Pretty Girls

All the Single Ladies - The Atlantic

2012-01-31T10:08:00.000-08:00

What a fantastic piece. I have not read an article that has given me a post-read shiver in quite a while. This took courage to write, and I think it needs to be shared. THIS is journalism.

"When Gloria Steinem said, in the 1970s, “We’re becoming the men we wanted to marry,” I doubt even she realized the prescience of her words...."

To read, please click the link below!

All the Single Ladies - The Atlantic

The Complex

2012-01-31T08:19:00.000-08:00

They say the same things when I'm done with them. Been called the best of it and the worst of it. They say for someone who wants to make people better, I just made someone worse. It's so ironic to me, because my impact is so clear. He found a passion, and he found confidence, and he found content. The things I took heal in a short amount of time, and the things I gave last forever.

I think the worst thing I have done, is not be happy with what's in front of me. It's the reason I love Mary Shelley. Give me a mold, and I'll die while I'm bendig it. I'll push against their skin until it cracks.

But this time, I'm not dying a martyr.

Of You.

2012-01-30T21:01:00.000-08:00

I tried to push you away before I even had you, but caught myself before it was too late. I don't remember the last time I did things the right way, but it feels like you're reeling me in. When I say slow, I want you to know, that I'm going there. It's the same for you, and you know I'll do what you're hoping for. We're making plans and holding hands, and I swear it is worth it.

Let me get in my zone.

2012-01-30T13:01:00.000-08:00

I've slept on Tabula Rasa since I moved to the Danforth. Amazing staff, amazing curation of vintage, and a smart selection of local designers.

I'd be lying if I said I wasn't going to steal their decor ideas (framed antlers, birch branch jewelry hangers), and I'm pretty sure I made a couple friends in there after realizing a friend Asia (Wild Moon) got her pieces in there. Everything I tried on was amazing, and I'm leaving the shoes and accessories for next time so my wallet doesn't hate me so much.

Here is a shitty bb picture simply because I'm too lazy to take out my Canon right now. Long story short...check out this boutique and support local business and designers!

Welp!

2012-01-27T12:09:00.001-08:00

Stays.

2012-01-22T14:49:00.000-08:00

Everyone has that one song.

Cougar

2012-01-22T12:45:00.000-08:00

He had to sit beside her on the way there. She bought him drink after drink, and his presence made her feel younger. She looked aching to touch his strong, wide shoulders, and he had just enough of a beard for her to toy with the idea that his age was suitable.

And on the way home, here she goes again. Her hair is stiff with hair spray and gel. The kind of hair that always looks wet. She nurses her warm Corona that has been poured into a plastic cup that the airport has safety approved. She leans over towards him as close as she can. She inhales and her body inflates. She is thriving off his testosterone. This time he doesn't seem to be getting anything out of it. Maybe it is because I'm watching.

Sad life.

Too good.

2012-01-17T08:12:00.001-08:00

Me days.

2012-01-17T06:39:00.000-08:00

I never seem to write journalistic entries anymore. A friend told me he prefers my creative writing and cultural analysis more, and every since then, I have stuck to that. But hey, this is supposed to be for me too, so I'm going to sneak this one in. Don't tell.

I took the day off work today. Nothing is better than being in bed during a weekday. This bed is my favourite. My friends have been coming over a lot lately, which is amazing. I feel that because I'm in the West all weekend, hanging here during the week isn't too much to ask for. Also, it doesn't hurt that I make or order food for everyone.

I got my raise and retro pay at work. Couldn't be happier about that! Such a difference, and it will only get better once I get my Honours English specialist certification in a year. I feel like I won't ever stop until I have a doctorate. And hell, I will probably just do it for fun after that.

I made my hair appointment for next week. It is going to be weird to have my hair professionally dyed for the first time. Salma Hayek at the Golden Globes took any self control I had, and my coworkers told me it doesnt look too wild. We will see.

I finally got my Edvantage card, meaning I can join Goodlife for a great price. I figure that I should. I'm surprisingly happy with myself lately, but a firmer butt never killed anyone.

Starting a website for work right now, and I'm excited about it. I keep finding little things I want on it, but the goal is for me to learn as well, so I can fully take it over.

Alright, well, this type of post won't likely happen again. I am planning on re-focusing on cultural theory(linked with literary criticism). How thrilling for me!

Sunsets.

2012-01-15T14:12:00.000-08:00

You say I write too much, but you know I don't call myself a writer.

I do my best work like this, and so do the greatest. I guess that's why you dont write me love poems. I guess that's why my journals paint a grey picture and exclude the colour.

I'm a hopeless romantic. Truly, I'm hopeless and romantic. I wish I knew what it was about you that pulls me in and doesn't let go. When you ask me to tell you what I like best about you, I get flustered. You want to hear a quantifiable list, so how do I explain the intangible? How do I explain that feeling I get when I hear the elevator and I run to the mirror to make sure I look okay? I'm not entirely comfortable around you, and most would say that's a bad thing. I see it as proof that I dont want to let that spark fade, ever.

I want us to go places together, in every sense. We're holding hands with our feet firmly on the ground, but the backgrounds are changing.

Hold on tight, baby, we're not there yet.

Believe in.

2012-01-14T06:16:00.000-08:00

He believed my lies, but doesn't believe the truths. I just don't believe anything but you.

Allusion.

2012-01-08T12:25:00.000-08:00

You're as welcome as cancer, but my door's always unlocked.

Try and break me.

2012-01-07T12:52:00.000-08:00

When the door slammed in my face it is as if it went through me. Knocked me to my senses. I almost stumbled. I waited at the bus stop and worried that it would take too long. I worried that something would pull me back.

The bus came in 8 minutes, but it felt like less. I got a seat, and looked out the window. When I first caught my reflection I was surprised that I was smiling. I may have been laughing at it all. I may have been thinking of what is to come. I may have been floating with all the weight I had left behind.

I drank too much. I paid too little. I remembered who made me feel good. I forgot what made me feel awful. The walk from the bar was where I faultered, but I bet you were surprised you couldn't break me down this time. I made some good choices last night. I know I could have made worse ones, in many ways.

This is how it is meant to be, and I'm breathing well.

I could read my live journal all day.

2012-01-06T13:21:00.000-08:00

I'm blown away by how candid I was. I'm also blown away how inconsequential the things are now.

