Friday, May 28, 2010

urban decay

I've made enemies of my cuticles.
friends with a culture whore.
culture whores are the melting pot of urban life.
death to identity.
a breathing manifestation of globalization.
not a clue.
she hasn't one.

playing spoons on St. Catherine's
Montreal has more identity than
the one who poses for photos
who holds the camera above her face
tilts her head to the right
and online for the rest of
contributing to the death of
all that we used to take pride in

we were proud to put our hands in soil
rough palms
and perspire into the air
that the sun heats
in August
And time was a biological thing
was never an in between
coffee or meeting
only a telling of hunger
or need for rest.

a species of consent
agreeing to terms pushing toward
destruction of value
not price
but worth.
200$ for a hamburger
pay for the carbon foot print
the labour.
the cost of additives to your body.
stamp it with a tag on cattle's life
or the farmer's lost rights.

slaves to ubiquitous society
lost sense of present

Tuesday, May 25, 2010


quotes from some of my favourite screenwriters and filmmakers.

I want to tell you a terrific story about oral contraception. I asked this girl to sleep with me and she said 'no'. -Woody Allen

This CGI bullshit is the death knell of cinema. If I'd wanted all that computer game bullshit, I'd have stuck my dick in a Nintendo. -Quentin Tarantino

I'm always surprised at who's there when you fail, ... It's usually not the people you expect to be there. It's easy to have friends when you're winning. And Jerry Maguire was kind of about that. This was about that, but it's like success and failure get trumped by an even bigger issue, which is, 'Are you going to be truly alive, and do you even know what that is?' -Cameron Crowe

Saturday, May 15, 2010

Me, Remixed

Six weeks are up. Friday past, released back into the wild I'm searching for ways to reconcile with my lack of belonging. I've made it to the other side. I am changed. Relapse is a possibility but I'm armed and ready. Entering the six weeks I was asked by Dr Mcbride if I'm happy my attempt failed, happy to be alive. I told him I was completely impartial to this world. Indifferent. Apathetic. In the final week, the question was posed to me again. I have fleeting moments of inspiration, I said. Of insight. Of beauty. Moments that I feel so high off of my own spirit I swear I could get lost in the serenity of the here and now. Moments that come and go, quickly and swiftly. But they do come. And I appreciate them. I touch them. The dim eyes still rest in my head. I continue to see the world as a trivial place on a daily basis. But I do not wish to leave it. I'm curious about Tibet and Costa Rica, I'm curious if I will publish my book, I'm curious to see Madison grow older, I'm curious to hike with Nestle. Curiosity is a life force stronger than my pain now. Besides, who is "happy." What is, "happy?"

People feel the heaviness of life at times. People feel. Everyone experiences ups and downs. Though I've spent the majority of eleven years dwelling at the back of a man made cave, I can accept that I will continue to experience the regular ups and downs of humanity. And instead of allowing myself to become my emotions, I have learned to keep them from escalating to such a degree. Anyone who knows me well is aware that I spend a great amount of energy analyzing and thinking, and stuffing myself into a tight space of anxiety. I always believed I knew who I was and what I needed. I always believed I was in tune with my body and my emotions and that I was expressing them sufficiently. I can't imagine going back to that belief. Because now, I'm so aware of what my feelings are telling me, what they're truly saying. I have improved my self talk. Constantly evaluating and questioning why I am feeling anxious, angry, irritable, desperate. When I tap into the source of the emotion I can name it. And, as Ben would say, "if you can name it, you can see it, if you can see it, you can kill it."

I have yet to be properly diagnosed. I was told 6 weeks was not long enough to fully assess what I'm burdened with. though, it's been suggested I am living with borderline personality disorder, mild narcissism, and atypical depression. Well which one is it? I wish I could get a clear diagnosis. I feel it would make this all that much more tangible. Or maybe I'm simply a product of my environment, soaking in too much, releasing too little. Either way, the remedy is all the same. The work I bring with me will require attention for the rest of my life. Depression is a part of me, but it isn't me. I am not defined by my sickness. I am committed to being creative, not to being committed.

Sunday, May 9, 2010

Angelina Wrona

I bought this print in Merrickville a couple of weekends ago. Artist Angelina Wrona, a local to the town, has quite possibly dug into my psyche and pulled out images I couldn't create myself. Her dark characters speak to me. This is possibly the least disturbing of her dolls. Take a look at her website:

Browse the nature of a world many do not experience, but one that I've found to mirror the dim space my soul often visits.