I gave up keys for trees in an act of self-preservation, the wild web words seem so hollow when your toes are fiddling with the grass. We’ll dance, sing, laugh and stare-eye for a little while and love what we work for. For now, sunrise/sunset spark change. We are what we are until we are something more.
See you in a few.
In lieu of a writing exercise, I just decided to do some free prose, unedited writing for two minutes. Here’s what came out of it:
we crept quietly
along the cobbled rocks of the shore
eyes ablaze with innocence
we skipped rocks off glassy water
our laughter stretched long across the horizon
our toes wet and mouths open
the stormy seas boiled furious
we watched the clouds rumble and fall
as their insides met the land
the waves, they did approach
not slow, not casual
but with vigor and purpose
the legs of our pants now soaked
our faces doused with spray
we stood shadows circling
beneath these troubled times
and as your hand found mine
we knew that this would be our end
and i knew i had no regrets
and you told me you were happy
for we’d found this place, this time
we’d called it our own
and though it swept us away into nothing
we’d defined something that day
and the carbons of our bodies
would lead heaven and earth
for the flowers of the future
would be a product of our love
“The Last Piece of Pie”
Write the first paragraph(s) of a story that begins:
She would not give him the last piece of pie.
She would not give him the last piece of pie.
He responded by telling that bitch to hit the road.
And really, why the hell not? The apple of his eye had gone from sugar to rhubarb faster than you could say pecan. Their trip to Boston creamed him black and blueberry. She didn’t mince meat at the cottage where they stargazyed for hours. Truth was, there was no pork left in the pot and it was time to be banoffee.
I’ve decided to take five minutes every day for the next year and do one of these writing challenges. I’ve had issues lately with being able to rouse myself out of the monotonous slumber of life’s events and into the realm of the imaginary and I hope this will help.
“Passive Agressive Grocery Shopping”
Fred has high blood pressure. But Linda brings home some items from the grocery store that are not so good for Fred. Write the scene with dialogue.
(Linda sets the cloth grocery bags on the island in the center of the kitchen. Fred enters the room and rummages through the bags, dejected)
Fred: Oh boy, another week of rice cak…uh, honey, did you pick up someone else’s bag by mistake?
Linda: Oh for heaven’s sake! You get the bloody groceries next week. You’re never happy with what I pick up.
Fred: No, it’s not that…it’s just…polish sausage? I didn’t think I was even allowed to smell anything polish.
Linda: I’m cooking it for Laura Dennis’ husband Jim; her and I sing in choir together. She went into surgery yesterday. She called me to ask if I could make him something as he’s liable to set the entire house on fire if he cooks.
Fred: Lucky guy! Wait, is that t-bone steak?
Linda: Yes, we’re having the Fontaines over for a barbecue on Friday! I told you that already!
Fred: Oh right, I remember that. Am…am I having that?
Linda: No.
Fred: What am I having?
Linda: Lean meatloaf.
Fred: Oh God.
Linda: If you say one more word, you’re going to be having the palm of my hand across your face.
Fred: Gotcha. Sorry dear. Boy, it seems everyone but me is eating like a king this we…hold on a minute. Bologna!?! Pork tenderloin!?! Double smoked bacon!?! Good lord woman, what has gotten into you?
Linda: Nothing has gotten into me!
Fred: I…I can’t eat any of this! My blood pressure is rising just thinking about it.
Linda: I’m tired of the kids picking at their food. It isn’t their fault you couldn’t say no to a corn dog until the age of 45.
Fred: So, from now on…you and the kids will be enjoying the foods that I love and I’ll be suffering through tuna tartare? I…I can’t live like this. We made a vow! For better or worse!
Linda: We took a vote. We want to renegotiate; we’re tired of worse.
Fred: (Sighs.) This will kill me.
Linda: Whatever works.
(Scene ends)
“Mmmmmhmmm.”
I shot my head back as the white powder vacuumed through my nose and into my consciousness. I dusted the stainless steel sink for evidence, unlatched the door and stumbled out of the cramped bathroom and into the abyss. Guided by the aisle track lighting, I found my seat and slumped close to the window. The bus engine roared as we pushed on into the darkness.
