Bad Poetry Scribbled on the Back of Journal Articles

I seem to only be able to write on the back
of journal articles,
words taunt me,
flaunt me with their big round voluptuous
curves, the ink spreads on the page,
black and richly wet,
marking me on some deeper level that
connects me with myself,
and I know what I write isn't good or beautiful,
but it is true,
for I cannot lie to the paper that sees all,
knows all,
for it would mean that I lie to myself,
and such a heinous act should never be committed,
for if I lie to everyone else I still have myself,
but if I lie to myself, I have no one,
maybe God,
and He seems to be a bit silent.


You try to apply yourself to something good and true,
but all you get,
some false jet fuel and a drink,
can't think enough to send me a link to your favourite song,
put on a long face and undo your thong
as you bend and twist over his body,
you call shotty on his plain and wild - naughty!
That's what he says, as you bend over his face
and in the space between you and his place, you smile
in hope that maybe for a while, you'll forget
the world that begot you,
and the universe that surrounds you
will no more impact the soul within you.
But all you're left with is some dirty underwear
that without a care, he threw at your face
covered in his sweat, and now there is no case
to justify the suicide that appeared
on the front page of "The National".


It makes me laugh that you treat me
like the empty packet that once
held an artificial sweetener inside,
sucralose or aspartame,
all cancer inducing molecules spent
trying to awaken that thick, bitter liquid
that emanated from your perfectly pink
mouth, with teeth stained from so many years
of lying,
and being lied to,
and now you smile at me and I can't see
where the affection in your eyes used to be,
and every word that left your mouth,
that used to tickle my inner ear
now lays useless on the sidewalk,
where the melting slush run over by
cars that harbour malicious intents of their own
drive over them,
with only their own cares pressing upon them,
horns floating, lost to the atmosphere.



I never used to drink coffee.
I used to find it too bitter,
needed milk and spoonfuls of sweet silky
sugar, to brighten up the brown black
hole in the mug,
back when my grandmother made me puff pastries
and warm pancakes,
and my sister curled up against me at night,
and I would wake up to make sure that she had
at least half the pillow, and that her knobby knees
were covered by the pink blanket
that we had bought five years ago.

Now I drink coffee,
black, with fake sugar
so that I don't gain any more fat
as the thick layer across my soul makes it
hard for me to button my jeans,
my new communion wine,
because I can't remember the last time
I saw the inside of a church,
my faith still intact, but my mind shattering,
and I asked you to chase the ghosts away with me,
and you promised that you would,
but here I am,
drinking coffee with no milk.

How to deal with Elementary School (Bullshit) Situations in a Professional “Adult” Setting

1. Ignore it.

2. When ignoring doesn’t work, try to think about why said situation is happening. What are the triggers? What are the feelings associated with the triggers? 

3. If there was a specific trigger, especially in a negative work situation, how would you propose amending the situation, if such a power was in your hands? Usually a direct approach is best.

However, in a lot of cases, there is no specific trigger or event, just a general feeling of dislike or malaise. So how does one deal with the situation in a manner that is not detrimental to one’s own mental health and well-being or to the other in the situation?

4. Try not to place blame. This usually is an ineffective strategy, especially if you feel you are definitely not to blame. But then perhaps, looking at situations empathetically, the other party may feel they are not blame. The blame game seems to be more of a downer and a rite to a feeling of indignation and entitlement, which are perfectly normal and human emotional states, but aren’t very conducive to functional solutions. They serve more as a dwelling place of self-pity.

5. Combat the feelings of isolation and depression. How to go about doing this? Find out what your center is, what motivates you into life. Is it the sun? Is it music? A certain talent? A certain person? One important point of note is that these things are external, therefore cannot be depended upon, because anything and everything external is transient and temporary.

6. Combat the feelings of isolation and depression with a CENTRAL source. As Khalil Gibran said, “Out of suffering have emerged the strongest souls; the most massive characters are seared with scars.” It is in these moments, as small they seem, that we find out who we truly are. Our measure is not only in great periods of suffering, but how we suffer through the woes that grate on us constantly. Find out who you are, truly, and you will see that you are more than this.

7. I am going to expand on the point above, but thought I should start a new number. So many of us define ourselves externally – marks, money, number of friends, hotness, guys/girls dated, sexual appeal, number of books read, papers published. Again, these things are all external, and sooner or later, they’re not going to go the way you want to them to. 

