the end.

this thing has become a haven for negativity. originally, it was mine... but then it grew to be my portal to dustin. why the hell do i still care what he thinks? and hell, i was here first! but it's clear: everytime i sit down to write, i invariable check his blog first. my entries are generally an answer to his.

as such, it has become another--

DEAD JOURNAL.

no more shall be here.

Black Balloons.

I barely notice her drag me off the melting street. I comply as she pulls me into a random store and urges me onto a wooden chair. Even though she sits across from me and looks into my eyes, I’m not looking back. She is saying some words, urging me to at least try to stay in this world. But the dust floats around in my brain, engages the appropriate chemicals and drags me under. My surroundings burst into a mess of dripping colors and I am forced into a new body.

Here, the water stretches out below me like a plain composed of iridescent crystals. I don’t think I’ve ever seen such a large body of perfectly clear water. Something in me is drawn to it, like I want to jump off this cliff and dive into it, swallow it all until I drown or until it fills every pore of my body. The sky is only a few shades darker than the water and has not a cloud in sight. There is no sun but everything is warm and lit nonetheless. Looking down, I see that the thin sheet of snow covering the ground has sheen bouncing off it.

Feet, legs, and then I raise my arm to make sure. They are all there, so at least I am still human. The thought sends shivers down my neck. Imagine, if you will, being forced to experience something your current mind could literally not comprehend. Even though this naked body isn’t the one I’m familiar with, at least I know how all the parts work.

Cold is a pleasurable experience. I wriggle my toes in the snow to find a patch of dark red grass beneath. Curious now, I stoop down and brush away more snow with my hands. It’s red grass, and it has the vibrancy of the living. The ground itself looks normal.

The water calling out again. I turn from my fascination, step up to the cliff and look down. The slope is something I could not manage but the drop isn’t vertical. A few hundred meters below me is a beach. The snow has not fallen on the sand but the sand is almost white enough to look like snow anyway. All along the cliff going down are black balloons, floating in the air, untouched by the wind and fastened to the ground with thin black ropes. Each balloon is different but none are less than 50 centimetres or more than a meter. I try to remember what these balloons are, what the significance of this alluring sea is, but my mind is as dumb-founded as I am. Hadn’t Fred mentioned being able to remember ‘every little detail’ of his alternate life?

But the water calling out. There is only one way down, which is behind me and down a rather steep slope, so I get down on all fours for stability and begin my trek.

Actually, this life isn’t horrible. Maybe it’s a new life, explaining why I don’t have any memories of it. The air here is amazingly clean. I know it’s a silly thing to notice but I do feel more ease in breathing, however slight it is. Nothing else seems to be living here except for the flora and me. Slightly alarming, but if no one else is here then I must be able to make it on my own. What if it’s my job to start this world? What if I’ve been given a blank canvas for my perseverance?

…Given a blank canvas by whom? Why did I have an immediate sense of comfort upon entering this world? Things look familiar without having any particular reasoning. This is all too… convenient. (No, not here.)

All in all, I must bear in mind that this is just a passing vision. Not my ‘perfect life’, or whatever. Perhaps I should just fantasize, imagine that this beautiful place is mine.

Snow gives way to moist, dark brown dirt just before I reach the end of my descent. I open my mouth and scoop up a speck of it with my tongue, surprised to find that the taste is passable. How ridiculously quaint to be able to live off the land.

Now I place my feet on the ground, which is populated by the red grass that was beneath the snow. From the base of the cliff to the ocean, there is a path leading around to where I assume the beach is. I haven’t reached sea level yet, although it is only a few feet down. I suppose I could satisfy myself and just hop in here but who am I kidding: I kind of want to see the beach. For now, red grass beneath my feet and between my toes. I slip that into my mouth as well, just out of curiosity. Tastes kind of metallic and has a nice salty aftertaste.

Could I stay here if I wanted to? Maybe I don’t need everyone after all.

