Another analogy

Is this where the river splits?

I was your wind, you were my sail. I was never steering, but you thought I was. My hands were almost touching.

Burying myself into books. Words soothe me. I'm going to be something great, and all of you will reminisce about who you think I am (was). I am breathing on my own and it feels good. I don't need machines.

I need to commit to something that won't turn its back on me once they learn they can stand on their own two feet.

Some need love.
Some need care.

Some need need.

I would like this chair.

I never get bored, and I don't really understand how people feel that way so often. I find that I am interested, or at least amused, by the things and people around me every single day.

I had an unusual exchange with a man today in a waiting room for a walk in clinic. After a series of 3 waiting rooms (aside: not too sure how waiting in one room, then waiting in another room, then waiting in another room is at all efficient), I found myself alone with a 40-something year old man who I presume was a recent immigrant to Canada based on his English language proficiency and the conversation we had.

After mumbling to himself for a few minutes, he turned to me:

Man: "Do you know what my first word of English was when I moved here?"

Me: Awkward pause. "No?"

Man: "Hurt."

Things got more strange after that, but that's all you get.

Tip of the Day: Part II

Poetry is not a turning loose of emotion, but an escape from emotion; it is not the expression of personality, but an escape from personality. But, of course, only those who have personality and emotions know what it means to want to escape from these things.

Poetry may make us from time to time a little more aware of the deeper, unnamed feelings which form the substratum of our being, to which we rarely penetrate; for our lives are mostly a constant evasion of ourselves.

-T. S. Eliot

What did you do in school today?

Gotta love OISE.

Dying pretty is living well.

Our bodies fail us, and we fail our bodies. What comes first?

You Ain't No Patron Saint.

As long as your happiness relies on other people, you're going to be low.

Thanks for thinking of me.

Sometimes in the morning I am petrified and can't move
Awake but cannot open my eyes
And the weight is crushing down on my lungs
I know I can't breathe
And hope someone will save me this time
And your mother's still calling you insane and high
Swearing it's different this time
And you tell her to give in to the demons that possess her
That god never blessed her insides
Then you hang up the phone and feel badly for upsetting things
Crawl back into bed to dream of a time
When your heart was open wide and you love things just because
Like the sick and dying

And sometimes when you're on
You're really fuckin on
And your friends they sing along
And they love you
But the lows are so extreme
That the good seems fuckin cheap
And it teases you for weeks in its absence
But you'll fight and you'll make it through
You'll fake it if you have to
And you'll show up for work with a smile
You'll be better
And you'll be smarter
And more grown up
And a better daughter or son
And a real good friend

And you'll be awake
You'll be alert
You'll be positive though it hurts
And you'll laugh and embrace all your friends
And you'll be a real good listener
You'll be honest
You'll be brave
You'll be handsome and you'll be beautiful
You'll be happy

Your ship may be coming in
You're weak but not giving in
To the cries and the wails of the valley below
And your ship may be coming in
You're weak but not giving in
And you'll fight it you'll go out fighting all of them

At least I have my youth.

Telling me that I don't fit in is like saying 1 + 1 = 2.

I know. I have known since I was 13 years old.

This is going to change one day, but not until I get out of here. Please do not assume what "here" is, because you know what that does.

Tip of the day: First Edition

I have decided to start including "tips" in my blog either from myself, friends, family, writers, musicians, teachers, homeless people, whoever.

Learn to be poor yet dedicated, forever. Step away from the computer every chance you can and learn how to be flexible as an artist/designer. Learn art history, color theory, grid systems, typography, photography, and illustration. Work with other artists/designers around you. We all learn from one another. Education is everything, but the institution isn't. School is great, but retaining information is better. With that said, Art School is great for some and a waiting room for others. It's certainly not a requirement to be an artist. Once you have a knowledge base, the world is yours.

-J. Bannon

White Hip.

Sometimes it's too much.
They are pushing each other out of the way of the oncoming headlights not so that they can save their friends from being crushed, but so that they can steal the light. Being discreet is akin to being dead. Nobody notices you, and nobody remembers you unless they are triggered to do so.

Irony is that nobody will remember you, anyway. This is a patch-work city with hitch-hiking hearts. I don't think I want to leave until I'm ready. I'm not ready. I'm looking to you, girl. Show me how to maintain. Take me to your room and mold me...

Pose for the camera. Yeah, just like that. Contort your body a little. Invert that knee. Tilt your head. Stare through the lens. Look careless. Go limp. Off the shoulder. Rip the lace. Tuck the shirt. Roll the cuff. Light the cigarette. Drink the wine. Crush the pill.

Alright, editing stage. Crop it a little bit. Take down the saturation and the contrast. Make it lo-fi, baby. Yeah. You know this is what they want.

We're taught that we're not good enough the second we can understand. Make yourself better. Grab that official knowledge and put it in a frame. Go to a third world country and feel good about yourself. Don't be idle. He died for us, you know.