8. What then? It is IMPERATIVE to realize that our self-worth is INHERENT. We are born worthy. So center yourself. Heal yourself. Be kind to yourself. When people get you down, look in the mirror and own who you are, perfections and imperfections in hand. Walk around with your shoulders back, head held high, appearing 6’5” instead of 5’7”. Make the world look at you when you walk. Turn heads by sheer resilience and confidence. Get up with a smile every time someone knocks you down.

9. Have faith. You are exactly where you need to be, even if where you are is a mistake. Nothing is waste, because that means we are dwelling on the past. Live in the present, but be full of hope for the future. There is an entire universe out there, full of promise and possibility. You are an entire universe full of promise and possibility. 

10. When faced with a crossroads between despair and disappointment, always choose disappointment, for a life without hope is no life but a death sentence.

11. Smile. You’ll never know when it’ll be your last time to be able to. More than that, you’ll never know how much another person may have been needing to see that.

12. Surprise your friends and your family. Write notes. Letters. Send songs. “I was just thinking of you.” “I remember you.” Whatever it is. When people around you make you miserable, combat that with sheer force of will. Every frown on your face, fight that with a smile on somebody else’s face. 

13. Be kind to yourself. Be strong. Resilient. Through sheer force you will emerge victorious, just have to keep trudging through.

Cheers!

ps. Couldn't embed the original. Here's the link if you want to hear some beautiful music: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YaVE4WVlsDQ9

Thought Clouds

Frustration.
Naive.
Escapism.
Money.
Yesterday.
Yelling.
Galvanize.
Elitist.
Trust.
Trust.
Trust.
Temperance.
Enemity.
You.
Understanding.
Gaze.
Elephants.
Think.
Kisses.
Sexual.
Lonely.
Yell.
Love.
Empty.
Yell.
Love.
Empty.
Yet.
Try.
Yeah.
Hungry.
Yeah.
Horny.
Yeah.
Hollow.
Waiting.
Go.
Outside.
Empty.
Yeah.
Hurting.
Go.
Outside.
Empty.
Yeah.
Happy.
Yet.
Tomorrow.
Will.
Live.
Except.
Tonight.

Butterfly Circus Rant

      Do you ever hurt people without knowing it? I'm sure all of us say, "Surely, not I!" Unfortunately, that is not true. As humans, we are very callous creatures and so often, if we're feeling happy or uplifted, our eyes are blinded to what is implicit but absent in the other's speech, mannerisms, eyes, smiles. So often I wish our blinders could just be removed, but the blinders are there not of their own volition, not because they just "exist" but because we place them there.
      "Surely, I am not like that," you must be thinking. And maybe you're not. Maybe you're different. Maybe I've got this all wrong, and I will burn in some hipster philosopher's ironic hell where I'm too full but am at a 5 star buffet.

      But what if I'm right? Right about that the fact that we not only wear blinders, but in fact, have put them on ourselves. It's not some abstract concept of society or government or media or religious hypocrisy or idolatry or devotion that has placed them on, WE as individuals have placed them on. Why? Because, (and pardon my french) we honestly don't give a shit. We don't care enough to actually ask another person HOW they REALLY are, or care enough to listen.

"Hey, how's it going?"
"It's okay, I guess."
"Cool, let me tell you all the good things in my life butterflies candy boys girls sex drugs rock'n roll glomp."

     "It's okay." That should be the catchphrase of the century. We are blinded by pride and selfishness and we can't be bothered to listen to what another wants to tell us because clearly, OUR problems matter and the other, well they'll survive. They can "get over it".

