and water once said to the wall
"Man is a crushed being. Floats like logs on an empty river in a wild with no predators,
because, Man knows, a predatory wild is immoral."
no regrets.

and water once said to the wall
"Can I speak? And if I speak why do I speak this particular language? Beyond my reflective frailties and your broken back, there really isn't much to be said for the anglo-saxon remembrance of loss, now, is there?"

and the sleep in the corner of her bedroom was like a feminist strike for equal wages
there was a resentful bitterness to the way she spat her measured love.

often, she would say nothing as a means to everything,
and everything as a means to nothing,
but either way the only one listening was every one of us, so we couldn't really hear a word she was saying.

some mornings, I awoke to the curious wondering of subject versus object, and sad endings versus no endings, and you know what?
not once did an answer appear and if it did, no way was there a syllable empty enough to describe our lack of a point
so I stopped calling I, I
and started calling I, we
so we slept until 1 in the afternoon with the only shame being that of novelized continuity with its great big book on the cons of finitism we tried to return for store credit only to realize it wasn't Chapters selling, nor the writ of the holy ghost, but instead that particular angle of our face that can only be witnessed if one mirror is placed in front of another with a third to the left

and suddenly, 'I' made more sense,
what a shame?

and water once said to the wall
"all things are all things," and the wall listlessly agreed to nothing.

so we walked to the water and agreed on behalf of the wall
and the water swooshed kindly as we lay out a towel
sleep on the beach.

and the sleep in the corner of her bedroom was like a feminist strike for equal wages
there was a resentful bitterness to the way she spat her measured love
so my nervous flinch began to wonder why the real world teases with stillness, distant mountains, open roads, warm kisses, sunrises, and cold rain
when I still have to get up for work in the morning.

Low Light, Low Life

Hello blue planet!

Okay, this time around, it has been a significant lull of time between this post and my last.. I haven't even gone so far as to update my 'weekly song pick' in about a month.

However.. this isn't without reason or downside.. I've been working pretty diligently on a big project exclusively for my blog. I won't give much away.. but I will tell you all it's a short-story that, at this rate, isn't going to end-up being very short.

I was hoping to have it done by last Sunday evening, but I ended up lacking much motivation and instead opted to sleep, eat, and read for the 2 precious days off.
I was also hoping to have worked on it during the 3 split-shifts I did this past week, but I ended up spending all three days Christmas shopping and running errands (like picking out a sweater that would actually keep me dry and warm in the chill of a Pacific Northwest winter). I apologize for my lack of dedication to the work as of late.. but it will be done and up for viewing by mid-January absolute latest.

Promise.

It isn't really the season to be all that 'jolly,' I suppose.
I have been quite satisfied with my material bounty given of the kind hearts of others this holiday season.. but other than that, a majority of my life has been a little down for the past week or so.

Between working at the hospital psych ward with my client (no further details will be disclosed for confidentiality reasons), the lack of light, the abundance of muggy rain-soaked days, and my overall exhaustion and lack of energy from all of the above causing me to avert most chances at socializing (save for the first time in awhile last night with a friend who is visiting for the holidays after having moved to Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania for college), it's been a very lonely holiday season for me.

Not physically.. physically speaking, I've had plenty of people around me. My mom, my brother, my dad, coworkers, the occasional friend, and virtual connection via Skype.. but spiritually, I've felt pretty solitary and drained.

A very large part of me is in a passionate mood for romance right now, which my circumstances can't seem to satisfy, at least for the time being.. and I've had few people with whom I'm able to share all of my feelings, both positive and negative, since 95% of my friends moved away in September.

And I feel like I'm extroverted enough that a healthy social life with some real depth is a very big 'must' for me.. hence why I thrived so brilliantly throughout high-school, and have been quite up and down since.

I apologize to everyone who reads my blog about how down I have seemed in the past few months; it's been a hard year so far, and I only expect it to slowly let-up it's pressure over the course of the next 8 months until I'm finally on my way to Victoria (and this time for real; I've been officially accepted to Camosun College for the Arts and Science program starting September 2013).

I'm also very much looking forward to my European adventure in March; the itineraries are almost complete, and I've got $2000 in the bank as of last pay-check with another $1,500 for the trip alone still to be stashed away over the course of the next 3 pay-cycles.

So, to wrap up.. my life is looking very very bright and promising over the next couple of years, and will be getting brighter with the start of classes at the local Vancouver Island University in just under 2 weeks, as well as the lengthening of the days until the arrival of summer and my epic jaunt to what I consider to be the 'far-east' considering where I'm geographically situated.. but it has been hard over the past 4 months, and that's alright, because that's just the way that life is sometimes and we all have to accept that and also remember that it really does get better.

Keep your eyes on 'It's A Friendly Inferno!' for my upcoming long-short story.. as well as updates as to how things are going.
Sooner or later, my blog ends up housing the most intimate details of my life.. so if you're into that kinda shit..

read my blog.

Peace out, blue planet!

"18 Thought-Provoking Questions," courtesy of HighExistence

1. If you could make a 30 second speech to the entire world, what would you say?
I would probably appeal to relaxation (which, strangely enough, is completely not where I've been coming from as of late, although it is still the basis of who I am in theory), and tell everyone to listen or read Alan Watts at least once in their lifetime. Even if it's only a 1 hour lecture online, or a single book.. much of it would assist the world on a road to collective enlightenment in the strangest and most honest of ways.

2.If you were going to die at midnight, what would you be doing at 11:45 pm?
You know, I'll never know for sure unless it actually occurs to me, but I could see myself doing one of many things. Perhaps making love, or spending time just having one last intellectual conversation with friends or loved ones.. perhaps simply saying goodbye, advising on how to deal with my passing.. maybe I would meditate until I faded away. Or, I could pull an Aldous Huxley and go on an LSD or mescalin death trip.
As of right now, I see myself simply writing one last song, jamming on my own with a guitar.
Perhaps an intimate loved one would be present.. or friends and family. Who knows?

I certainly don't.

3. How do you really know anything for sure?
You don't.

4. If you had all the money in the world but still had to have some kind of job, what would you choose to do? 
Investigative journalism a majority of the time.. however, I would partake a more in-depth pursuit of my artistic endeavors.. writing, music making, etc.

5. When you’re 90 years old, what will matter most to you?
Probably whatever family I have at that time. Perhaps I will be an old, silent Bodhisattva. Perhaps I'll just be me.

But yeah, I'm going to assume my family.

6. What do you regret most so far in life?
My inability to sustain long-term relationships due to my own deeply entrenched insecurities which eventually boil above the attempted spectacle of my bravado.

7. How can you apply the lesson you learned from that regret to your life today?
By being honest with an intimate loved one about said insecurities and leaving it up to them to take it or leave it.. as well as not allowing said insecurities to ever compromise my base self or future relationships.

8. What would you change if you were told with 100% certainty that God does not exist? Or if you don’t believe in God, that he does exist?
Probably not a whole lot, to be honest (I being one who does not believe in the Judaeo-Christian God, per se, but I do think I grasp what 'God' is meant to represent).

9. If you lost everything tomorrow, whose arms would you want to run into? Does that person know how much they mean to you? 
I don't think I'd run into any particular persons arms at this point in my life.
I'd appeal for a little help from friends and family, perhaps.. but I wouldn't want to lay the burden of my subsistence on any individual person.