Here is one I found particulary interesting, humourous, and ironic:

"A lot of things are going to change when I am 19.
Things that should have already been changed, but the truth is, I think I need something to ignite it.
Becoming one year older is just going to have to be that ignition.

Don't worry, most of you probably won't even notice anything.

I'm just going to start doing what I want to do, when I want to do it.
I'm going to stop concerning myself so much with things that I can't control.
I'm going to go out with the people I feel like, and I'm not letting you hold me back."

Love this.

2012-01-06T10:29:00.000-08:00

http://www.blogger.com/img/blank.gif

This is where I came here from

2012-01-05T17:37:00.000-08:00

http://x5arahx.livejournal.com/

Quotable

2012-01-05T15:16:00.000-08:00

He asked me how his quotations could become "quotable." I told him a pretty bleak answer. "You have to die," I said with my best dry tone. This was one of the few times I was asked something, and my answer wasn't objected. He chuckled, and we both romanticized our own deaths. This was the last moment of substance we may have had.

What a great question, sir. But why ask something when you knew the answer already?

Nothing will ever move me like words.

2012-01-05T07:52:00.000-08:00

Thought Catalog seems to always know what I need to read and when. Maybe I should say it comes in at all the right times. I would rather have words than a warm body, despite what my urges say. I needed this piece of prose, and the John Keats reference to "Ode to a Grecian Urn" puts the biggest smile on my face. This is inspiration.

Why You are Beautiful (via Thought Catalog)

You’re beautiful because you’re stronger than anyone thought. I didn’t think you were at first. I expected the pain of your wrecked relationship to eat you alive. I expected you to burst into tears spontaneously every day for the next decade, stop washing your hair and only smile faintly when someone asked how you were doing. I thought you would still be wearing the ring alone in your apartment, self-medicating to the point where it was no longer a #whitegirlproblem but an actual problem. But you pushed through it. You’re happy and healthy now, and you refer to yourself as “I” rather than “we.” I couldn’t be prouder of you.

You’re beautiful because you take risks. You substituted “who cares” for “what if” and stopped talking into your beer about how you were going to do it and actually did it. You weren’t afraid to take a crazy stupid chance on your crazy stupid dreams, kind of like that chick in Eat Pray Love except you didn’t have to become an ashram-cleaning cliché to find yourself and didn’t leave me with popcorned fingers and a diminishing sense of pre-packaged optimism. You’re an inspiration and you’re real.

You’re beautiful because you just don’t give a damn. You don’t need everyone to like you, agree with you or approve of you to feel good about yourself. You know that “good enough” is subjective, and that more often than not the subject doesn’t really matter anyway. I know you’ll never wake up suddenly 45 and nowhere, half your time and potential wasted on following someone else’s idiot advice. That’s the kind of thing that gives me hope for myself.

You’re beautiful because you taught me something invaluable that I would never have come to know on my own. You taught me that there are some things love does not conquer — that you can love someone with all your heart and skin and organs and it will change completely nothing. You gave me a practical lesson: that a relationship cannot be carried by only one of its halves. You made me realize I am not special, and that’s important because I spent a good part of my life thinking I was. Assuming Keats was right and beauty is truth, you are beautiful.

You’re beautiful because you take pride in ironically showcasing that you’re not. You laugh at the silly standards of conventional beauty and elevate armpit hair, blue-veined pallor and Chucks held together by luck alone to a whole new level. You will never be the one to drop six grand on an anti-aging cream made from red algae and gorilla spit because when you’re eighty, you will be proud of the history that gave you those wrinkles. The thing is, you are absolutely stunning.

You’re beautiful because you’re brave. You know there’s more to life than measuring how long you have — you came face to face with your own mortality and turned to look the other way. Everyone knows cancer is a big deal but somehow it’s an even bigger deal when someone close to you gets it. You’re the one with the cancer but for some reason you still hold me when I cry. How you still manage to look miles better than most “healthy” people is beyond me.

You’re beautiful because you believe in things. Even when it’s easier to be cynical, skeptical, hyper-rational, you keep believing because you know believing in things is what makes them real. You’re beautiful for that reason, because you can do something lots of people can’t. I know I can’t. I admire you and sometimes I’m jealous.

You’re beautiful and you shouldn’t wait for someone else to tell you. You already know it, just see it.

Warmth

2012-01-05T05:28:00.000-08:00

That was the best sleep I have had in months. I am wide awake. I walked down the hallway and found the bathroom. I took a look at my body. I took a look at my face. Before going back I had to write this.

I have never felt so beautiful.

Quit Digging.

2012-01-03T15:25:00.000-08:00

I threw out the pick. The token of ownership over my body. It never moved from my bed stand. It stood watch. It waited. It hoped you would never reclaim it. You never did. You left it there.

I said I threw out the pick. I'm also telling you I dug for the envelope I put it in. I found it. I'm thinking I should forget it, but a girl that lives alone might benefit with some protective measures.

Foundation

2012-01-01T19:18:00.000-08:00

Was going to make a list but the only thing on it is you. These Trojan Wars of epic proportians don't have any substance inside. It looks incredible, but it is hollow.

Don't you think we always looked great together? Or so I have been told.

I have so much power, but I would cast it down in a moment. These fairy tales end like they should. The allusions elude me with every year that passes.

You told me this would happen when I made that choice, and fuck, you're right. The good thing is that both buttons would detonate.

This is so cliche. And just when I was asking why people need new starts on new years. Here goes mine. I'm going to love.

Drowsy.

2011-12-23T12:29:00.000-08:00

These part time friends with their part time jobs are a fulltime headache in my double time world.

Q&A

2011-12-13T05:09:00.000-08:00

And I've got this aversion about names and exes. I can't date someone who has the same name of someone I used to date. "What's in a name?" I know, I know. A rose would still smell as sweet if it were not called a rose. Or should I say, a corpse would still smell as pungent if it were not called a corpse.

But still, I can't do it, even though I have thought of the benefits it would bring. Observe:

1) Not calling the wrong name out during sex
2)You would be able to answer "yes" to the question "so are you and (insert same name here) still dating?" And upon hearing the answer you can revel in the dramatic irony.
3)You can regift anything you have which has been engraved with your initials or names.

Alright, that list is exhausted. Anyway, I just don't do it. Any more questions?

The truth about failed love.