Turning the corner of the cliff. Balloons only begin to appear on the side that the peak points at. They looked whimsical from above but seeing them up close instills me with fear. Like so many inclinations I’ve suffered through my existence, I just know something bad will happen if I touch one.

Things start to feel a little more frantic as I step onto the beach. Sand in this world feels like shards of cold glass, slitting my feet all over. I yelp and fall onto my back, bringing my feet to my face to see the blood. But there isn’t any. Pain is quick to subside and disappear completely. The afterglow of pain fills my body with endorphins and I lay here, watching the sky. Nothing in this world seems to move on its own; back home, I always thought the sky to be moving no matter how minutely. Even the sea lacks the sparkle of moving water against the light. Then again, I guess there’s no light source to sparkle for. Is my sight different in this world? Is light not needed in this equation? No shadows.

Sitting back up, I peer to my left. The grassy path appears to go further around. Having been let down by the beach, I get to my feet and trudge further. After turning another corner I find what appears to be harbor. The cliff creates a sort of shelter by jutting out just above a boarding dock that has a huge ship at it. The dock is built considerately away from the beach, as if I am expected to just walk over and board. The ship itself is massive, like it could hold a few thousand people. Its design is simple: just oak and white sails. But this whole thing enrages me.

“Why can nothing be my own?” I scream out. “Why can’t I just be?”

A horn or a trumpet sounds in the distance, quickly growing in decibel until there is a crack in my ears, followed by an infinite ringing. I fall to the ground, blood seeping out of my ears and staining the grass around me, and I’m holding my head with my eyes wide open, although I see nothing, repeating the question ‘How could I have been so blind?’ over and over again in my head.

you know you're right.

yeah, the pills are never enough... just don't give up.

but anway. such progress on 2000 Man this evening. i was a bit scared that i'd lost my voice in marijuana, that i could only write when i was high... but really, i write a lot WORSE when i'm stoned. i come up with a few brilliant but unrefined ideas and call it a day. the brilliancy is more latent when i'm sober but that's just because i'm still holding back.

i edited the first thirteen pages and gave the whole story an overhaul. ugh, i was heading towards making my main character this fruity mechanic. re-reading those passages i wrote makes me shudder... but i'm combining Meteor with 2000 Man now because they're pretty much the same story and the same character--Meteor was just premature ejaculation. i always felt like it was unrealized.

but now... oh-hoho. i'm sure the ideas aren't original but i AM sure that my perspective is. i'm not hiding from it anymore: this story is me, through and through. it's the only thing i know. everything i write won't be about me. i'm sure that as i grow as a writer i'll want challenges, like actually trying to get IN to character's head as opposed to making assumptions based on my own philosophies. right now this is catharsis.

and yeah. i use 'me' and 'i' too much, too. editing tonight made me realize that...

up to now.

i was real worried i wasn't going to make it but we always do and we're always present.

so then why? you've got maybe two or three important choices to make in life, 'character defining' choices that make you who you are. apparently, the day to day grind is just a past time.

i don't know very much. i disappeared within myself for the past few months, reverted to old habits, sought answers in a wholly ineffective way. how can you teach yourself anything new? you pretty much know all the facts of life that you're ever going to know. anything new you learn is usually through other people.

i'm fairly certain that we need each other: what is depression but the feeling of helplessness? if you're depressed the reason can usually be whittled down to isolation. you've got an issue that you can't express to someone else, that you fear no one will understand, that you fear no one will be able to help you with. inevitably, you ask yourself 'why'? you get either silence or your own biased opinions.

but there's a common ground in mankind, right? there has to be one feeling we can all relate to in the exact same way.

there's definitely a cycle i'm trying to break. i want to be happy with myself and with everyone. i'm so close sometimes; i guess i just have to keep that in mind.

despite what dustin may think, i really do want to humble myself. (you wouldn't believe the week i've had trying to do just that.) it was never my intent to force anyone to my way of thinking, but when you're all you've got for your entire life it's hard to convince yourself that you're wrong.

