Tuesday, December 7, 2010

Once you realize,

Once you realize that the world is yours for the taking, that you need to grow some balls and make something of yourself, create opportunities, grab life by the collar, give it a big fuck you I will own you, I will own me, that fear never goes away, it's always there and it's the only thing stopping you. you are stopping you.

fearlessness comes from taking chances. i am learning now, that life doesn't hand shit to you on a silver platter with a wide grin (and prodding you on, saying 'take it, take all of me'). it is living outside what you're comfortable with, it is having choices and making the right, but difficult one. the one that makes your heart stop and your brain, your rational side goes "this is it, this is not it, give up now, it is not worth it" it is grasping things fully, wholly, dramatically and drastically reveling in emotions.

You begin to live. grab it. in me i have insatiable lust for everything life has to offer. Its experiences, art, knowledge, food, people (everyone has ten thousand dimensions to their self, their soul, it is easy to forget that connections need to be maintained and nurtured through...) love. above all, love. unconditional, natural and real.

and I am writing, a life for myself.

Monday, October 4, 2010

Friday, June 11, 2010

meditations in an emergency,

Each time my heart is broken it makes me feel more adventurous
(and how the same names keep recurring on that interminable
list!), but one of these days there'll be nothing left with
which to venture forth.

Why should I share you? Why don't you get rid of someone else
for a change?

I am the least difficult of men. All I want is boundless love.

Even trees understand me! Good heavens, I lie under them, too,
don't I? I'm just like a pile of leaves.

- Frank O' Hara (you have read my heart, I lie under stars and they make me feel alive)

Tuesday, March 2, 2010


Cheers y'all! Spring is a-coming! the sun's a-shining! the wind's a-breezing! the birds a-chirping! ( try saying this with the most honky-dory accent you can manage while skipping on the way to school. amusing stuff! but then yasmin is easily amused.)

It is 3 degrees now, and I feel like sitting on grass all the time! except it's wet. and muddy. grr

Tuesday, February 23, 2010

snow dance,

today the snow danced
and I could feel it singing and
it was falling and moving and
they seem to have a rhythm, a beat; left right turn
rise up slowly
and now fall down, rapidly

and there were individual snowflakes
tiptoeing on my windowpane

the wind was happy to help their form, I bet

and there were those two huskies, their coats gleaming in the snow
wagging their tails and shagging their fur
how I would have loved to have danced with them

if it weren't so cold


We're doing William Carlos Williams for English next week. It'd be interesting to see how Dr. Z's explanation of him stands against that hipster McGill lecturer (who I thought was great). I don't see any organization in my English class whatsoever, she's doing post-modernist, then traditional, then modernist, then post WWI... Whaaaa...?

I was listening to Here Comes the Sun by the Beatles earlier, it's amusing how I find the song more beautiful and emotionally fulfilling after going through winter. It made me smile superwide!

Oh sun, how I want you so bad!

Saturday, January 30, 2010

Sunday, January 24, 2010

i think if by some,

anachronistic way Oscar Wilde, James Dean, John Lennon, Jeff Buckley and Bill had met,
they would have liked each other.

A few days ago, I was checking out Bill's (one of my favourite contemporary writer) page, only to find out he died two weeks ago.

It unsettles me. The man had a pure heart, much like the four aforementioned people above.

When I used to write, I experimented with his writing style: it was very 50s/60s noir, very personal, sort of like how one's mind wanders while staring off into space in a coffee shop. And think about loss. love.life.

Love, mostly.

He seemed to get it.

Just like the four aforementioned did.

My favourite of his: Bad Poetry.