I honestly don't have an individual I would run to even in a sentimental sense. I'm not sure if this implies loneliness, or independence.

Perhaps a little bit of both.

10. Do you fear death? If so, do you have a good reason? 
Well, I fear death as much as the next person. Not that I don't accept it as I don't have much of a choice.. but I'm certainly nowhere near ready to let myself fall to death quite yet.. even as someone who sees reincarnation as a very likely possibility. There's still plenty I would like to do as Kyran Paterson-King.

11. What would you change if you knew you were NEVER going to die?
I probably wouldn't worry so much about long-term goals and the like. I would work without much of a worry for the future, seeing as I'm not victim to finite time.

12. If you were at heaven’s gates, and God asked “why should I let you in?”, what would you say? 
I am just as much God as you are. You lose a part of yourself in denying me.
(Although I know that what God is meant to represent cannot, by its very nature, deny anything).

13. When will you be good enough for you? Is there some breaking point where you will accept everything about yourself? 
I have no idea when I will be good enough for me. I like to pretend I am.. and at a base point, I obviously have no choice (not that I mean that in a submissive 'victim-mentality' sort of way; I certainly am happy to be who I am), but there are times in my life when I am more accepting and whole-hearted towards myself than others. This is a time where I feel a little off, for whatever reason.

As for the breaking point; perhaps there is. I can't really say.

14. Is the country you live in really the best fit for you? 
Not with the current Harper majority government; of course, that's only speaking in a political sense. In all technicality and honesty, I don't believe in nation-states. I do love the Pacific Northwest, however.

I do, however, see myself living in Europe someday, even if only to try it on for size.

15. What would people say about you at your funeral? 
I'm not sure. Ask them.

16. What small thing could you do to make someone’s day better? 
Many different things. 'Smile' is the cheesy and obvious one. Offer them assistance, start a conversation.. who knows. The options are infinite.

17. (If you believe in god) would your relationship with god change it all if you were told with 100% certainty that he was actually a she? 
God is neither a he nor a she. To assume either, even in the employment of convenient metaphor, is an ignorant and archaic practice.

18. What do you believe stands between you and complete happiness?
My 'solipsistic' anxieties about existence.

working on the motivation to write a real article

I've been working full-time as of late, so I've usually come home at around 6 every weekday with the intent to attempt something amazing.

I did successfully slog through the ample recording of a new rap song of mine titled "Welcome to the Sunrise" (available for listen through the following link), but other then that my newly purchased recording equipment has only fallen victim to subsequent recordings I find less than satisfying.

Work has been draining and demanding, but good for what it is nonetheless. Emotionally, I'm up and down.. occasionally pushing my head to hard in the pursuit of intellectual knowledge.. but I can't really complain about my situation overall. Besides; hard work, trial, and error are what makes a 'great.' So what if I feel myself challenged in most aspects of my life? I'm going to side with those who endure and say it's all going to pay dividends in one way or another in ways I can't even yet imagine.

I've had flashes of ideas for different subjects on which to write about on my blog.. but as of yet, nothing has come to fruition for the reason(s) already listed. Even if it takes until December or January, I promise that more substantial posts are on the way (and, knowing myself, writing this 'quick update' of sorts may very well lead to a substantial post later today, as I'll prove to myself that I'm certainly still willing and able to write).

Powell River is still somewhat of a stagnant heap for me at this point, with work being my only real dedication, as well as the only reason I'm still here. I haven't had much in the way of social outings or interactions outside of work and the internet due to everyone (including myself) being so Goddamn busy (or off in some other part of the globe, whether near or far). In all truth, I'd have to say life is a blank neutral, with it's minor pleasures and minor pains, but is neither very bad or very good. I find myself drinking a lot of tea throughout the week, and getting at least somewhat drunk during the weekend, during which time all of my hardships and pursuits seem to be made of insignificant straw in which it's like none of them really exist and everything is actually totally fine forever and ever. This doesn't change the fact that I return to these hardships in due time.

My anxiety has been pretty stagnant; although I did have a bout of it today after drinking a little too much coffee, and a bout of it last weekend when I made an outing to Downtown Vancouver while visiting family in White Rock for my late aunts funeral.

The Downtown Vancouver core.. at least in relation to me.. has this dark, foreboding, evil urban insecurity which just eats away at me.. like I'm drowning almost hopelessly in negative frequencies. There are very calm, zenned, and well-vibed pockets throughout the city (like Kitsilano), but for the most part it just feels angry and hopeless and painful.

I'm half-toying with the idea of dedicating myself to a completely healthy diet, with little to no deviation save from the occasional splurge on alcohol and one fast-food meal a month.. but it's still stuck on the precipice of 'is-it-worthwhile-or-would-I-rather-just-be-lazy-about-it-until-further-notice.'

Due to the amount of spare-time I find I have at work (and the nature of the work itself), I've been doing push-ups and crunches to help keep myself in shape while I hangout with the client. It seems to be working, but since the end of the summer I've neglected cardio workouts aside from plenty of walking (which isn't quite on-par with what constant biking did for me).

Anyways.. I do have plans tonight, thankfully, with a coworker to drink and eat plenty, as well as have long, in-depth intellectual conversation with different documentaries playing on the big-screen as backdrop. So I'm very much looking forward to that.
I just kinda wish I was in a place where I could spend my youth partying with friends my age, whether intellect is implied in the mix or not. It'll happen though. 9 more months till I make the jump to lightspeed.. er.. Victoria. It'll seem like no time in retrospect I'm sure. But in respect to looking forward.. it feels like a somewhat distant future.

Peace out, blue planet.
Have a great night.

cafe poetic anthology vol. 3 (short reprise for the city wearing slacks)

tetris patterned-shirt
weird, life-is-a-creamy-dream feeling every ever
I spend here
in
Downtown Vancouver.

is it the thought of the chilli-pepper eyed parrot
grazing on the street soul from the corner of Davie
and Granville?

is it a birth trauma coma slam
considering the fact that my
passport
says I awoke here
for the very first time?

is it the caffeine pulsing through my sweat like blood
the triple-sweater sandwich I call my chest
the passing of my dear old Auntie Debbie
the alien faces of a city-gone city goer
the warm freeze of 15 dollars in my pocket
wallet
crunch

perhaps it's the red pants
the folded skinny's
the overalls
the great validation of Shakespeare's scream:
"All the worlds a stage/ and all the men and women merely players."

Did he mean John Players?

Each and every all of us to be smoked
in the soaking rain
pretending that we
each
have brains?

- - -

I know
I'm not as intriguing
as most of these Greek-God's and Goddesses

But I still wonder
if man and women gaze to me
like I'm bless-ed.

- - -

could that explain the dream feel?
the creamy steamy dream feel?

my lack of validation
in this crowd-work calling card?

- - -

it's just about time
that I mention the women
whom gazed
from the train
that traverses the
clouds.

East Indian I assume
I the troubadour
I gazed right back into her eyes.

We played this game
until 'screech' went the train

and I moved on in space and in time.

She exited there
at the same place I glared
to the tiling below my unfit and soaked
sigh's.