2011-11-28T16:00:00.000-08:00

"Are we really listening to The Streets?" she thought to herself. She always thought her first time would be to "Colourblind," like hundreds of other girls had hoped. She felt safe in that basement, until the footsteps of her boyfriend's mom became more frequent. Eventually, it got to the point where she would open the door, march down, and stand outside the makeshift curtain door. His mom wanted him out, and it was obvious.

It was 8:00pm and they were in bed. That's all they ever did. "I have no idea what I'm doing with you." The words were muted, but entirely clear. Audible. Laced with regret. She put on her clothes, walked up the stairs, and went out the door. Night enveloped her, and that was the end.

The windows were rolled down, and while driving along the highway at her standard 10km above, she threw out the mix CDs. Some were really good, but they were overplayed.

She never went home. Instead, she drove to another city to start again.

Dramatic Irony

2011-11-15T04:34:00.000-08:00

It wasn't about the music.

Found poetry (ttc edition)

2011-11-14T03:53:00.001-08:00

Spring Forward, Fall Back. Connect.

Be Everywhere.

You are not alone.

>>

2011-11-13T13:22:00.000-08:00

Maybe you don't see it in me.

Manson

2011-11-10T12:42:00.000-08:00

"Christianity has given us an image of death and sexuality that we have based our culture around. A half-naked dead man hangs in most homes and around our necks, and we have just taken that for granted all our lives. Is it a symbol of hope or hopelessness?"

Symbol.

2011-11-07T23:53:00.000-08:00

I'm just not sure if you want me to remember you by it, or you want it to still be here like when you came back.

This time you know everything. This time you have the opportunity to walk away. This time you have the chance that I took away from you before.

I wanted to sleep well tonight. I really did.

You never turned around

2011-11-07T23:49:00.000-08:00

And that's probably for the best.

Still waiting for someone who loves me enough to let me fly.

Take Care seems to be fitting.

Sign Language

2011-10-30T07:17:00.000-07:00

You are still one of my favourite lyricists.

I appreciate your use of rhetorical devices, now and then.

I should feel worse.

2011-10-29T06:29:00.000-07:00

I've changed my outlook. My constant disappointment in others has turned into me being thankful for that. I mean, I need things like this to happen to answer the questions I have. I was so unsure before for reasons I couldn't explain. So strange how answers come when you least expect them.

Thank you. I know now.

Analytical

2011-10-16T20:00:00.000-07:00

I might be looking for something that nobody has.

This was easier

2011-10-15T10:39:00.000-07:00

Before it went down to one. Being stretched so thin that I can see my skin tearing.

My time is more valuable than any monetary value you could tempt me with.

A short story I wrote. It is still untitled.

2011-10-10T16:49:00.000-07:00

1
Laying on the sterile mattress I feel that this is all that is left for me. Walls painted in colours which are supposed to be soothing. Lapis blue, seafoam green, lavender. All I see is blood red oozing from the unsealed cracks of this ceiling. The Woman beside me is gurgling, gurgling, gurgling. I take more pills that scratch their way down my throat. It’s real, tangible, a feeling that I have grown accustomed to. ______ and ______ have stopped visiting. It’s okay. I didn’t like their hands on my shoulder. Weighing me down, down, down, down. If this bed could sink any further I would be in hell already. The last thing I have is my mind but it’s failing me. You fail me. My reference wasn't obscure enough. I’m telling you these things you already know and when you read this you will feel sorry, so sorry. And will you put this book on a dusty shelf where nobody would ever check for it? That’s what everything else is. A book is someone’s dying words. They want to be remembered, they want to live on. We all just want to be remembered for being greater than we ever were.

2
Some days are better than others. Today they changed the artifical tree for a potted plant. It will soon dry up like me. Placed on the edge of my table, I push it over. I want to see it crumble. Like Ghiza and Stonehenge, it is only great because it has survived. They are remarkable for simply existing, still. We all want to be remembered. I can’t remember the book where I read that. I know I read it somewhere. “I read somewhere.” As if that gives you any validation. Talking out of our asses we just want to be remembered. The scholars we read are rolling over in laughter in their graves. Being revered, deifyied, even, for something they became only in death. Get over it.

3
Last day in this pit. They said they would cut the cord if I didn’t come back. I’m back, you know…I never left. I just don’t want to speak anymore. You all failed me, and I would be failing myself if I fought for it. What’s so precious about all this anyway? It’s always raining, or when it’s not raining it rained yesterday, or it’s going to rain tomorrow. What’s so miraculous about it? You come out, scream, don’t know where you are. When you leave it’s the same thing. Come out, scream, don’t know where you are.

4
Where is ____?
Where is ________?
With _______?
They are blanks to me. I don’t want to fill them in. Why must blanks always be filled in? Can’t you just be damned satisfied with not knowing? That’s why you have to read about it. Be your own expert, be your own technocrat. Write your own eulogy. Your death will sell you out.

5
My biggest Fear is not dying on these sheets, but being remembered as something greater than I was. My biggest Fear is not being on these sheets, but being remembered as something greater than I was. My biggest Fear is not dying on these sheets, but being remembered as someone greater than I was. My biggest Fear is not being greater than these sheets but dying as someone I never was.

Blast from the Past

2011-10-10T16:40:00.000-07:00

I wrote the following editorial in 2007, when I was an editor at McMaster University's arts & entertainment magazine, Andy. It seemed fitting to dig this up and post it...