I’d made a promise to myself two years prior that I was done with this stuff. As my body’s weight disappeared, I realized that I had not anticipated the fifty-four hour bus ride between Thunder Bay, Ontario and Kelowna, B.C when I’d made myself that vow. I was more ache than man a few moments ago. I was actually killing pain this time. It was okay tonight.
Simon was crumpled like a ball of paper across the aisle, deep in sleep. I didn’t offer him the cannister of release that I held in my hand. He seemed to be getting along fine without it.
As I peered off into the highway miles of rural Saskatchewan, my head spun like a weightless top. I was comfortably numb; trees and houses donned liquid borders and shadows danced in the moonlight. I remembered this artist’s style. Her medium was the comfortable warmth of old lover.
Oh, how the slightest tickle of powder could change one’s entire view of the world! The lonely bus transformed into a home; exhausted chimney smoke filled my nose while the snores of old family crowded my ears. She had taken me down this endless road to a place I remembered. Here I was, restless and alone for weeks on end, sorrow dug deep beneath my skin and her work had deftly drawn it out of me. I sang a song of praise across the tattered pages of my journal in her name and drifted off into a contented dream.
The morning sun chased her away with his brutal touch. I was asleep and alone once more. I longed for her warmth but knew that she would never stay; she was a loner, wild and free, who would never find peace here.
What risks I take with my heart! I thought. Its broken pieces are no longer bound by nature. Should I trust time’s adhesive bind with such a delicate piece? Surely, I’ve seen that a broken vase never mends! The chips and pieces disappear until it is beyond repair. What a fool I am to add another crack!
Short sleeves and convertible cars.
Dropping necklines and romping kids.
Panting dogs and jogging moms.
It’s beginning to look a lot like spring.
I spent a little time in Victoria Park yesterday: walking around, people watching, and getting a little Vitamin D. It’s no wonder that my mood improves greatly when the amount of skin I can let the sun bathe increases.
The best part of my day was watching a little kid play on the scattered rocks that line the boardwalk. He was 2 or 3, the age where everything is a question. He was a little artist; finding mystery in the minutia of life (puddles, puppies and people, oh my!), communicating in rudimentary grunts and squeals and bringing joy to everyone who met him. He may not know it, but he reminded me that life really is better when you’re exploring and not navigating.
I think I’ll be playing an open mic Saturday afternoon at Timothy’s on University Ave, 2-4pm. If you were interested in hearing some music I’ve written, you ought to grab a coffee that day.
I caught Telus in a lie this week.
I have an HTC P4000 smartphone that I purchased from Telus in July of last year. I started on the basic voice and data plan that they have, thinking I would like to try the service out before buying it.
I spent a month oohing and aahing over the wonderful device that it is. It does so many things well that I thought it was worth the money. I received my first hundred dollar monthly phone bill. I sensed that it was going to be a little more phone than I needed and called Telus to bring the phone back or, at least, to turn it into a phone only plan again.
The phone was outside of its 30 day trial and could not be returned. I was told that I could not have a phone-only package on a device like this because of its data capability. I told them that I had no use for the data part (it has built in wi-fi and, considering the prevalence of wireless internet these days, is all I use) just wanted it to be a phone again. I was told this wasn’t possible.
Two days ago, I placed a call to Telus. I told them, flat out, that I was going to have trouble paying my bill and that the plan I was on was much too expensive for me. The second I mentioned not being able to pay, they were more than accomodating in getting me the basic phone plan that I wanted.
So, I now have a wireless internet capable phone with voice mail, call display, text messaging and a bunch of other features I would’ve had to upgrade on my business plan to get. It’s going to cost me about 30 dollars a month less. I’m not sure if it was an operator error or the prospect of not having my bill paid but Telus can offer phone service without data to data devices. It’s just their policy not to do so.
Use this information as you see fit.
Leuconoe, don’t ask — it’s dangerous to know —
what end the gods will give me or you. Don’t play with Babylonian
fortune-telling either. Better just deal with whatever comes your way.