As to why that I raced
so that she couldn't chase
and speak words that would open the
light

I'm unsure

but I wanted to
even as I
slipped from sight
into Vancouver's day bright of a night.

- - -

cafe poetic anthology vol. 2

hasn't been long
has it?

or
has it?

- - -

why is it that
everyone who walks in here
looks so
goddamn
beautiful?

- - -

why is it that
everyone who walks in here
looks so
goddamn
concerned?

- - -

I like the idea
of organized crime

reminds me of
well
organized crime.

- - -

I've learned enough
but I can always learn more.

I've learned enough
but I can always learn

m
oooo
re.

- - -

sometimes
I notice
someone
peaking at me
from
the
front-counter.

curious?

why, yes, I am.

- - -

I don't
know
if it's arrogance
or love

that drives me
to hope
someone else
will be just as excited about
my poetry
as

I am.

and it probably
doesn't
even
matter

really.

- - -

sweet half-smile
from a girl
or
woman
woah man
with really friendly curls.

I'd chat
but

well

- - -

my dream world
consists
of being able to yell
at everyone

how much I love them
and how

beautiful

I think they are.

- - -

there's no line
in the sand

so
shut the fuck up
about separates.

- - -

Sisyphus
you are a nice metaphor
but

you're still a metaphor
and if I read you enough

I will forget that
and you will win
a battle you had no idea

you even started.

- - -

am I still writing
about a cafe?

no

but I am still writing
in a cafe.

- - -

cafe poetic anthology vol. 1

the sounds of a crowded cafe
ca-caw! like a crow, everybody's crowing something
each a beautiful story dressed in winter hop-scotch
or a poorer story dressed in a business suit.

who knows
perhaps it's like a rich chocolate covered in a wrapper
and that business suit is to be peeled off soon
enjoy the sweet treat underneath

but I can always tell when someone is selling themselves
because they look like a city map
drawn to design

I guess try-hards are alright when they polish like diamonds
except the beauty of a diamond is not faked
the beauty of the diamond hides itself underground, to show that the deeper you go
the greater it gets

so why manicure?
why manicure, Mr. Business Cowardly,
are you afraid of yourself?

- - -

I probably moved on in observation a few moments later when I realized the pretty girls across the way whom I used to go to high-school with
never did I once speak with them
I felt no need
because I knew they manicured themselves to avoid the fact that the diamonds underneath were either hidden away to be kept for themselves
or just
never there?

the wailing baby is the bravest
the wailing baby is the greatest
the wailing baby understands the grand stand by remaining unstood

fine, fine wailing baby
you are God and you already know it
but get ready to forget because Mr. Cowardly Business
and Mrs. Manicured Face will eat you too
and leave you soulless until you're soulful

the daily drain of the soul into an unholy grail.

let the world sip from the cup like a poisonous water
WAIT!
I'm still thirsty, don't drink it all yourself!

- - -

that serious face of beauty
rock-hard, dead-eyed beauty
I wear it too and I'm probably ashamed but I'm not sure yet.

- - -

just a little jittery from the jut-cliff of caffeine
ah, ah, aahhhh, it makes me thirsty to live.

ah, ah, ahhh, what lovely visions upon seeing
appearance vs. reality
appearance is reality
appearance is
disappearance
is
pardon me I need to piss.

- - -

at least somebody cares
but stop pretending cus I know you're too scared
to admit it.

- - -

christmas decorations already
I guess that makes sense if you're trying to
increase
your net
profit

prophet

- - -

pretty face you wear
fuck you for hiding your pretty face

- - -

do I qualify as some cultural absurdity
considering I'm sitting here
sipping coffee
writing poems
baby blue toque
comfy-patterned sweater?

what's better?

- - -

these dash-breaks don't annotate much
except implicit unity

yes, you know me.

- - -

not really sure
what to think
about that one

or that one

or that one

or
this
1

- - -

one of the men in a business suit
describes this place as
noisy

but quiet.

maybe he's not so
Mr. Cowardly Business

maybe I judged him over the
speed
limit.

- - -

I've just realized

I still love every single ex-girlfriend I truly and honestly said I loved, and probably always will.

It feels really nice, to be honest.

97% of the people I love the most

are now spread in places near and far throughout the globe.

For example: 

a best friend of mine is on his way to Thailand as I write these words;

my most recent ex-girlfriend I haven't spoken too since last June is now living in London; 

the girl I had a fling with the summer afterwards is now in North Vancouver;

another friend of mine ended up in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania for schooling, and the guy she had a thing with, also a good friend of mine, now lives in Winnipeg...

but, it seems, despite this wide diversification of location.. the majority of my core-group of high-school friends departed to the city of Victoria successively over the course of the past year and a half. 

At the beginning of last month, 3 of my very best and oldest friends left for their new home in Oak Bay, Victoria. As well.. an ex-girlfriend of mine who is now one of my best friends has been living there since not long after graduation. 

The list goes on and on and on; but the point is, I have only 3 or 4 best friends left in this hometown of mine. One is a co-worker of 40 who I only recently met, and I can tell he has no designs on leaving Powell River for a very long time due to his position with a house and a wife.. another 2 are a couple who are, at the least, speaking of an intent to leave come this summer, most likely for a cross-Canada road trip. Another best friend proves to be elusive as hell most of the time, and as far as I know he has remained in Powell River, but has spoken of going to work on railroads in Alberta, or run off to partake in a solo road-trip throughout British Columbia.  

It feels like all this radical uplift and diverse movement going on in my midst is some sort of telling sign; I know I want more than anything to leave this sleepy town and expand my horizons as 97% of my greatest friends have already begun doing. But I've decided on practicing restraint and practicality in the name of a job.

However, just to remind myself as I don't lose sight of my coming plans to radical movement and diversification in my life.. I plan on visiting friends in Victoria either later this month, or early December.. I'll be headed to England for 3 weeks with the family in March, and have a week to potentially explore Ireland or France.. I'll be headed to my second Diversity festival on Texada Island come July.. and I'll be off to independence and reunification with the majority of my closest friends in Victoria come September, as well as starting classes at Camosun College.

So, despite my perception of a serious lull and the accompanying melancholy which makes me feel as if it was me that moved away from everyone, as opposed to everyone away from me.. I would only be denying the rich experiences still left here in Powell River if I simply focus, teary-eyed, on the past, when everyone departed.. the present, missing them as it was.. and the future, impatient to shuffle myself away from home. It may recur every now and then, and it deserves the respect of a time and place.. but I don't need to grovel over it when I know I'll be looking back on these months a year from now in my new home wondering where it all went.

Perhaps I won't have the overt gratification of consistent parties, new friends, and potential girlfriends that I know the city would provide for me.. and which a part of me lusts for quite intensely from time to time.. but I will still have friends, incredible conversation, hundreds of immersive books, a creativity to hone, 2 incredibly interesting classes to attend come January, a rewarding job as well as job and financial security, a radio show to re-pursue, perhaps some incredible hiking escapades, and much to look forward to in the way of visits to Victoria, a trip to the British Isles, schooling, and moving away come September.

So I guess it's not that bad. 

It is, really, whatever I make it.