_______________________________________________________________________________________

The internet has changed life as we know it. Everything is so much more accessible than it used to be, from finding new music, to meeting new people, to buying virtually anything you want from anywhere you want.
In a way, the Internet is at the forefront of globalization, as it seems to be making our world smaller and smaller (at least for those who are privileged enough to have it). But apart from how the internet is changing our global context, it is changing the way in which we seek information. In the past few years, blogs have started to consume our souls.
Perhaps most noticeable in the young adult age demographic, it seems like everyone I know has a blog, or at least wants to start one but doesn’t want to be following what has become an online trend. To keep in line with my previous editorials, I usually need to be ranting or complaining about something, so here are some of my favourite reasons to hate your blog. First reason—it makes anyone an expert, and if you have read anything by Theodore Roszak, you will understand why the term “expert” makes me feel completely unsettled. Blogs are entirely unregulated, and just because you claim to be the “King of Vinyl” doesn’t mean you know shit about the value or importance of records.
Even worse are the gossip bloggers, who strangely enough want to be experts about things that have absolutely no relevance to your life. Do you really care if Lindsay Lohan is a lesbian? I hope not, but even if you do, are you really going to trust what someone who has never even met her has to say. I just feel that so many blogs reek of desperation and loneliness.
Second reason that blogs suck is that it is entirely killing off the pen to paper means of writing. Remember when you had a real journal, and not a “live” one? I still own my Barbie diary, fully equipped with a padlock and key, and I only wish I still had the time and care to update a journal where I could physically write down my thoughts. To many people, an online journal is more convienant—especially if you are at a computer quite often, but I think that it is beneficial to take your eyes away from the glowing light of your screen after eight hours of being glued to it. Oh, and just so I cover all my bases, if you’re concerned about the “waste” of paper, then go ahead and buy a journal made of recycled paper.
The next gripe I hold is when people use their blogs as shameless self promotion. Your blog should not be your “company” website, because like I mentioned before, blogs can not be taken as credible sites. It’s one thing if you use your blog for fun or to show your friends something funny, but please stop plugging your URL every chance you get. If you are really writing a blog for yourself, then should you really care how many people are lurking it? It’s bad enough having Facebook and Myspace as personal advertisements of the self you want to portray, so do we really need another site that is doing the exact same thing?
Lastly, blogs suck because I can’t escape them. I hate them because by the default of simply having one too, I am adhering to all the things that I just said I hated. The more people who get them, the more I wonder why we are all so gravitated towards them. Somehow, I feel like everyone wants to be famous for something. Whether or not we admit it, everyone wants people to know their name.
If you strip down everything about a personal blog, then isn’t it just another way of letting people get to know you? Maybe we are all just trying to convince ourselves that we know who we really are.
Sarah El-Hamzawi

Literature Appreciation: Incest in the English Novel

2011-10-10T14:40:00.000-07:00

The taboo of incest in the physical, emotional, and moral senses, especially in father-daughter and brother-sister relationships, was a familiar and persistent theme in literature during the eighteenth, nineteenth, and early-twentieth centuries, and consequently has been a popular focus of modern critical discussion. From the inadvertent marriage of a brother and sister in Daniel Defoe's "Moll Flanders," to the sexually charged intrafamilial relationships in Jane Austen's "Mansfield Park", a remarkable number of English novels predicate their plots on the tabooed possibility of incest. The complex human reaction to incest and its prohibition have taken a central position in psychological and sociological scholarship.

Due to its existence in novels, anthropologists and psychologists focused heavily on the study of incest in the late-nineteenth and early-twentieth centuries. Considered a prohibited act by most Victorians, it entered the spotlight when Sigmund Freud spoke of sexual repression, and the subconscious playing a central role in human psychological growth and development. To Freud, our inner, sexual drives were our primary motivations; unsurprisingly, this extends to themes within literature.

While the incest theme dates back to classical literature, there is a lack of agreement among sociologists and anthropologists regarding the incest taboo and its origins. This has led many scholars to believe that the taboo derives not from some inherent moral code, but from our self-imposed need to separate ourselves from the animal world where all sexual activity is indeterminate. The origin of the word “incest,” which means incestum or “unchaste” in Latin, supports this interpretation. Incest has been treated as both a taboo and a special privilege in different eras.

The Adam and Eve story, arguably the world's first account of fictional literature, posits incest as the very foundation of humankind and reproduction. Furthermore, the incest taboo is a representation of our most fundamental attempt at social order. According to this theory, the family unit is the most basic representation of social order. Incest represents a serious violation of that order and is therefore disruptive or "animalistic."

What is consistent between life and literature, however, is that the most common incestuous relationship occurs between fathers and daughters. Critics also agree that most literature of incest presents a patriarchal culture, where feminine desire for masculine approval is both cultivated and promoted. With the development of Freudian analysis in the early twentieth-century, discussion of incest and its emotional, moral impetus was brought out in the open. The fundamental components of psychoanalytic literary criticism were in place and all literature could now be analyzed in light of incestuous relationships, real or fictional.

Freud aside, there is no denying of the theme of incest in the English novel. That said, there is certainly a lack of discourse surrounding it. If we push aside our sense of discomfort, there is a rich topic to be explored in terms of power relations, gendered oppression, and basic socialization. After all, an exploration of literature is ultimately a search for a deeper understanding of ourselves.

S.

Suggested Readings:

“The Dumb Virgin” by Aphra Behn
“The Force of Nature” by Eliza Haywood
“Burney Criticism: Family Romance, Psychobiography, and Social History” by Julia Epstein
"The Incest Theme in Literature and Legend:Fundamentals of a Psychology of Literary Creation" by Otto Rank

Lasts.

2011-10-01T22:33:00.000-07:00

It is my last night in this apartment. It's interesting how inanimate objects hold such weight, emotion, and experience within their fibres.

I don't know whether I would say it was a good year here, or a bad one. All I can say is that it was eventful. This was my first home living on my own, out of school. Sure, it was humble, but I should be proud that I could do that.

I would never have imagined that in this year alone, I would have been in love, been heart broken, worked a shitty retail job, worked at a private school, strengthened beautiful friendships, cut out toxic ones, survived what I feltto be a quarter life crisis, and ultimately, landed my dream job.

I can literally FEEL the changes happening in my life. I have said this to some people, and not gotten the response I wanted. Perhaps they have never felt this way.

I can feel my pulse quickening when I wonder what changes will happen next year in my lovely new place.

I am happy. I have gained a sense of perspective that I needed, and I am eager to keep becoming wiser and more experienced.

On that note, goodnight.

I need someone to put this weight on.

2011-09-18T20:55:00.000-07:00

I'm just saying you can do better. Tell me have you heard that lately?

Affects.

2011-09-17T15:26:00.000-07:00

There isn't anything more beautiful in life than having a direct, positive impact on another person's life.

Can't you see the one consistency in my intentions?

It is surprise if you weren't counting on it.

2011-09-10T22:52:00.000-07:00

You make me feel good about myself, and I keep trying to add another clause, but let's just leave it at that for now.

Stehle

2011-09-09T16:31:00.000-07:00

I forget what it is like to be called beautiful.

Hand on the glass.

2011-09-04T22:25:00.000-07:00

Nobody could ever compare to you, and although my mind plays tricks on me, you know where my heart lies at the end of the night.

I'm here.

A strange way of working out.

2011-09-01T15:16:00.001-07:00

I have always had you here through every step of this journey. This could not have come at a better time.

I haven't done any picking since you left, but I appreciate you telling me to stop. I have started to learn to love the skin I am within.