i'm trying. and i have changed. there's something in me that wants out. i don't like where the world is now. i'm not going to profess to even try to change it but i know i can be happy if i can just get this urge out of me. it slips out in writing and music and i treasure it for a few days, thinking it is whole but put it back on the shelf when i realize that i have barely scratched the surface.

as such, i'm forcing myself to write everyday from now on. after work (which is still going splendidly) i go up the street to a different coffee shop and write for a few hours. so far i've only done it a couple of times and haven't accomplished much but at least i'm getting excited over abandoned stories. honestly, if i can just finish 2000 Man (i had a better title but lost it...) to the image i have in my head of it, i'll be happy.

giddyup?

(well, that's a lame way to end a post.)

the walls were thin.

iwthin
withni
within

i had an awesome day. i got into an effective groove at work today and the day just slipped on by. i really enjoy all of my co-workers and most of the regulars and i feel like everyone respects me (to varying degrees, of course). it's cool to hear other people pick up your lingo and take an interest in your mind. i had a great conversation with this one guy andrew today about wes anderson films, my philosophical views and my writing, but i really wanted him to talk more about himself because i've been curious about him since i started there. i guess i ramble a bit when i get going. i know he's some sort of liberal christian but he's intelligent enough that i know there's a bit more to him than that.

people are so fascinating.

my boss is young at heart but it's so beautiful sometimes. i see him get excited about simple things and it reminds me of all the good parts of humanity. matt is hilarious and really smart: we relate to each other on a lot of things. and because trishe is around i really get to have a lot of fun. i need someone to encourage my silly antics or i get self-conscious.

i listened to avalanche while closing today and got out relatively on time. mark got off work at 3 today so we smoked a joint and had some amazing sex. like, it happened two hours ago and i'm still kind of euphoric. fun times. now i'm gonna go play final fantasy vi with him. i can't wait to get past the floating continent... will mark be as surprised as i was when the world ends?

holy fucker.

minerva looked up to me as if to say 'there is a whole other universe under there that we don't know about.' she sat back down and watched the hole for him to come back out but he never did.

wait, i should start at the beginning.

this is not a dramatization. i was washing dishes like a good househusband when all of a sudden this crazy white and black bug scuttled out from a crack between the floor and the cupboard. i thought it looked rather bizarre so i went to grab minerva, the closest living thing. when i set her down to watch the mayhem she merely blinked a few times and then spat up some viscous grey substance. i let her get her bearings and sure enough, a few seconds later she noticed the little fucker. due to all the commotion, fucker there went and slipped back under the cupboard. at this point minerva and i were simply astounded.

but what i said at the beginning... was a lie. while minerva was looking up at me, pondering aloud the universe beneath, fucker came back out of the cupboard. it hit me: this thing totally looks like a parasite. well, what you'd see under a telescope. maybe i shouldn't be letting my smallanimal near this thing... but no matter! minerva is fucking scared of the thing and jumps away as it bolts into the living room. this thing is fucking fast, you have no idea. it freaked me out in all honesty. i feared for the safety of my kitten, myself and most importantly my house, so i did what any decent man would do: i grabbed a bare paper towel roll and killed the fucker.















also, i had the strangest urge to write a 'did he die on the bus?' story today at work but got bored with the notion. but somehow, i think i lived it out anyway.

the 24 conspiracy,

i just happened to be stoned while 24 came on and was grasped and throttled by its ADDness. after that got boring i started to realize that there were a lot of B actors in this series. like, a whole lot. the principal off of buffy, claire's boyfriend from six feet under, that weird fruity guy from ally mcbeal. kiefer sutherland in and of himself was b actor when this show came out. honestly, the list goes on. and i'm thinking that this show, through and through, is meant to appeal to people with ADD. like, you're flipping the channel and all of a sudden you see... that girl off the movie you forget. you watch to see if you remember then all of a sudden, BAM. you get 24'd. seriously, the cameras (there are TWO. you don't need two; most of the time you're looking at someone trying to look tense and looking more constipated than anything) are never still, someone's always pacing and there's a whole lot of flashy lights and/or explosions going down at any given moment. this whole thing gains validity when you think of how everyone and his donkey (i'm on a real donkey fixation lately) is ADD'd these days. omg, i can HEAR that fucking clock from that show in the background.