"Poll finds fresh increase in US racism," Romney still leads in the polls; America fancy's itself the king but has only snatched control because of a deep backwardness, ignorance, and general insecurity (possessed by all nations who feel they need to subjugate and create great empires of inner and outer despair)

Many empires of old have held greater virtue than the modern American strain.

It's beyond a matter of happy, sad, right and wrong now. It is a case of hopeless ignorance beyond what was previously believed possible for any nation, save for those who are openly perceived as backwards and as such stigmatized on the great stage of world affairs.

I ache with an inner pain for the world as a result of such a dismal 'reality;' one which I know truly and stubbornly permeates the worldviews of many who hold high office within the most powerful empire on Earth.

How the fuck
is all I can really say.

The United States of America is part of the real third world.

Two Gods in Bed

the music climbs like a mystic rummaging layer by layer upon steps of wood leading to the mundane middle of a bedroom
'meditation leads to sleep, we are in the perfect place!' he smiles
Christ, you're like Christ
I think.

all of a sudden he is lying on my bed, sleeping, arms outstretched,
and I climb into my side of the bed, he pulls closer
wraps his arms around me and says
"Christ, you're like Christ,"

I turn to him slowly and smile
all of the sudden God falls asleep.

The Wind

did the wind ever catch you sleeping?

alone like a cordless phone off the hook, where's the charge 

beyond the imaginings of the long-haired girl standing in the open rain wondering, wondering, wondering

what?

wondering if it was true

if it was true that the cold of a cozy bed in the middle of a warm December night was anymore than a dream

or if the person she spoke to was a figment of her imagination 

because human is a hoax, each from the same source like every fallen leaf floats from the same tree

so would that not mean that the entire universe is just 

one

great

big

schizophrenia?

or, is it the happy clutches of a child in want of your embrace that reminds you of the sad clutches of a child in want of your embrace?

because the sun doesn't go down, it goes around

and the moon isn't half, nor the stars just a spec

nor a grain of sand just a grain of sand because a cosmos is a cosmos no matter how large

small

or mildly tasted like a long-shot espresso will never taste a tongue

can the words ever really tell you much more than the words? 

if a cosmos is a cosmos, the words will tell you the cosmos

the cosmos, the very essence of the sweet silk and the clammy touch of a lover after a rainy winter walk

the warming of the lips upon lips 

or the clamp of the seven AM alarm 

a great big 'fuck you' to many, a reminder to 'wake up and love' for the lucky

and the wind; the dastardly, beautiful, realist wind!

where was I when you always arrive?

so I'm asking you 

look inside of yourself and think:

did the wind ever catch you sleeping?

Nothing too exciting, just a simple update

Hello blogspot!

No need to apologize for a prolonged length of absence this time around, as only 2 or 3 days ago I posted my inflammatory opinionated expose on the current American elections titled The Selfish Pursuit of Power.

I've been getting much feedback from co-workers, friends, and family on the piece- all of which has been quite positive, encouraging me to carve out my niche in the used style of writing (bringing stream-of-consciousness prose to articles and works of a political nature). 

However; I really had to liberate the time and spur the inspiration from my busy work-week to write the article, despite it's short-length. 

On Thursday night, after getting off work at 4 PM, I headed straight to a local coffee shop and made sure to get consistent refills as I hashed out the piece on the new laptop I purchased last week. As soon as one coffee shop closed, I migrated to another, driving myself a bit too far with obscene caffeination (which I tend to do every now and then like a drug-junky may with other psychoactives). By the time I got home, I realized going to bed would be redundant as I would simply spend the whole night rolling back and forth becoming more and more frustrated as the hours ticked by, so I instead decided to stay up and read the news until the wee hours of the morning when, finally, I felt sufficiently exhausted enough to attempt slumber.

I ended up getting between 4 and 6 hours of sleep that night, but it was very much worth it; despite my zombie-like apathy which I attempted to stave off with more caffeination, only to crash even harder by the end of the day. Needless to say, I slept alright the next night. 

I've been working.. for the second time in my life.. what feels like a very 'status quo' job; Monday to Friday, 9 to 4. 

I'm working palliative care/ social work, and somehow.. despite the fact that I don't even have a license and have only been working with the company since the end of July.. I've ended up with said full-time position as a clients key worker; the client being a young man exactly my age (19) who is a recovering drug addict from the Downtown Eastside of Vancouver. He has some further issues; but none I'm going to discuss for the sake of privacy.

It's a well-paying job.. allowing me to buy the very computer I type to you from.. as well as save-up for a family jaunt to England in March and post-secondary next September.. and it really is the most fulfilling of all the jobs I've worked, but I find myself mentally exhausted by the end of each work-week, rarely wishing to do more than placate at home on a Friday night and just sleep, sleep, sleep to my hearts content. 

As well, due to the conventional hours, it's been hard to get together with a best friend of mine due to our conflicting work-schedules; so the only times I've really seen him have been on the odd occasion once every couple of weeks, or when I drop by his workplace to say hi, whereas prior we were hanging out upwards of every second day, if not more.

I doubt we'll lose each other, but it does feel like a massive injustice to have the monetary oppression keep us apart.

The radio show also ran into disarray about 2 or 3 weeks back due to my stupidity and being absolutely wasted on-air, on the first night we were working with the stations new soundboard. It led to the show going 'on probation,' and a mutual decision between the 3 of us to simply take a 3-week break and hash out a brand new idea for the shows general and specific premise.. which we have yet to do, and our 3 week timeframe is coming to an imminent close. 

However; it was nice that such a catastrophe just so happened to be a brighter opportunity in disguise. 

Powell River still has a different hue than it used to between this new and rather intense nature of work I'm in, as well as 95% of my old high-school friends disappearing from the face of my world to explore other parts of theirs. I miss all of them in some way, shape, or form and feel a consequent melancholy from time to time as a result.. but what really stirs a passion and melancholy in me is the thought that, not only was I supposed to be going with them.. I really, really wish I had. However, for the first time in my life, practicality trumped confused passion and I decided to stay back for the jobs experience and saving potential. 

I am absolutely committed to leaving come next September, though. 

Anyways, that's what I've been up to as of late. 

I love you blue planet, have a great week! 

The Selfish Pursuit of Power

exists within the ambition and passionate pursuit of political change.

If you've got power, it's likely you wanted that power, and as such, took it.

The spectacle of swallowing fire on a busy intersection to distract the crowd of spectators from having to witness the frozen evening sweat on the beard of a Midwestern hobo that is the current American election has a large chunk of the worlds population- including myself- on its toes, waiting for the naive doctors diagnoses- is the cancer of Republican market economics terminal? Or can the equally lethal but well-intentioned chemo therapy of Barack Obama really kill enough cells to probabilistically give America (and, consequently, the world) a chance to survive?

It's likely that, should Mitt Romney gain office, the cancer will be left unchecked to fester in itself and spread to other parts of the global body even more so than it already has. However, it would be ridiculous to assume that another 4-years of medical blunders in an attempt to bring the sickness under control would do much for the American body part, which fancy's itself the brain of the world, but is more likely the hungry stomach of a nihilist surrendered to the post-modern world- "fuck off, I'll eat these shitty chips and smoke this cigarette if I want to. It's not like it matters; we all end up stiff and hard in the cold, careless soil anyways."