I don't think I have any more to give you, but I do think I have accomplished something greater than any of this. You can be someone to be proud.

Please, make me proud.

Literature Appreciation: Poe and the Gothic Genre

2011-08-21T11:55:00.000-07:00

So after trying to find someone willing to have conversations with me about literature (disregarding the care that I look utterly pretentious), I realized...nobody gives a shit.

That said, I realized that I have a blog which I can write whatever the hell I want and nobody can be annoyed by it, and I won't even look (too) much like an anti-social nerd.

I would like to do a series where I can discuss genres, authors, and major literary works that have had an impact on me in some way. As usual, I will generally begin with one idea, but by the end of the post it will take a much broader direction. Here goes my first:

Edgar Allan Poe- I can't even begin to sing my praises to this man as a writer. His talent was beyond belief, and no other writer could never come close to what he has done for Gothic revival. I would like to identify Poe as the one who can perhaps have the best success converting people to the genre.

Suspense, darkness, winding staircases, diseases of the mind, small spaces...gothic literature has such a strict formula, that compared to other genres, has stayed remarkably intact. I think it is the balance of horror and romance. Gothic literature focuses on emotions we can all identify with, and hooks us with this sense of relatability. Once we become invested, that is where the author can have fun with the setting, theme, and motifs. There is less of a focus on the character, and more of a focus on the atmosphere, and the realization that darkness does exist, not only within our society, but within ourselves. Gothic depictions of churches were perhaps the first real creative criticms of the horror of Catholicism, and there was an emergence of the key characters of monks, nuns, and the devil himself. Writers capitalized on our fears of the unknown, and the spiritual nature of the post Enlightenment era. People were tired of rationalization and logic, and just wanted to hear stories that would get their hearts racing, if only a little. Most popular of the Gothic authors was arguably Poe; however, I would also like to make mention of the female Gothic with my personal favourites being Ann Radcliffe and Emily Bronte, who had a focus on women losing what little sensibilities they had, which was of course a social fear held by both men and women

In more modern times, we can see elements of the Gothic genre quite easily. Horror films are one of the most safe bets for a filmmaker to guarantee a core audience, and we still see the same use of pathetic fallacy, the supernatural, and even the unmistakable architecture with pointed towers, thin windows, and dark, grey exteriors. I think gothic fiction today has a slight element of cheesiness to it, perhaps because the genre is unwilling to bend.

Horror films today are remarkably similar to horror films made over 50 years ago, if we really analyze them in terms of the elements of fiction (with the exception of the post-modern and torture porn horror genres). Horror plots are still centred around the intrusion of an evil, unexplainable force, commonly of the supernatural origin. Gothic themes or elements often prevalent in typical horror films include ghosts, mental torture, ancient curses, satanism, and haunted houses.

When I look back at the texts that have left a strong visual impact on me, they all have elements of the gothic genre. From favourite novels like Mary Shelley'sFrankenstein or Bram Stoker's Dracula, to 90's movies like The Crow and The Craft, I have a seamless connection between gothic fiction and horror.

The Gothic genre is truly love or hate. Perhaps you will see its relevance and purpose, or perhaps you will think it is simply a result of an over-active imagination. Regardless, I think it is important that we inform ourselves about the art and culture that surrounds us.

If you have interest in the genre, or would like to get into it, here are a couple of starting points:

Selected Short Stories by Edgar Allan Poe

Jane Eyre by Charlotte Brontë

Frankenstein by Mary Shelley

Dracula by Bram Stoker

Wuthering Heights by Emily Brontë

The Castle of Otranto by Horace Walpole

The Monk by Matthew Lewis

Dr. Jekyll & Mr. Hyde by Robert Louis Stevenson

The Mysteries of Udolpho by Ann Radcliffe

Without you,

2011-08-16T05:42:00.000-07:00

I could not do this.

You never get frustrated with me.

You simply tell me I will make it out of here with all limbs intact.

///

2011-08-15T17:46:00.000-07:00

You should be here.

Don't worry.

2011-08-13T23:18:00.000-07:00

He passed on the message and I heard your voice loud and clear.

What's one more knife in my back before I wipe my hands clean?

Hearing nothing is worse than hearing the truth.

Perspective.

2011-08-12T12:24:00.000-07:00

Hey cheekbones and eyes,

I've been gone three weeks
now I'm a mess
my stomach's on strike
and it's been three weeks
since my last breath

well I don't know why I'm here
cause I'm not in need of attention
and I'm not seventeen
and I don't believe
in that which I can't see

well I swear
if I make it home with my mind and some skin on my bones
I'll be the first one to throw up
these car keys and this cell phone
so I can't leave or talk to anyone
and this stupid wristwatch
so I'm unaware of the time that I've lost

I'm trying to be that which I'm not

Ripping out stitches

2011-08-10T19:47:00.000-07:00

It feels like my best friend has slipped away.

I never have healed well from scars. Just look at my right knee.

Take Care of Yourself

2011-08-07T20:47:00.000-07:00

Don't take what I say to bed with you
and don't get used to that which I do, or you'll only feel used in the end.
Don't weigh your heavy head with those words that I haven't said.
Don't confuse that which I don't do with what will be done in time.

You've gotta wise up, for Christ's sake take care of yourself.
Cause a dirty boy don't make clean breaks.
Oh Sarah, if there's something that you want from me,
just ask, you might receive.

I'm gonna take some time to sift through this conflicted time
and figure out why I can't sleep.
Oh my greed and my guilt have surely gotten the best of me.

You've gotta wise up, get out of this mess while you can,
cause a dirty boy like me don't fight clean.

Oh Sarah, if there's something that you want to do with me,
just ask, cause I'm up for anything.

Cool Hunters: Series Piece: Part I

2011-07-04T21:41:00.000-07:00

"Cool" is a self-conscious post-modern phenomenon. To be it, you must be aware of it, yet at the same time, in a perpetual state of denial. The word itself is arbitrary, with no meaning besides a constant appropriation, and an existence without stagnation. You cannot capture it and own it, but rather, keep up with it at a jogging pace. Those who sprint, burn out...which leads to being dubbed a drop-out, a sell-out, a failure of cool. Or worse, cool itself may collapse, and move from subversiveness to mainstream. This of course, is inevitable. All counter-cultures will eventually be enveloped by popular culture, allowing their deaths to look like suicide.

