink wine. 

Thursday, December 18, 2008

hello cityscape

After a dreadful and forced rising, I trained it to meet Trevor at Union. We shopped from about 2 until 6 and I was actually thoroughly productive, even though it meant dragging him into stores I'd spend an hour looking through. Apparently the boy is girlfriend trained because he never complained. So I got myself some new guitar strings and pegs, which means a functioning acoustic! Also I bought Ryan some H&M stuff and my mom a purse, and Dan a belt buckle I'm hoping he'll dig. So I only have a few more gifts to go. The best part of it all, I got Starbucks. Rexdale kind of deprives me of such things. Today I came to the difficult acceptance that I'm really all Starbucks coffees and pricey thrift shops.




Wednesday, December 17, 2008

I don't feel any different

I'm home again, and for the first time it feels something like it. The comfort of a cornered gray room, Christmas lights and vinyl and prime acoustics. I'm starving, and now starting to realize what was with the drastic weight loss when I lived here. It isn't the laziness of going upstairs, more the lack of wanting to distract from what I'm doing. Which of course is nothing. The second is started to snow the warmth in the room really surrounded me, I'll never quite get that contrast of ideas.

Tomorrow I'm going Christmas shopping with Trevor, well sort of. He's the spawn of the Grinch. But I haven't been to Toronto in awhile, so in hope that there's still snow on the ground and it isn't all slush, I'm excited. I really need to get productive.

Anyway, I'm not in the mood to blog right now. But I figured this might encourage me to start up on it. Goodnight, dear void.