All the individuals and activists of genuine sympathy and hope turned away from America in disgust and disgruntled submission years ago.
"He's just a fucking asshole, and until he figures that out, there's nothing anyone else can do for him."

The Presidential debates, although interesting in a context synonymous to the thrills one shakes from sports, are dangerous ramblings in themselves as each contestant simply spits their rhetoric on the dying middle-class, completely ignores the lower, and neglects to mention what's really important* in preference to telling the junkies that their next high is safe and sound, despite the fact that it's the addictive substances that caused the cancer in the first place: coal, oil, gas, and money. You won't cure a hangover by drinking more alcohol. You'll just keep waking up with a headache wondering what the fuck happened last night.

It seems the nicotine patch of ethanol is really doing little to control the craving.

Many of the problems of America- and yes, hence, the world- seem self-manufactured for the sake of maintaining the problem and sustaining the melodrama. In the case of competence, the conspiracy theorists may be right about the whole Illuminati-Rothschild banker stuff; although things are rarely what they seem on either extreme of the spectrum. It's only by looking between both sides of the story that the truth can even begin to show its faded silhouette through the fog machine you refuse to get off your couch to turn off.
In the case of incompetence, the self-manufactured melodrama may simply be the psychosis of a dying narcissist unwilling to accept his mortality.

However, in the case of the looming election, Noam Chomsky may be right: "The Republican organization today is extremely dangerous, not just to this country, but to the world. It’s worth expending some effort to prevent their rise to power, without sowing illusions about the Democratic alternatives."

But in the case of America, as was stated before, "He's just a fucking asshole, and until he figures that out, there's nothing anyone else can do for him." 

*climate change, Occupy Wall Street, common sense in the fact that devices used to brutally maim and murder should not be in the hands of citizens, let alone ones trained and paid for by the state itself to march into someone else's house and rob them blind right after a session of brutal rape and murder of men, women, and children; and in fact, if a semblance of sanity existed within America (which seems unlikely now, as the tumor has done so much damage to the brain that the country's mental faculties have been irreversibly destroyed to the point of schizophrenia**) everyone would have just laughed at their silly fellow citizens attempts to dress-up and pretend they're somehow the king of the castle.

**SYMPTOMS AND SIGNS OF SCHIZOPHRENIA:
-Hallucinations ("Barack Obama is a true change for America," "If Mitt Romney gains office, he's going to make everything better," "I visited outer space the other day. What the fuck are they talking about, borders don't exist? I saw the borders true and clear. America shone like Jesus ascending to heaven!")
-Hearing voices ("In God we trust," "don't worry, you're doing the right thing stepping into this countries affairs and murdering thousands," "Jesus spoke to me the other day," "We are a nation of God!")
-Delusions, often bizarre ("I truly believe in the book of Mormon," "America is the greatest country on Earth because God is on our side," "This is an American century!") or persecutory in nature ("Islam and the Arab world are really out to get us," "Russia is out to get us," "Every attack on America is a terrorist attack," "Israel is our best friend because they know what it's like to be bullied by their parents and thus take out their anger and fear on the poor helpless kid across the street to the point that he practically gives up on life and commits suicide alone in his bedroom after everybody decided to do no more than politely tell the bully to stop being disrespectful. We get you, Israel, Britain was a dick to us too, giving us all that land she took from the neighbors , free food, free tea, free housing.. as soon as we turned 19, Britain said, "I'm sorry, but you're going to have to start paying room and board," and we were all like, "oh, fuck you bitch," so we yelled at her, kicked her in the face and out of the house, and didn't return her calls for 150 years.")
-Disorganized thinking and speech ("When America votes, America always votes for peace. That's why they're going to vote for me, Mitt Romney. Over the course of my term in office, I'm going to add $461 billion to the military's budget so they can afford more weapons and machines of murder. So remember, America: a vote for Mitt Romney is a vote for peace," "On my first month in office I, Barack Obama, will shut down Guantanamo Bay," "Mr. Obama, we just need you to sign here to officially enact the NDAA.")
-There is often an observable pattern of emotional difficulty, such as a lack of responsiveness ("Neither candidate has mentioned  'Occupy' even once. Are they avoiding the question? Or is the entire political structure of this country just mentally retarded?" "We all need to band together and do something about climate change. Is everyone in?.. America? Hello? Hey.. America? I'm talking to you, you do know it's common social convention to give at least some sort of response.")
-Outbursts of seemingly irrational violence, both verbal and physical in nature (Iraq, Afghanistan, Libya... the list goes on and on and on, worthy of a post in itself)

Everybody just bustles around in their own little private bubble of a world, believing that, because they're living and acting what they feel that others are not and cannot, there must be an undeniable, objective separation between all lives.. but if you watch a man climb aboard a bus.. a holy organic creature of this grand all and nothing.. his eyes darting to each passenger lain out in front of him like an alien chess game outside of his perceived standpoint of a separated bubble existence.. you think him naive and strange for subconsciously seeming to neglect the unity of each and every action; his, human, bird, dust, atom, or otherwise.

You were not born alone; ask your mother.
You will not die alone; ask the everything and everyone you are.
Any feeling to the contrary is a strange and naive illusion.

Unity is all there ever can be.

Where does this painful loneliness come from?
There are people around me.

Interpretive.

I feel like I'm floating through a void
between one life and another
my old
and my new
this is somewhere in between
somewhere holy but between
somewhere melancholy only insofar as I stab myself in the gut with lost expectation

between post-graduate flip flop
and the white-knuckle college grind

working a job I love, but feel to young for
like I need to be a wandering Bodhisattva or, perhaps

nothing at all.

this town is now painfully familiar
houses of old friends
oldest friends
empty now

they've moved on and up
I've moved up
not on.

Fuck I miss something
me, you, old, new.

there is beauty, yes
but the pressure in my skull
is a part of the circle which strangulates my lovely bloodflow

is it ego that is killing me?

I seek attention
validation

I really truly do
no lies need be uttered on the matter any longer because who doesn't seek love?
those who have the love to function act callous of it, rarely aware of its precious dose
lucky them.

I have that love too
no fans anymore
at least
it doesnt feel like it

but I have love

Friends
family
co-workers
and a future full of "HAHAHA's" and "I really, truly do love you's."

this is just another void

and fuck these voids

there have been too many in my life
too early.

probably my fault
aw well.

no use crying over spilled milk
just grab a wet cloth
wipe it up
and buy a new jug.

so what if I'm short a few dollars.

The Game Plan for Curing my Anxiety that I Actually Have to Follow

As most (if not all) of the readers of my blog would know by now.. I suffer from serious anxiety.
Although I have never 'officially' been diagnosed with Generalized Anxiety Disorder (GAD), I have never really had a very comprehensive evaluation of my mental state ever done beyond what I've personally noted fits the bill (which may very well be part of the problem).

The fact that I haven't yet been officially diagnosed is probably due to the fact that it has only developed recently, about 4 months after graduating in June 2011. If I remember correctly.. it will soon have been exactly a year since I first noted symptoms of a serious form of anxiety while I was living in the Vancouver suburb known as Port Coquitlam (working at a McDonald's occasionally doing night-shifts, may I add).