     What happened to caring? What happened to worrying about another? What happened to listening? To empathy? To striving to love, truly love. We talk a big game, changing the world, research, medicine, environment, feed the hungry. And yes, those are great things, amazing things, necessary things.
     I can't change the world, but I can change the world around me. Listen to those emotionally starving around you, looking for some sign of affection, of care. Whether you love them or hate them, make it your duty to care about them. LOVE them, wish heaven on earth upon them.
     This is the season of Lent and I'm confused and worried and stressed and tired and overall a very bad Catholic. I am a jack of all trades, master of none, no foreseeable future, nothing going for me. So many of you out there, you're so wonderfully gifted, whether in writing, drawing, music, art, science, math, theatre. Whatever it is. But when was the last time you used your inner ears to listen to the cry of a friend, of an acquaintance?
     Whether you're Catholic or not, reach out emotionally. Whether you feel useful or like a bag of rocks in the ocean, listen, for you will always hear heartfelt whisper in the air beckoning for someone to look beyond the masks placed to the vulnerability underneath. I challenge you to answer the call. I challenge you to take a renewed look at the people around you, people you've known for years, and figure out if you really know them. When's the last time you asked them about their lives? When's the last time you asked how they were? When's the last time you asked them what made them happy? Sad? Confused? What excites them? What strikes fear in their heart? What has hurt them? Do you really know who is sitting right beside you?

     Think about it. We may not have the luxury of time, but we have the luxury of thought. So I beg you, think about it. And maybe next time, when someone tells you that life's okay, you may want to ask them what okay means.

Cheers.

The Glibs

Recently, my very talented comic book drawing artist friend, Nick, showed me a couple of comics that I thought hilarious. I call them "The Glibs" but I really have no idea what they're really called. They amuse me in their simplicity and hilarity. Even I can draw them. And I really can't draw. So in the interest of copyright and ideas and stuff, the idea belongs to Nick and not me, but I'm borrowing it. So he has to be fine with it. Hopefully.


Either way, these aren't very funny but they amuse me so I'm going to share them with you.

 

 

I have a few more in the bank, but I'll add them as I go along.


Cheers!

"When there's nowhere to run, to our Lord we will turn..."

     I've spoken to a counsellor. Yeah, a counsellor. I know some part of me is supposed to be ashamed to admit this, or to hide it within the folds of some sort of social stigma headdress, filled with bright and shiny feathers and candy and butterflies all the good things in the world. As a writer, and I guess as a human being, I'm supposed to be hungry for the truth. And how in the world will I hear the truth if I do not speak it for fear of ... well fear of what exactly? Fear of social isolation? Fear of appearing weak? Fear of ruining whatever image people carry of me? Well good news friends, that image is going to be ruined, and it's going out in style.

     I never thought moving halfway across the country would be hard. I never thought that even after I gained somewhat of a social life it would be hard. I never thought thinking about one's future could be so ... well ... draining. Mind you, I'm not worried about what may come. I think I just might be envious of all the people around me whose lives are so settled and regular and in a sense, successful, whereas mine just seems to be going nowhere. 

    The counsellor seemed to be impressed with me. I guess I was willing and eager to approach my problems, or at least give a name to them. That's what we did, you know. We tamed the beast by giving it a name. It wasn't loneliness or depression, it wasn't sadness or angst - it was isolation. In this city, there was no connection to people, and that's what I thrive on. Some shallow roots were shot here and there, but there was depth or substance and I slowly withered because there was no adequate mental or emotional nutrition that could continue to sustain me. It's funny how personal a matter this is, yet how easy it is for me to see it as if I'm on the outside, analyzing, judging, appraising.

     On this Mardi Gras, when people are emptying their cupboards and souls, partying it up before the somber declaration of ashes on foreheads, I am reflecting. I'm not a very good Catholic, and have been less and less good as of late . I question and curse and fight God every step of the way. I have no idea why He is still good to me, or why He even bothers. Really. In fact, I'm just waiting for the punishment, now is the calm before the storm. I know our God is not a malicious God, but a fair one. And I have been nothing but ungrateful. I guess I'm trying to make sense of it all: the big questions, the big answers, and I have too much time to think and too much music that makes me think about things that are better left unthought of, yet all I seem to do is dwell and write. I need to write to get it out. I haven't written in ages you know. My emotional fodder seems to be waning yet there's so much left to be said. 

     I know a lot of you might be rolling your eyes. Pressing "Publish Post" is a very difficult thought, let alone the actual action. "Verbal diarrhea. Probably too honest." That's what the subtext of this blog always was. Maybe one of you reading this somewhere in the world identifies with some of this. Maybe you feel isolated. Misunderstood. Angry. Jealous. Petty. Ignored. Happy. Euphoric. Horny. Angsty. Hungry. And tired. Oh so tired all the time. Whatever it is, it's human. This at least we've learned.

Cheers!