Whether you’ll see several more winters or whether the last one
Jupiter gives you is the one even now pelting the rocks on the shore with the waves
of the Tyrrhenian sea — be smart, drink your wine. Scale back your long hopes
to a short period. While we speak, time is envious and
is running away from us. Seize the day, trusting little in the future. (Horace’s Nu Ne Quaesieris)
Simon, Craig and I exercised our curiosity recently with a string of emails planning the next five years of our lives. The goal was to find out when we’d be running parallel lives once again.
Simon is the person whose life is most in tune with the true meaning of the word freedom. Freedom in mind, body and thought. I found it curious that he was interested in exploring a set of plans for the future. It turns out, even when you know someone for 12 or 13 years, they can surprise you. Simon is doing something great with himself.
Craig may be the person I respect the most, an award I am not sure he knows he has won. Craig is someone special to know. You ought to get to know him if you don’t already.
I felt a lot of pressure to submit a set of goals to these two because their existence pressures me to improve. They have no expectations of me (that I know of) other than to accept nothing less than what I’m capable. I can think of no better way to befriend someone.
As I submitted a short list of goals I had for the next few years (finish school, pay off debts, new skills, self-publish and find a home to travel from), I was confronted with a problem. Are plans enabling or disabling in nature? Is planning some form of self-determinism?
I haven’t been loyal to many things in my life. It is a fault of mine, undoubtedly. I have lived with one foot in the door. As a result, my life has been one built on sand; unstable, moving, changing from one moment to the next. I have spent years committing to things, only to jump at the next best opportunity that came by. I thought it was the right thing to do; if a good opportunity presents itself, how can you tell yourself not to embrace it?
Carpe diem, indeed.
The problem with a life like that, I have found, is that you never really get attached to anything. It’s a life avoiding pain, rejection and loss; it is a life lived in fear of feeling any of those. Freedom should not be spawned from fear. Simply wanting to live ‘free’ is not enough; freedom has to come for the right reasons. Freedom has to be enabling.
I could root the problem in the life I lived as a kid (moving around a bunch, losing friends) or being acutely aware of the relationships in my family and the hardships they led people to endure. I could blame the loveless marriages around me and claim that they taught me to get out before things went sour. I did for a long time.
It made the idea of wanting to be a public writer insane; in a rejection based business, how can anyone really survive if they’re not committed enough to it to push through the rough times? I was going to have to deal with this head on if I had any shot of making it.
I gave a piece of work to someone on a whim who I really admired and they rejected it as it was; then they offered to edit it, thinking there was something there to be worked on. It was hard; a lot of harsh criticisms were leveled and I put up a lot of resistance. I submitted a few pieces to prestigious contests, hoping to make it big right away. I submitted a few more to periodicals I really enjoy. They were all returned; each one stung, but through it all I have gained some knowledge about what I want, what I am capable of and what I can withstand. Each rejected work brought with it a little hope; a parting line that “it is good, just not what we are looking for at the moment” or “I’m just not sure what to do with it, it’s not what we do”.
So, I have been forced to admit that I wasn’t born Ernest Hemmingway and that David Sedaris is currently a better writer than I am. I have been forced to accept some limit as to what I can do at the moment with the skills I have. Yet, at the same point, these limits I have found have offered me the freedom to break them repeatedly until I achieve something I can be proud in. They’ve offered me the opportunity to become something more than just what I am now.
It’s freeing to commit to something that makes you grow, that pushes and inspires you.
I watched Earthlings (Using hidden cameras and never-before-seen footage, Earthlings chronicles the day-to-day practices of the largest industries in the world, all of which rely entirely on animals for profit.) last night before going to bed. I didn’t sleep much afterwards. (You can watch it free on Google Video)
I’m not usually one for shock journalism but this film did something to me. I sat and watched as animals were hacked to death, left to bleed out, constrained from birth, convulsing and crying in pain and starvation and something snapped. It made the occasional moral claim but for the most part, it was simply a compilation of footage on big business’ animal practices.
I’ll never join PETA and you’ll be hard pressed to get me to push the things I’m feeling at the moment on anyone else but I would urge you to watch at least part of this film. The food we eat and the products we consume are so far removed from their living form that it’s so easy to disconnect it from having ever been alive. This film filled a gap for me.
Ignorance is curable.
The text of Obama’s “A More Perfect Union”.
I’m going to spend a couple of days thinking about what was said and respond thoughtfully.