In complete cahoots with the rise of my anxiety was the onset of my tinnitus. Undoubtedly, each fed the other in a strange and vicious circle (and still happen to do so to this day, albeit not quite on the same level). However, in the past 3 or so months alone, my anxiety has reached what (I hope) is its absolute zenith with the constant recurrence of panic attacks and, even today, an inner monologue asking if that strange head twitch I often indulge in may potentially lead to a sudden epileptic seizure (which I'm logically 99% sure it won't, yet still irrationally stuck in the physiological state that accompanies the groundless delusion that it will).

Mostly, my anxiety is a fear of going crazy in some way, shape, or form, and often relates to some strange phobia I now have regarding the nature of reality in which, at the complete and utter pique of a panic attack, I begin to imagine I may start hallucinating, or suddenly slip the matrix and end up walking underneath a street with backwards colors and alien shapes and forms (yes, this is actually what it's like, and thankfully putting it down in writing makes me realize how absurd and silly it really is). I suppose it stems from a fear of being absolutely alone in my own manufactured mental hell (I'm shaking a little even as I write this), and I believe that probably stems from my over-reading of philosophies regarding the nature of reality and further 'mind-probing' to the edges of conscious experience (ex: Timothy Leary, Terrence McKenna).

This past July, at Diversity Festival on Texada Island, I did try LSD for the first time in my life and have, at times, wondered if that may have contributed to the exacerbation of my anxiety.. yet it's in no way induced a psychotic state in me; but may have, perhaps, induced my fear of psychosis. However, I am heftily unsure, and although the acid trip was both good and bad, in its overall context, it was absolutely beautiful and amazing; most certainly one of the most profound experiences of my life.

As to whether or not I'll ever do it again remains to be seen (although probably not, I can see myself trying MDMA again). Certainly not in the mind state I've found myself in lately.

My job working in palliative care, in the case of anxiety, is both a gift and a curse.
Working in order to help the less fortunate certainly eases the ill feelings, but feeling a deep, bonded compassion towards clients who are on the last legs of their journey's (and not really enjoying it anymore due to zero mobility, dementia, Alzheimer's disease, bed sores, dysphagia etc etc etc) can occasionally leave me with an after-burn feeling once I finish (or, on occasion, during) my shift in which I imagine myself in the same position, and begin to panic at the idea that, not only is it a worldly possibility.. but it's actually happening to this person, who is just as real as me, right now.
This is usually when I pray that euthanasia is legal by the time I'm old enough to become so debilitated.

Anyways.. I've had somewhat of a 'game plan' floating around in my head as to how to cope with and eventually overcome my anxiety without the use of pharmaceutical drugs.

First of all; I am not one to simply give up everything within my lifestyle right off the bat (seeing as I've held it all fine, even if only up to this point). This applies to coffee.
Although I do tend to take a break during periods of deep and lasting anxiety (between a weekend and a month long), I always, always return to it, and I find that I am discovering, through trial and error, the right compromisable amount; one cup a day, when I first wake up, makes me feel amazing and mentally well-balanced for the rest of the day (usually), and never involves any sort of caffeine crash. Anything above this amount, however, usually leads to, in the best case scenario: an underlying feeling of squeamish discontent, and, in the worst case scenario: an hour long and recurring solipsistic derealization in which it feels like any moment I may begin to hallucinate, hear voices, or simply drop dead out of nowhere (none of which ever happens, just to tie that loose end up for the readers sake).

A much less belligerent reaction occurs when I drink more than 5 or 6 cups of caffeinated tea in a day. No matter how much I may consume, it's never ever as dramatic as coffee, and only ever leads to a squeamish discontent (if anything). Regardless of this.. I'd like to start drinking more herbal teas, especially after 3 pm in the afternoon.

Alongside all of this, I have been somewhat concerned (in the past month or so) about my overall sugar intake, and have discovered that refined sugars.. similar to caffeine.. lead to anxiety. As such.. I'd like to start cutting down dramatically on my refined sugar intake, perhaps having my daily dose with my morning coffee, and that's it. If possible.. I'd like to start buying unrefined cane sugar to use in coffee (as well as in general), and a steady supply of natural honey to use in my tea.

I would also like to stop my dead-end procrastination on two absolute essentials in this matter: constant mixed exercise, and mindfulness meditation; both absolutely key aspects to the alleviation of anxiety which I leave as a last desperate course of action.
As well as constant exercise and meditation, I would also like to begin doing yoga on a serious basis.

I also need to start reinforcing my somewhat lost aura of overall positivity to life. How I lost it was probably only due to the constant seas of change that swept upon my shores following high-school.
High-school me.. which I feel I never truly lost.. was a super chill dude who took everything in life as it came. I was well-respected, and partook in a hedonistic exploration into all forms of knowledge and learning.

Which leads me to my last point!
In the same way that I don't plan on ever entirely giving up coffee.. worst case scenario, I'll stick to strictly decaf.. I also don't plan on ceasing my philosophical inquiries into life. Perhaps I do indeed over-indulge.. in the same way I once drank upwards of 6 to 8 coffees a day.. but it's an essential part to who I am and is, in my mind, an essential part to being a full-fledged human being. Perhaps I should also stop taking plenty of it at face-value, and remember that the physical reality doesn't change, even if my idea of it does.

And it could once again be a blessing if it's properly balanced by the alternative to mind-chatter, which is mindful meditation.

I would add 'have more sex' to this game plan.. and should I come across a relationship in my last year here in Powell River it will most certainly be added, alongside a deeper sense of companionship and commitment with and to someone.. but I'm feeling pretty void of dating options in this town at this point, and am bracing myself for a year void of romance (although, only time will really tell for sure, and I won't write off all possibilities). I just don't feel like I should seek one out in a general sense, and should simply leave it to happen should it happen, and realize I'll be fine should it not.

However.. one of the reasons I'm so angsted not to be going to Victoria this September is the fact that I will have no change for a renewal in any sense until next year; much less a romantic renewal in the small town I went to high-school in.

Once again though, we'll see.

And the game plan will be set in motion as is possible.
Peace out, blue planet; thanks for listening.

Just a Good Ol' Quick Update (Like Back in the Days of Yore)

So, yes yes yes, it's been a very long time blogspot! At least in abridging what has happened in my life between this September and last June; last you all heard, I was living out north of town, half way between Powell River and the small community of Lund, in complete lack of internet, cable, or any other form of wider connection save for my iPhone.

I was also working out at Nancy's Bakery, having started as a counter-person and somehow ended up as a dishwasher with a little less pay (most certainly demotion, regardless of what my boss at the time may have preferred to call it). Although it did lead to a slow and growing resentment, similar to that which I developed for A&W and McDonald's, it wasn't all that bad outside of my sociopolitical mindset, spending hours upon hours upon hours listening to Terrence McKenna, Noam Chomsky, Slavoj Zizek, Alan Watts, and Graham Hancock lectures on my iPod. At one point, I somewhat considered it like going to school and doing dishes.

Due to my growing resentment, however, and the spotty hours I had encountered in June which had made it hard for me to pay July's rent until 2 weeks into the month, I convened with my roommate and realized he was having the same line of thought as I was; we couldn't afford to stay in Lund paying $850 a month for a cabin infested with ear-wigs and no effective bathroom door, aside from one cut from a few pieces of cedar which in itself barely assisted in keeping those doing their business properly concealed.
What ended up keeping washroom-goers in privacy was the unspoken knowledge of simply not looking at, or even in the general direction of the door during occupancy and passing.

