Tuesday, November 15, 2005
yesterday's people tapping at my window sill
Give me lemon pudding with Green Apple Jones Soda, then I will marry you.
Find me so we can sit on a hill underneath the sky and listen to Sarah Harmer.
My parents like to talk to me when they're drunk. It's becoming bothersome.
The meds are working their magic. Soon I will be fit for society.
While I'm here, all relationships I start will be futile and fleeting. So now you know what hinders me.
Sometimes I should keep my mouth shut.
It was somewhere between sleep and Radiohead's Skatterbrain that memories of you were found. All these things made me think about how we're so alike yet so apart. Neither of us could stay still and remain there. We need constant motion. But I will find you again... I promise.
Sunday, November 13, 2005
Arnie the Carnie
This is by far one of the funniest videos I've ever seen. It's an old video about Brazil's Carnivale hosted by Arnold Schwarzenegger. Go fetch.
Sunday, November 06, 2005
a chemical reaction
Wings for the Dying
There once was a girl named Butterfly... but her family called her Ashley. She was once something small, round, and loathsome of her awkwardness. Then a season came in which she ceased to be. She had descended into frailty and ascended unto purity to become the most marvelous creature.
I met her on my death bed.
I was 17 and had no family or friends. An orphan of my kin, my kind, my society, and my world.
I awoke one evening to find her sitting at the foot of my bed. When you live in a hospital bed you grow accustomed to waking up in the evenings, but not to finding a gorgeous girl sitting at the end of it.
I gathered strength to focus upon her. Looking at her was like being an infant, new to the world, and using your eyes for the first time. Her hair flowed magnificently from atop her head to far past her shoulders. It would change colors with the lighting. Her skin was fair and soft, with a warmth that seemed to emanate from every inch of it. Yet, it was her eyes that had truly dazzled my own. She looked no older than I but I could see the wisdom and ancientness in those big baby-blues.
"I am the Butterfly," she spoke with an almost hauntingly soothing voice. "I know all true wishes and I land on everything beautiful. I landed on you once."
Suddenly a vivid flash of a memory ran through my mind. I was six years old and I was at my parents' funeral. I couldn't stand being there surrounded by nobodies, strangers, and people who did not actually know (or much less love) my parents. I ran away half-way through the sermon. I kept running and running for about six miles, where I collapsed in some random park unbeknownst to me at the time. I layed there motionless watching the leaves fall underneath the blanket of stars above me. I felt a chill as the breeze came over the cool grass and onto me. A swarm of mosquitos assaulted every exposed layer of skin on my body. I didn't swat them away out of hopes that maybe they sucking me dry would make me stop feeling.
Then, as if being taken in by some great benevolent arms, I felt warmth and comfort from a small dim light shone through the trees. From this light came a tiny aerial insect, insignificant in size but compelling in beauty. Just looking at it was like hearing the most alluring lullaby ever. It landed on my hand. I suddenly felt at peace, warm, and immensely sleepy. That night I felt something I'd never felt... and never would again, I suppose. It made everything alright.
"You," I said with a raspy voice half-muffled by thin hospital blankets. "You saved me."
"Yes," she replied, "and now I've come back to set you free."
All my life I always had one wish. It was the kind of wish that you think up during infancy and never lose. I always wanted to grow wings and be able to fly like the angels. With wings, I could take myself away from anywhere. I say "away from anywhere" because in my experience I've found that it's much harder to take yourself out of a situation than to put yourself in. The feeling of weightlessness was one that I longed for yet had increasingly gained despair for ever achieving it.
During my kindergarten graduation my teacher asked every child what they wanted to be when they grew up. Most children said that they wanted to be a fireman or an astronaut. I told her that I just wanted to be. She wouldn't take this as an answer so she would repeat the question to me. Eventually, I replied to her with "I just want to be something that can set me free." They made me repeat kindergarten.
Lying there in that room of white and blue, I had a long conversation with Butterfly. Not really about anything in particular. It was just a great session of shooting-the-shit. At the end of the conversation she said, "Well, it's about time we head out. Shall we?"
"Yes."
