Be Careful but balanced.

•July 13, 2014 • Leave a Comment

Have fun, be creative. Do things, let loose, say yes.

Schedule time away from responsibilities to do potentially irresponsible things. Is it still irresponsible if you’ve responsibly created a space for it? Depends on what I’m talking about.

No, I’m not telling.

You should look forward to some more music-oriented content from Andrasta; I am collaborating with an obsessive audiophile who has an interesting perspective on the world.

I’m holding on to a portkey, and flinging around floppily like a ragdoll through this summer.

I will be driving a van out to B.C for work, doing stops in various towns along the 20 day tour to promote the contest (which the van is the prize) and one of the magazine I’m working for. That sentence was terrible! I’m not fixing it. It’s hard enough just to write and not collapse into dreamland.

Zzzz.

Window Shopping and Whiny Bologna

•July 10, 2014 • Leave a Comment

I want to be the kind of person who folds her clothes, who keeps a clean house, who doesn’t have trouble keeping up with the family.

I want to be the kind of person who respects people, and who earns the respect of others.

I would like to be effective, intelligent, and resourceful.

I want clear skin and sharp features.

I want I want I want.

What do I need?

Food. Exercise. Home. Creative outlets. Intellectual stimulation. Freedom of expression.

Not much, really.

What the hell am I even saying? I dont even know. Im too exhausted to make any sense.

Must keep working, must try not to destroy life worked so hard to build…

It’s the biggest misconception that focusing energy outside of what makes you happy, will make you happy by proxy of what it provides you. A stable, safe home full of food and an Internet connection? Hah. Watch life slip through your fingers day by day.

Sometimes I just don’t care.

Euclid at the End of Everything

•June 25, 2014 • Leave a Comment
Crowley's Art.

Crowley’s Art.

 

Well, I have no reason at all to care what I do anymore. Nothing matters, so, I might as well do whatever I want! Coming from me, that doesn’t mean: “go be rude to people and break things”, no, I got a lot of my destructive tendencies out of my system in my teens and early twenties. Thank Cthulhu that all that is behind me. No, my “do whatever I want” these days is all about construction. Art. Alchemy. (Check out the “Temperance” card from Crowley’s Thoth deck.)

On that note, this morning I am thinking about building on my piddly knowledge of math.

Euclid’s geometry. How absurd is it that they don’t start with that shit in elementary school? If anyone had ever pointed me towards Euclid’s “Elements”, I probably would have been a lot less frustrated with the concepts in math class throughout the ages.

Nobody ever knew what I was asking when I asked “why” about mathematics. Where do these base assumptions come from? Whose ideas are we building on? What did those original ideas evolve from? Why do we trust that the concepts are true enough to build our elaborate and delicate filigree towers of “knowledge” upon?

But of course, being a child, I did not have the words to express my questions. All I had was “I just don’t get it” and “but why?” Math tutors never had any answers for me, and I don’t blame them. The equations made sense enough, within their own strange vacuumes. But, when they just float around in my head, unattached and removed from a base of sensical history, how am I supposed to trust my logic to guide me to the right equations?

Oh, but Euclid. That is where I need to start if I want to understand math. I was always fairly competent at geometry, and there are just too many synchronicities for me to ignore that pathway of knowledge. Hopefully I live long enough to teach myself math. I’d love to one day hold a bachelor’s of science and arts.

Dream big; why not; we’re all doomed regardless.

Fukushima

•June 24, 2014 • Leave a Comment

The name of death and destruction. The unexistable material that we bring into this world will do what it does: disrupt. I can’t stop thinking about the hundreds of tonnes of radioactive water now in the pacific ocean, and the people and organic life who die and who died and who will die. Death death death.

Death isn’t inherently bad, it’s a natural part of existence. What about corruption, though? The corruption of reality is the introduction of… Irreality? We corrupt reality by smashing atoms together. And the result is, after a long chain of cause and effect…

Fukushima.

A death toll for the planet; prepare yourself for decades of aftermath and affect.

There’s no one I can talk to about this. It’s almost too cruel to unburden my mind onto anyone who is just going about their
lives, happy. I’ve got radioactive sludge in my soul.

I am just atoms arranged this way. We only exist because of the particular composition of the atoms in the gasses in the nebula in our patch of the grid. Or, whatever.

We only see because the photons from the fusion machine light years away bounce off the atoms in front of me, into my eyeballs where my brain decides how to interpret and explain that data to me. Or, whatever.

Atoms are mostly empty space; when I touch something, I feel a smooth surface, but the edges are more like a watercolour wash than a defined boundary, between the material of my hand and the material it touches.

Not only that, but the air itself participates in this wash-like boundary experience, the massive piece that fits between and within everything. There is empty space within our bodies. Within our atoms.

Is this nihilistic? It’s so hard to care about small talk and niceties when this is what’s filling my head. I just have to choose to believe that I will be happy again one day, and that everything will be okay.

Fukushima.

Good morning.

The joys of living at home

•June 22, 2014 • Leave a Comment

My mum woke me up with a coffee and an apple to give me an anti clutter pep talk. She’s on a huge organisational kick, apparently. I’m glad because I felt guilty and terrible for talking about Fukushima at her yesterday.