This process of cultural appropriation kills the subculture and reduces it to merely a representation of the real. A Black Flag shirt found at Hot Topic, a CBGBs shirt sold at West 49--when this happens, a subculture dissipates, then is reborn again, as its members adopt new styles that appear alien to mainstream society.

Cool Hunters: Series Piece: Prologue

2011-07-04T21:31:00.000-07:00

Homer: So, I realized that being with my family is more important
than being cool.
Bart: Dad, what you just said was powerfully uncool.
Homer: You know what the song says: "It's hip to be square."
Lisa: That song is so lame.
Homer: So lame that it's... cool?
Bart+Lisa: No.
Marge: Am I cool, kids?
Bart+Lisa: No.
Marge: Good. I'm glad. And that's what makes me cool, not caring,
right?
Bart+Lisa: No.
Marge: Well, how the hell do you be cool? I feel like we've tried
everything here.
Homer: Wait, Marge. Maybe if you're truly cool, you don't need to
be told you're cool.
Bart: Well, sure you do.
Lisa: How else would you know?

Deceit.

2011-07-03T21:50:00.000-07:00

A rat robed in a king's clothing, is still just a rat.

Local anesthetic

2011-06-13T22:00:00.000-07:00

It's remarkable.
Turning back the clock while you are still physically aging.
Lost the charm, but regaining the reputation.

Defying rationale, and devoid of attachment. I was like that too. I have changed more than my surroundings have, and I barely recognize my hometown when I pull in.

It's happening in me. I am scared, but letting it happen. I look at those years, and those faces and it is like a work of fiction I have longed to read. I have started documenting it, but how can you record pastiche?

My paradigm is one that left some scars, but they have all formed a trail that I would be willing to show. I would uncover it. I would open my chest like a book and let you go through it, asking questions as you go.

I don't need a support. I want a person who will fly (and fall out of the sky) with me.

But will it hurt

2011-06-12T23:07:00.000-07:00

if you see it happen?

Pretty Girls

2011-06-10T23:04:00.000-07:00

She tells me she will die young.

I tell her all beautiful women have the same premonition. Brevity is the stamp of beauty, sealing it in the mouths of men.

All the men who see her want to live their wrecked lives forever.

Scramble for Africa.

2011-06-06T21:10:00.001-07:00

Cartier, Thomson, and Columbus are all iconified for being founding fathers; however, the idea of discovery has always been problematic for me.

If discovery means finding, why is it that they get the credit for places that have already been inhabitated, or rather, civilized. Now, there's the discrepency. What do we define as civilized? The word's multiple meanings gives way to the discussion I would like to have. Is one only civilized if they are white, Christian men? History would say yes. Reason would say no.

But we credit the wrong people for nearly every discovery. Even if we become educated later, there is still a Columbus day...not a Native American Day (note: I realize that the politically correct term is Aboriginal...at least the last time I was told).

But why is something only discovered once the white man has found it?

Even applying it to modern society, things are only discovered by popular culture once they are appropriated by white, rich men. Whether it be music, fashion, food, or other aspects of culture, we give little accredation to origin, and instead give praise to a diluted, less authentic version of the real. It is the simulacrum. A representation or version of something real. It is an illusion that we maintain.

In a way, I am jealous of men like David Livingstone. Celebrated and cherished for convincing the world that his way of living was the only of living, discovering something that already existed, and having no self-actualization up until death.

Let's be honest.

2011-06-01T20:31:00.000-07:00

Do you go home everyday and feel like you made a difference in something remotely meaningful?

Didn't think so.

Dreaming

2011-05-21T23:30:00.000-07:00

I want to be the light in someone's dead of night.

I am not yours, you are not mine. I have never felt that sense of comfort. Always holding my breath that the impossible truly exists.

I have seen what you claimed to be false. You know, you know.

In a place where we only say goodbye.

2011-04-28T08:36:00.000-07:00

Love is watching someone die.

So who's going to watch you die?

Man and Wife, The Latter (Damaged Goods)

2011-04-20T22:34:00.000-07:00

I'm growing out my hair, like it was when I was single
It was longer than I have known you
I had no money then, I had no worries then at all
With such a high standard of living I just feel like I am dying
I would start an argument but you can barely even talk

There is always good reason for your silence
You had to take care of some business
So I fix your plate and I stay out of the way

Will you stay like that forever right in front of your computer?
You'll look up one day but you won't recognize me

So you want to change, you read a letter from a lawyer
Want to take me out to dinner
You want to bury me under a mound of shopping bags
Like it would really make a difference, or make up for your disinterest
I'm a bill you pay, I'm a contract you can't break.

And it's like I'm underwater, or on an endless escalator
I just go up and up, but I don't ever reach the top.
And it reads just like the Bible
Twenty centuries of scandal
It all depends on how you interpret it.

The word is love, the word is loss, the words are damaged goods
That's what I am. A lifetime gets chalked up to an experience
Coincidence, we are chained to the events, that's it.

In case you didn't know.

2011-04-06T11:59:00.001-07:00

I rarely write narratives anymore. I take on a character who I will forever identify with, but she is not me.

No more sad songs.

2011-03-30T10:14:00.000-07:00

Life is far to short to fill it with resentment. I am so thankful for every privilege I have, and I don't deny the ones I have been given. Things are so much clearer when you move the curtain.

Get away.

2011-03-24T22:11:00.000-07:00

I am so tired that I would welcome any skeleton to fill the dent in this bed.

I have a mark of ink where nobody can find it.

And then some.

2011-03-23T23:40:00.000-07:00

Devotion: an undying word
ripped from her untimely womb
Count the allusions.

Becoming by undoing
and counting the falling stars.
The canvas is blank and we were scared to mark it.

You were not, and could not ever be like him.
I would be like her if you told me the waters were calmer.

I lust after you in a way that physical attraction cannot compare to.
I want to be inside of you.
Let me in to count your ribs.
If you are missing one then the tale was true.

"Push on and soar higher"
Kiss my skin.

I am waiting for the antithesis
You are waiting for my heart.

Be still.

Project.

2011-02-27T16:16:00.000-08:00

"Industry and utility are the angels of death who, with fiery swords, prevent man's return to Paradise. . . . And in all parts of the world, it is the right to idleness that distinguishes the superior from the inferior classes. It is the intrinsic principle of aristocracy."