At that moment I saw her smile and a light shone within those beautiful bubble-eyes of hers. I felt a strong burst on my back. I began lifting myself up, not with my hands, not with my legs... but with my wings. The ceiling disappeared into white light. I grasped her hand and she grasped mine. Together, we floated upwards.
Once again, the Butterfly spread her wings and brought me to peace.
Tuesday, November 01, 2005
a piece
There we were
We were stranded in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. The saltwater tasted horribly bitter in my mouth, but there was no way that I was going to let you know that. For it was I who had capsized the boat and I could already see the look of disgust on your face from also swallowing a large dose of saltwater.
We had left the west shore of the Atlantic some four weeks priar to our capsizing. By my calculations, we were making impecable time. I remember how you wouldn't step foot into that tiny row-boat without first giving it a name. I then notioned to dub it "The Poop Deck". I laughed. You laughed. We agreed to it. No fuss; no muss.
To pass the time we brought along a couple guitars (you brought your acoustic; I brought my classical), a tambourine, some shakers, and several random games. I tossed Monopoly overboard on the first day out to sea. It's always brought out the worst in me. I didn't want to think that economic inequality could prevail even out on the ocean.
Battleship was by far the life-preserver on this trip (metaphorically speaking, ofcourse, we were never foolish enough to not bring actual life-preservers with us). I lost track of all the days upon days of dueling on our Battleship sets. It was the Special Edition set complete with lights and distorted sound-effects. Often it kept the two of us sane. Other times it would result in us at eachother's throats. There's just something about playing that game on the actual ocean with no land in site that makes it immensely more exhilarating and realistic. Maybe it's the salt in the air or the fact that there's no one within two-thousand miles that can hear you curse after losing. Who knows? We do.
Often we had to set aside the games and do something spontaneous to keep things interesting. Sadly, nearly every single attempt at spontaneousness resulted in awkward silence followed by long periods of napping underneath our umbrellas. I grew tired of this and that is why I flipped the boat over while you were napping. I had other reasons for doing it but I'm not going to mention those so as to not open up old wounds.
You knew it was coming. You knew since the moment the notion of this adventure had been mentioned. You had dreaded it the entire time we were out to sea. How could you set sail on a lengthy trip across the Atlantic in a row-boat and not expect to be plunged into the depths?
As we bobbed and floated in our clown-colored red life-jackets, you wore a grimace of pure agitation. I could tell that it was caused by the mess that had become of your hair due to the flipping and swirling that had taken place beneath the surface of the water. Such is the motion of one who is awoken by a swift descent into the ocean. You have always been so self-conscious. I never truly understood how even while stranded in the middle of nowhere with someone like me, you still had to look properly primped. But then, you always were the better looking of two of us... and never missed a moment to remind me of this fact. It was this absurdity that made the capsizing necessary.
It was a fine mess I had put ourselves in. I've always looked upon it as a moment of glory for myself. Now we had something to do. First, we had to put our boat right-side-up lickity-split. It's odd how when some people hear the word "capsize" they associate it with sinking. Yet, in reality, it simply means that the boat has been overturned. No harm done.
Next, we had to assemble all out food and supplies. Now you remember that none of it was ruined. This was a stroke of genius on both our parts. We stowed absolutely everything in water-proof flotation containers of our invention. You looked upon assembling these things as a minor nuisance. I looked upon it with a simple feeling of cunning and satisfaction at creating an objective for ourselves. Heck, if only you had wanted to we could have had ourselves a quaint little picnic right there on the surface of the ocean.
Now why do I bring this whole situation up? Think, think, think. I seem to have lost track of myself. Oh, right. I was hoping it would rekindle the memory of the first time we found a purpose for rowing across the great Atlantic. We were sitting in the local Tim Horton's, not 2 miles from your house, sipping on some English Toffee cappuccinos. I was telling you how it was about time that something outrageous should happen to the both of us. You decided that it was about time that we made something outrageous happen (oh the irony in that is too much for words). I thought it to be a grand notion but was reluctant as to where we should perform such impulsivity. You replied with, "The only way to get to the right side of the world is to find out which side is the wrong."