So, at the beginning of July, we gave our 1-months notice and I began simply crashing at my moms place a majority of the month while searching for a new job in town. By the end of that month, the amount that I had paid as compared to the amount of time I had spent out at the cabin came out to my paying somewhere around $250 a night (if I had done the math correctly at the time).

On the job front, I was offered a chance to enter palliative care through a friend of mines mom. With the offer of $17 an hour and truly rewarding work as opposed to the futile treadmill labor of the food industry, I was eager to give it a try; yet also intimidated by the scope of the work presented.

So, after gathering all the certificates I already had and trying for some new ones I needed to start working, I spent 2 weeks of August in sort of a mid-job mid-move twilight zone of sparse beginners work and a lot of free time. During this two-week lull, I spent a full week of straight writing and little to no socializing putting my political/ spiritual/ lifestylist hybrid philosophy into words with 'Anarcho-Tantric Hedonism: A Treatise.'  
It remains one of my most prominent works in my mind (at 31 pages), and in fact seemed to sap me of any surplus writing ambition and energy for the next month or so.

At the end of the two-week lull, work picked up more than I had ever expected it to, and for about two or three weeks I was working upwards of 45 to 50 hours really learning the ropes and really loving the work, as challenging as it could most certainly be at times.
After realizing somewhere along the line that this job was too much of an opportunity to pass-up with only a month or so of working, I (somewhat dismally) cancelled my original plan of moving to Victoria come September with 3 friends of mine, and instead, for the first time in my life, decided to sit on a job for its practical benefits in the long-run.

At the very beginning of September, after a week on/ week off of night-shift, I departed to Vancouver to meet up with a friend of mine and begin 9 days of adventure bouncing back and forth along the coast.

This was when things began to become strange for me. The friend I had met up with Downtown, throughout the duration of the trip, was giving off almost pure negative vibes and we began to clash on some strange subconscious level that I really didn't wish to enter, yet something about him was conjuring it up from deep inside of me.
It seemed like every second or third step he had something to complain about, something to worry about, something to critique; and it was too much for me.
After two days in the city, I followed him back to his home across the Georgia Strait in Nanaimo, where I was planning to stay for 2 or 3 days before rendezvousing with a couple friends of mine and heading back to Vancouver for a concert we had all planned to go see.

However, things began truly coming to a flaming head bunt with this friend of mine during my stay with him. On a few occasions, he exploded into fits of completely irrational rage which truly and genuinely terrified me and began sending me on a further downward spiral that would last for a good part of the trip and would recur now and again due to small misfortune before my return home on the 9th (when I was originally planning on returning on the 12th).
My anxiety began to flare up like it had never done before, and panic attacks became an almost normal occurrence for the next week or so.

So, after two nights of what felt like a true pummeling of my very soul, I realized I couldn't stay with him even one more night. I planned on numerous different escapes; some as benign as simply paying for a night at a hostel downtown, some as desperate and sleeping in quiet parks where I wouldn't be disturbed. Some, even, tilted in the direction of redeeming myself through some form of romantic adventure and making my way to one of the three gulf islands in the Nanaimo harbor; Gabriola, Newcastle, or Protection.

After my friend left for his first day of classes at the local university-college, I quickly grabbed all of my belongings and darted out of the apartment. I walked downtown, and followed signs which lead me to the ferry terminals to each respective island. After eeny-meeny-miney-mowing between two of them, I decided on a day-trip to Protection Island, the smallest of the three.

As I was on the small ferry heading to the island, a best friend of mine whom I was originally going to rendezvous with the following day told me that he would be in Nanaimo a day earlier than expected, and said I could stay at his dads place while he slept at his girlfriends parents house in another part of town. This was good news, as it would save me money on a hostel, save me the risks of bad weather and potentially bad people sleeping outside, and give me a chance to reconcile the dismal situation inside my head by being around people who truly loved me.

So, I spent the day being completely enchanted by Protection Island's quirky and quaint ways, following small dirt-roads with the name of 'Pirates Lane' and standing upon great complexes of smooth rocks with the wind billowing through my shirt, looking out across the Georgia Strait towards Horseshoe Bay, Vancouver, and the endless stream of mysterious mountain-scape surrounding. With a sense of childhood nostalgia I watched the large white pearl of the Nanaimo ferry crossing my path in the distance, and for some reason it reminded me of travelling with my father.

Using my iPhone, and so deeply taken by Protection Island, I wrote the following poem:

The salted air elates a feeling of real real. 

And by real real, I mean the realist real there is. 

Child like intuition and loss in present ecstasy

Underlying a layered and angsted mind. 

I loved a psychopath as a best friend

But finally His confusion clawed at my chakras with convoluted and displaced passion 

But on Protection Island 

I feel

Protected. 

Whether the next sunrise meets me through the dingy drapes of a budget hostel, awash in a strange and urban melancholy wrapped warmly on all sides

Or on a windy beach with the blue flow of sparkled wash and distant cloud capped peaks and Dover-beacon ferries which remind me of novelty globes and my father

The buzz of early morning travel as a child 

I will be fine. 

To lighten my load I hid The Dhamapada and St. Francis of Assisi* in the hopes and faith that they would be left in peace blanketed in underbrush 

Being peacefully caressed by ocean wind and the beautifully dilapidated wood-house 

The protectors warm grin of welcome. 

I want to feel okay again

And I feel like okay is finally waking up from her peaceful slumber 

Returning from vacation to remind and comfort my unassured and pummeled mind

Like a lover returning from a followed dream 

A long, warm embrace which says it all

No words for I love you 

Just a feeling and oneness as old as the world itself.

*referring to the bag of used books I hauled along with me, and decided I didn't wish to drag along as I explored the island, thus hiding them in an underbrush near the harbor I'd later be returning to in order to catch the ferry back.

Finally, after a couple more hours, I returned to the harbor, gathered my belongings, had a bite to eat and a quick drink at the one and only bar on the island, and caught the next small ferry back to Nanaimo.

Once in Nanaimo, I got a hold of my friend and discovered he was still on his way but not quite there yet. So, for a little while, I walked around downtown aimlessly until I decided to take a seat at a bench and read some of Jack Kerouac's "The Scripture of the Diamond Eternity." It cheered me up a little, so I decided to do more walking, following the city train-tracks to the 7/11 where we planned to meet. 

So speeding up a little, I met with him and his girlfriend, we hung out for a little while, I did my best to explain what had happened between me and that other friend of mine as well as explain the profound time I'd had on Protection Island only hours before, went back to his dad's place, met both his dad, brother, and the exchange student living with them, and quickly fell asleep until the next morning.

The next day was one of relaxation. My friend introduced me to the most powerful and incredible romance movie I have ever seen titled 'Before Sunrise,' which, in my mind-state at the time, left me feeling an intense beautiful melancholy for the next 4 or 5 hours, and somewhat hungry for as rich of an experience with a woman.