The flaneur's tendency to observe is what sets him apart. Being juxtaposed between distance and involvement. He is a part of it, although he steps aside to critique. He loathes, he loves, he is not sure whether he is aroused or disgusted by the sites around him. Today, the flaneur is not a cosmopolitan man from Paris. He is the blogger, the photographer, the graphic designer, advertiser, the DJ, the promoter, the musician, the guy on Twitter in the coffee shop. He is an armed version of the solitary walker reconnoitering, stalking, sampling the city. He is the voyeuristic stroller who discovers the city as a landscape of extremes. Despite the destruction around him, he chooses to view urbanity as picturesque.

We don't identify with what we don't know, but we are this. At least, this is what I am. I embrace self exaltation. I don't know what I am doing with it, but I know that I am doing it.

That's why I started this, after all.

Repeat.

2011-02-24T22:53:00.001-08:00

Monday, December 29, 2008
Jupiter.

And as I sit here with an open suitcase in front of me I think about the things I choose to keep with me. The memories don't ever leave me. They haunt me like a skeleton in my closet that I push aside everytime I go in. I still have that bottle of red wine that we finished. Our lips were stained crimson, and we felt so warm. We would watch movies and liken the people we knew to the fictional characters. Nobody was ever real to us, just hearts and blood. I made you smoke your cigarettes in my shower because I didn't want the basement to smell like nicotine and tar. I'm sorry.

I remember so many parking lots and you never knew how beautiful you truly were. You never listened to me.

I don't know if they cared about you. I still get angry when I think about all those nights and that day.

So many faces I knew. I knew they didn't know. I knew they didn't feel anything inside. Their tears were not for the right reasons. He stood at the back so your mom wouldn't see him.

I wish I could have saved your heart.

Free right.

2011-02-24T22:47:00.000-08:00

"Say it. Really, just get those words to come out of your mouth. My eyes are burning, my throat is dry,my lips are chapped, and I am done with wasting my thoughts on you."

"Fine."

"Go on...just get it over with"

"Forever is such an unpleasant word."

"Good. Now was that so damn hard? You remember that. Don't use those profanities around me again."

With my intentions at my best

2011-02-20T10:08:00.000-08:00

Minutes > Me.

Like John Cusack and pop punk.

2011-02-20T00:32:00.000-08:00

When life gives ya lemons

2011-02-18T21:03:00.001-08:00

Fingers crossed.

2011-02-17T12:33:00.000-08:00

I just want to show what I know.

Dead man, were you ever alive?

2011-02-16T17:25:00.000-08:00

And I believe there is something here that was worth the weight. But I cannot love you. No, I cannot love you...no mistakes.

///

2011-02-13T20:36:00.001-08:00

I think about it.

Admiration and Inspiration

2011-01-12T21:40:00.000-08:00

"For the record, I have a very attractive girlfriend. She has a strong set of morals, she is well educated, and she thinks on a higher level than Halloween slut enablers could ever aspire to. Even if she were obese and monstrously deformed, I’d still choose someone like her over one of these girls."

Allusion

2011-01-12T21:23:00.000-08:00

We love what you love. We take what you need. I have never allowed myself to think about what I want, but my lungs always know the right time to breathe.

I look at my body and feel like a voyeur. This is a place for me too, right? My skin is surprisingly unmarked by these years, and I wonder when it will show? I have more to give, I have more to take.

I would drink the poison for you. Now tell me, would you stab yourself in the heart before even checking my pulse?

Drop out.

2011-01-10T13:00:00.000-08:00

Look at what you have become? An embodiment of commodity fetishism. What you are can be bought.

If nobody was watching you, and if your actions were not on display...would you still be the same?

We're always backing into spaces that we can't pull ourselves out of, and you have placed yourself within this panopticon. You can't see who is beside you, but you can feel their eyes.

This is the second where I know who I am, and I'm not trying to please you anymore.

I turn through the pages, and most of you were nearly dots.

Verbatim.

2011-01-10T12:58:00.000-08:00

"They say people can't change, but I want you to prove them wrong everyday."

Amputate.

2011-01-03T12:55:00.000-08:00

It does not hurt too much to have your arms broken off. Watch me fly and cut this string.

The silence of my bedroom is what I will come home to after I live each day for myself.

I have revolutionary thoughts but no speaker. I have an audience but no podium. I have a heart but no arteries. These ideals stay idle.
These idols stay idle.

Kiss her goodbye and stab her in the back when she turns away.

The Calendar Hung Itself

2010-12-16T20:16:00.000-08:00

Does he kiss your eyelids in the morning when you start to raise your head?
And does he sing to you incessantly from the space between your bed and wall?
Does he walk around all day at school with his feet inside your shoes?
Looking down every few steps to pretend he walks with you.

Oh does he know that place below your neck that is your favourite to be touched,
and does he cry through broken sentences that I love you far too much?
Does he lay awake listening to your breath?
Worried you smoke too many cigarettes.

Is he coughing now, on a bathroom floor?
For every speck of tile there's a thousand more,
you won’t ever see.
but you must hold inside yourself eternally.

Well I drug your ghost across the country and we plotted out my death.
In every city, memories would whisper, "Here is where you rest."
I was determined in Chicago but I dug my teeth into my knees,
and I settled for a telephone and sang into your machine.
You are my sunshine, my only sunshine.
You are my sunshine, my only sunshine.

And I kissed a girl with a broken jaw that her father gave to her.
She had eyes bright enough to burn me. They reminded me of yours.
And In a story told she was a little girl in a red-rouge, sun-bruised field
and there were rows of ripe tomatoes where a secret was concealed.

And it rose like thunder, clapped under our hands.
And it stretched for centuries to a diary entry’s end
where I wrote,
You make me happy
oh when skies are gray.
You make me happy oh when skies are gray, and gray, and gray.

Well the clock’s heart it hangs inside its open chest
with its hands stretched towards the calendar hanging itself
but I will not weep for those dying days.
For all the ones who've left there's a few that stayed.
And they found me here and pulled me from the grass where I was laid.

I've been waiting for you.

2010-11-18T19:30:00.000-08:00

What does it take to keep you in my room?

We'll trade touch for touch and you'll feel my heart.

I hear you coming down the steps.

This doesn't hurt at all.

2010-11-08T19:02:00.001-08:00

And you were the worst of them all.

Good luck with grape juice. Your teeth are already stained.

Dreams.

2010-11-04T15:47:00.000-07:00

I would love to meet someone who would never disappoint me.