I’ve been making music

•June 22, 2014 • Leave a Comment

Brassfixtures

Well well well, look what the cat dragged in. It’s me! Back from the blank depths of not having written anything (aside from work stuff) for a little while. Honestly, not sorry at all. I’ve been working on my album, which I decided that I wanted to make just around the time that the regular blogging stopped. Here is a link to the utter garbage I have been producing. I really hope you don’t like it at all! No, seriously, my aim was / is to produce stuff that really sucks. That way, if I succeed, then hurray, success! And if I fail, then that failure entails success at my original intention, which was to produce fail quality work. I have thought my way into win-win artistic freedom! Hurray!

In internship news, I attended some gala fundraising dinner, and widened up to the business world corporate suckfest. I am too much like my mother. The next week, I ended up at a media release event as a reporter. It was there that the gleam in my eye was dulled nearly entirely. It’s high school again, hating every thing and everyone and all the bullshit business politics that permeate absolutely everything.

And the worst part is that every facet of reality seems completely, inescapably saturated with the same kind of politics. Friendship, family, dating, education, blah blah blah, it’s all shit. Has it always been like this? Jeeze, I really hate everything. Maybe that’s just a today thing but it’s still an uncomfortable feeling.

Why must we all just deal with it? Enough people are miserable that if we had the energy to change it, we would. Wouldn’t we? Am I a bald nerve? Shouldn’t I be? In what profession may I please be a bald nerve so that it may grow my productivity rather than detract from it?

White Mage: I wish.

•June 8, 2014 • Leave a Comment

DSC_0596

I cracked like an egg, yesterday. Woke up early and got a ride to the train station, so I could go to the convention centre downtown and sit at a booth representing my Not for Profit at a “trade show” type of event. It was great! Really! I loved it! It was wonderful to connect with all those people, all those interesting conversations. I was speaking with people with monumental challenges to face on a daily basis.

After many hours of being “on” like that all day, I was tired and just wanted to sleep. I went straight home. There were a group of 5-6 rowdy beefcake-type dudes who decided they wanted to sit right next to me. Having just came from the Jays game, they were yelling and laughing. They apologized for being loud, but I asked them what they thought about the nature of justice. “There are layers, so many layers”, “Every situation is different”, “You said the NATURE of justice though, what do you mean by that?”. It was really great, it was great. I loved talking to them.

When I got to the station, I walked past the bike rack where my useless red chain still hung. There was a note attached to it, written in all capital letters on an envelope from some Health Partner’s Foundation in Mississauga. It read:

STOLEN BIKE?

LADY BIKE IF

STOLEN CAN BE

FOUND AT

[redacted] AVE.

OSHAWA

I don’t know what to do with this. Probably go to the police. A lead on my bike situation, is great. Really, really great.

So I get home and my mum has sat on the couch all day, because she is so exhausted from her extremely toxic battlefield of a work environment. There’s no food in the house, because I haven’t gotten any yet. She can’t get them because she is so exhausted from work. There are clothes everywhere and nothing to wear, because I haven’t done the laundry yet. She can’t do the laundry because she is so exhausted from work.

She can’t afford therapy because she spends her money on take-out and new clothes.

She can’t get any help through work, because it’s such a snake pit that she’s afraid she’ll be let go or her life will be made even worse if she admits she needs help. The stigma exists. She works in a goddamn hospital, unable to leave because she has no other skills, just the 25 years she’s put in at a place that treats her like a machine.

She’s going to die. I know that we all die, but what a thing to die for. I want to go in there and yell and scream and throw things and say “DON’T YOU CARE, THAT’S MY MOTHER, HOW COULD YOU DO THIS? HOW COULD YOU?

As if she’s already dead.

So I cracked. After yelling a bit about the state of the bathroom, I retreated to my room and put on Joanna Newsom’s album “Have One On Me” as loud as it would go, and bawled my eyes out for hours. The face-screwed-up, no-sound, horrible silent agony of a cry, that didn’t really make anything better.

Would that I could heal every aching heart on this planet.

Would that I could fill everyone up with love and joy and peace. Would that I could be a white mage.

“I found a little plot of land

in the Garden of Eden

it was dirt and dirt is all

the same

I tilled it with my two hands

and I called it

my very own

there was no one to dispute

my claim.

 

Well you’d be shocked at the state of things:

the whole place had just cleared right out

it was hotter’n hell, so I lay me by the spring

for a spell, as naked as a trout.

 

The wandering eye that I have caught

is as hot as a wandering sun

but I will want for nothing more

in my garden; start again

in my heart and into every heart but one

 

Meet me in the Garden

of Eden

bring a friend

we are gonna have ourselves a time

we are gonna have a garden party

it’s on me

no siree, it’s my dime.

 

We broke our hearts in the war between

St. George and the dragon,

but both in equal parts are welcome

to come along

I’m inviting everyone

 

Farewell to loves that I have known

even muddiest waters run

tell me, what is meant by sittin’ alone

in a garden, seceded

from the Union in the year of ’81?

 

The unending amends you made

are enough for one life; be done

I believe in innocence, little darlin’; start again

I believe in everyone

 

I believe, regardless

I believe in everyone.”

 

’81, by Joanna Newsom