munchies snack mix (the chips) are yummy.



scary.

slow incline.

it's sad that i miss dustin sometimes. he was just an interesting person to be around. it's too bad we didn't meet later in life. we could've still had some shenanigans.

i was just in the process of removing old entries from my two online journals, ones that i think aren't relevant anymore. a lot of it embarrasses me now because most of it was an obvious ploy for any sort of attention. reading all of this reminds me of how much fun i've had since moving to ottawa.

i've been feeling like my life has sort of come to a stop lately but there's a difference between stasis and static. it's slow, but i'm beginning to accept that life doesn't have to be exciting *all* the time. it sounds like a silly thing to think about but the past six months or so have really been a time of repair for me. i'm completely safe at the moment, something i'm experiencing for the first time in my life. some days i can't even appreciate the safety: i revert to old ways of thinking and wonder why everything isn't more spectacular. i take it out on mark and myself, the two things i know i will never lose. it sucks, but it usually only lasts a day at a time.

i've been playing a lot of guitar lately. i know it will never be my calling but i will always dabble in it, if only for myself. dustin really helped make it interesting for me. at the time my pride got in the way of letting him know that but the few chords and techniques he taught me have brought me a long way. it's a nice alternative to writing, something i can feel out rather than think out. but yeah. i'm working on a cover of 'professional widow' by tori amos. it sound pretty accurate and yet quite different, which i think is essential in a cover. the only thing: i know i can't sing melodiously but have already gotten noise complaints so i can no longer bellow at the top of my lungs...

he'll probably grow up to be a yuppie and a sell-out.

nothing is ever alone.

take for example something as mundane as a cat. it is a concept: a companion, a comfort, something that needs you. and yet it will always be fur and flesh, needing food and possessing instinctive behaviour.

it exists as both concept and meaning. there are plenty of other ways in which it can keep itself company. randomly, two traits compliment each other to an extraordinary extent.

because of these two traits, because of concept and meaning, everything is worthwhile.








>


>>
>





>>>Why you know you're a stoner:
>10recycle ideas make sense
>>9the sensation sends you running out
>>8see nothing wrong

judge[meant]

hi.

1. you wouldn't even recognize the apartment now. i'm not sure, i guess it makes me comfortable because change is progress. at least that's what they tell you to think. i fought and i spat but i pretty much just wanted to lie down and conform to what everyone else thought. i knew i could never have that with you?

2. i haven't forgotten the sunrises. that one july morning and we were seventeen, when i wanted to kiss you but never said anything. we've talked about it since and i told you my intentions back then but i still don't think you get it. not that i'm upset, i'm just fondly remembering. i'm actually pretty thankful for the way things have turned out. mostly. usually. i love you and i miss you.

c. never look you in the eye much. i'm sorry i never got to know you.

d. along the way i grew to hate you. while it was happening i idealized the situation; it was the only intimate contact i had back then. but you know, it really diseased me and i want and explanation from you. why you thought it was justifiable and all that sally jesse bullshit.

>

>
>today, i cleaned the apartment and listened to emily haines' solo album. it's good and surprisingly mature. it does have a bit of resemblance to metric, mainly in structure. 'knives don't have your back' courts tight, calculated rhythms backed with spoooooky synths. emily haines, i'd be honored to have you as my bitch.

and things really have changed here. i'm so pleased with the way the apartment has come together. it really feels like a home. but only when it's clean. and only when sir hiss and avalanche aren't fighting. i wish they'd sniff each other's ass and get it over with. (if only you truly understood what i was talking about.)