I thought I would write this next line and make some reference to having to wait to meet God.

But I realize that even God disappoints me on a regular basis.

Part the sea.

2010-11-02T14:17:00.000-07:00

You should know that I do love minimalism. You should also know that I play with language like a child plays with food.

Parrelisms and allusions are my favourite.

Take note.

I like you, if you like me.

2010-10-25T20:30:00.000-07:00

I'm not the hot girl. I'm not the girl with the big breasts or blonde hair. I'm not the girl with make up on everyday. I'm not the girl you would look twice at. I'm not the girl who has a qualifiable race. I'm not the girl who identifies with assigned gender roles. I'm not the girl who loves glitter, or pink.

I'm the girl who will have a debate with you. I'm the girl who will ask if we can stay in and read in bed. I'm the girl who believes in education. I'm the girl who wants to learn everything you know and then question it. I'm the girl who you think is hard, but has the softest heart.

I wonder what it could have felt like. Do you?

But can't you see it??

2010-10-13T20:26:00.000-07:00

You were exactly like the ones you scoff at.

Don't make me have to be explicit.

As I expire.

2010-10-13T19:12:00.000-07:00

I don't see this going anywhere.

Tied up at the dock. The waves deceive us by simulating movement. We are rocking back and forth but we are not gaining any distance.

In love with the idea, but paralyzed by the reality.

I lost my mind, but I know where to find all the pieces.

I found my heart, and I know where to hide the keys.

There are still two around my neck.

I've got a total crush on you, baby.

2010-10-05T19:14:00.000-07:00

http://www.polyvore.com/cgi/profile?id=467475

Copy and Paste Poetry.

2010-09-29T20:56:00.000-07:00

I was born with a knack for explanations.

A story. A legend. Let's give them something to write about.

You'll know who she is by the mark on her chest, in the shape of a letter that was too proud to form a word.

Was it all for show or tell?
Self- referential until the world knows my name.

Exfoliate. Slough off the dead. I take it all with a grain of salt, and now I'm begging for water.

Sealed tight.

Goodnight, it's time to go home.

Payable Upon November.

2010-09-21T17:59:00.000-07:00

When the sun is out, we are so quick to make our eyes see a darker shade.

I see the light right now, but I worry about how long it is going to stay on for. If this goes out, what will be in my sight?

Capturing these lines before they run away. Jump in the net, please don't swim away.

Make me feel beautiful

2010-09-15T11:36:00.001-07:00

and document it.

Memories bite like rats.

2010-09-15T09:10:00.001-07:00

The past paralyzes me. When I think about my comparitive youth, I am overwhelmed to the point where I question reality. It was a whole new world beyond the confines of my small town. Area codes meant something. People were characters, given names and personas to fit the storybook. The King who fell from the throne, the minions who moved and dressed as one, the jokers, and the Killer Queens.

I wanted so badly to belong. I became a nomad. No town was my own. I would disregard logic for the sake of relationships with those who embodied what I wanted to become.

I don't know how I crossed the line. I'm hazy as to how people learned my name.

Exits mean something to me that they would never mean to you.

Trying to race the clock. Lying to our parents that we didn't have school the next day. Belonging to something that we created.

Does anyone else feel robbed?

Does anyone else feel lost?

How quickly they forget.

In your wake.

2010-09-08T07:43:00.000-07:00

Are you there?

Strange how you're not with me

2010-09-08T06:50:00.000-07:00

I must have lost my mind when I lost your heart key on my way out.

Where has my head gone? Did you grow up to mutilate the days?

Now that you've cut the cord, the decision is a command. This city rotted me. I dream of bigger places and unfamiliar faces.

I close my eyes and see it. You're not there, but there is hope. I have purpose, and I am one of the few who can "touch the future."

I think I'll finally give you a chance.

I'll have what she's having.

2010-07-26T14:17:00.001-07:00

I've got a sickness that I just can't shake.

Constantly.

2010-07-23T20:50:00.000-07:00

I am constantly doubting myself and the decisions I make. I am not sure if living in Toronto for another year is the right choice. I think it is, but I'm hoping that I didn't miss out on my opportunity to get a school board job.

It's weird to know what you want to do, but not be ready to do it.

I guess I need more from the city before I leave it.

I need somewhere to invest.

2010-07-19T20:50:00.000-07:00

And I don't need an interest rate.

Give me a sign.

2010-07-09T06:23:00.001-07:00

Anything will do.

Wonders.

2010-06-22T21:22:00.001-07:00

I don't know why I am still so fascinated by the Great Pyramids. They appear in my poems, I read a lot about differing construction theories, and I would say that I am asked about them on a monthly basis simply because I have travelled (and lived) in Egypt. Not to mention my favourite research project I did in Grade 6. Or was it 8? One of those years.

The point of that presage was not to prove that I am some sort of expert. In fact, I have a lot of issues with the idea of calling people "experts" (note to self: write that entry soon). The point is, I want you to know that although nature is most often described as breathtaking, I am fascinated by architecture. Why is it that we build the way we build?

Look around your city. If you live in a metropolitan setting, chances are that most buildings are designed for practicality. Slanted roofs for water resistance, squared roofs to maximize space for urban sprawl, concrete and steel to stand the effects of weather, gravity, and time.

Shift your focus back to the pyramids. It is believed that the Great Pyramid of Giza was constructed over a 15-20 year period to honour fourth dynasty Pharaoh Khufu. It is approximately 460 ft tall, 5.9 million tonnes, and has a volume of approximately 2,500,000 cubic meters.

Pharoah Khufu ordered the construction of this monument to carry him into eternity. It was his glorified tomb, meant to bring him safely into the afterlife that ancient Egyptians subscribed to.

Khufu built it to last forever, yet as the tallest structure for over 3,800 years, The Great Pyramid of Giza was begging to be destroyed by time. Jutting out from the yellow sands, till this day the triangular prism stands. Stark. Severe. Solitary.

Withered, but still valiant, the pyramid refuses to be forgotten, unlike the kings and treasures that were once inside.

I think that this is the oldest, most powerful fuck you to non-believers ever created. They said it wouldn't last, but it's still standing. It's still beautiful. Meant to last forever, but built in the moment. Khufu would rather be certain that his monument was great, rather than unfailing. Even if it crumbles tomorrow, it will still have stood as the greatest man-made structure for thousands of years.

Isn't that better than a reliable square roof?