That same night was one of the craziest and strangest of my life; a group of us got drunk and romped around Nanaimo equipped with spray-paint and paint-pens, writing what we felt where we felt like it. 
One of the most brazen (and, frankly, stupid) things I did was pass what I judged to be a very 'bourgeois' looking hair salon, flip on a hood, and write, in a downwards step upon the front door, the words:

"EX

PEN

SIVE" 

The next day, sober once more, I began to feel regret over that particular vandalism due to having done no homework on the place in question. I imagined, with a pang of guilt and a fit of laughter, the manager of the place coming to work in the morning and saying, 'What.. what the fuck! We charge $5.95 per cut!"

Although I do doubt to this day that it could have been so cheap; it just seems unfair to declare war on something without precedent. But mistakes are mistakes, and that was, quite honestly, a pretty good one to make.

That same night, in a drunken haze of further stupidity, a friend of mine had decided, as a joke, to write my full name in paint-pen on the sidewalk in front of another friend of ours house. I then proceeded to add our rapper names to the mix just below.

It wasn't until our sober awakening in the morning that we both began to panic, realizing that all of the vandalism that night could be traced back to us if they found this particular writing on this particular sidewalk. As such, hiding spray paint in a bag with a sweater I had found on the ground the night before as well, we quested to find the sidewalk vandalism and reconcile our wrong in broad daylight.

After a couple hours of searching, we finally found the mark of our stupidity, and were relieved to discover that it didn't seem at all as obvious or pointed in daylight as we had imagined it would. Regardless, we awkwardly keeled over and took turns covering as much as we could in an awkward wash of red. Needless to say we really did ruin the sidewalk, but it was better than spending a night in jail. 

The next day, we finally set-off to Vancouver for the concert. It was a long, slow day of tame adventure and a search for a place to sleep. We ended up deciding on the Cambie Hotel in the downtown east-side, where at one point we ended up getting mugged for a dollar. I felt as if I was picking up on each and every negative vibe with increased intensity due to my experience earlier in the week with the old friend of mine. I began to become further fatigued, anxious, and depressed.

It all came to a true head that night when I was denied entry to the concert on the grounds that my drivers licence had expired during the previous November. After a few minutes of arguing and debate and, finally (being drunk) my flipping the bird to both of the bouncers, I walked off and explored Granville intent on making my night just as worth it and, perhaps, meeting someone special. I felt like I was in the right mind-set to flirt or do something outrageous and forward. 

At one point, I remember, I was passing an attractive young woman who looked about my age who was perched on the street side with her dog, drawing passer-by's in her sketch-book. I stopped to chat with her for a moment, and eventually asked her if I could sit and join her for a little while. 

She plainly rejected me with a, 'no, I'd prefer if you didn't,' and forcing a smile I nodded and said, 'alright, that's fair enough.' The whole night, it felt like I was staving off rock-bottom with one weary arm which was just about ready to give up the fight.

Near the Granville Skytrain station, I came upon a beat-boxing busker equipped with a loop pedal and a guitar. After watching him for about 20 minutes, he took a break, and I inquired as to if I could rap with him when he started up again. He said we could definitely work something out and, after running into his girlfriend  for a 10 minute chat, returned to the 'stage' and performed a song before motioning me up to join him.

Not really in the mood for effective freestyling, I went off lyrics I had already written (confident that nobody who had gathered around knew they were pre-written). Half way through, however, I forgot a part of the lyrics and compensated with freestyle which, in my mind, seemed a bit forced and awkward. 

Once I was done, he congratulated me with a look of cool-guy apathy, and proceeded to freestyle himself (in my mind it seemed as if he was trying to one-up me, or remind everyone there who the true artist was. Perhaps it was simply for fun and I was only interpreting it the way I did due to the head-space of strange insecurity I was in, or perhaps he truly was trying to assert his artistic dominance over me. Either way, I figured, it didn't really matter). 

As I left the area of performance, I felt the drunkenness beginning to wear off and decided I needed to get drunker. So, I pulled up the directions to our hotel on my iPhone and made my way back. The walk was a haze of delirious ambition and the underlying realization that I'd just have to put up with the true ordeal I was in for the time being.   

Finally, I got to the hotel, and just as I was entering our room I began chatting with a couple of young people around my age (early 20's) who were both from far-flung reaches of the globe; a young man from Brazil, and a young woman from Germany. We chatted for what was probably 45 minutes about our lives and what brought us to Vancouver, and I told them a little about my less-than-ideal night, and their presence cheered me up a little. After 45 minutes of conversation I finally made my way into the room and immediately began taking swigs of  Jose Cuervo Gold (my friend described it as tasting like Christmas, and I agreed).

However, one of what should seem like the darkest experiences of my life (yet seemed more like a brighter realization than anything, at least at the time), occurred when, during a drunken haze, I leaned a little ways out of the window (our room was on the fifth floor) and gazed downwards at the people below, looking across to the Downtown Eastside Woman's Center and then down at the sidewalk and thinking; I could totally jump out of this window right now and check out of this experience. I could even feel a slight ecstatic push in my legs telling me it was possible if I so chose. 

This was quickly followed by laughter as a great weight felt as if it unburdened itself from inside of me. It reminded me that life is a game and I had to return to playing it, instead of taking it so Goddamn seriously. I'm still working on this aspect of things, but I have a feeling the realization will explode inside my head and create an incredible me in due time; in a sense, it will resurrect a part of me that I lost upon graduation from high school, but in a newer, more powerful and self-assured form. 

After a little while I climbed into bed, and didn't really sleep but rested for an hour or so before my friends returned to the hotel. They woke me up and told me the concert was alright, but not amazing, and that they had given my ticket to a punk-rock anarchist girl they had met on the street. I didn't really care, but I was happy I had paid for someones enjoyment so the experience hadn't been wasted. They then got me to get up and get dressed so we could go check out a strip-club downtown. We walked and walked and walked until we got there and decided as soon as we entered the club that we were catching a cab back. 

The first thing I noticed was a realization I'd had along time ago; just being in the strip club with real people and real naked women was a lot better than porn, in the same way that sex had a lot more going for it than watching somebody else dramatize a cliche fuck. I didn't get paid till the next morning so I had no money on me and couldn't afford a lap-dance or even a drink; my friend paid my cover charge with the promise that he'd get paid back the next day. I quickly realized I wished I wasn't so impulsive with money. I'd spent $200 on books at that point in the trip, and was going to spend another $200 before the trip was over.

A woman came up and offered, quite flirtatiously, both of my friends a lap dance (if they could afford it). Already in an insecure mindset, I felt personally hurt when she asked me last as a sort of side note (although it's likely she simply realized none of us were going to pay her as soon as my friends had regretfully declined). 

We eventually left the night-club after one last dancer, and as we were walking around the thought of all of my interpretive reasons to be insecure which had compiled throughout the day exploded into a sunk ship of over-thought despair. I told my friends, as tears ran down my face, that I would meet them at the hotel later on, and walked off to go sob in a park for awhile before slowly making my way back. 

When I made it back, they had made it there first and were relaxing and goofing off, it being around 4 in the morning. I hung out with them for a little bit as they asked how I was, and then I simply crawled back into bed in a fit of drunken self-pity and fell asleep.

I was delighted in the morning to check my bank balance and find it at $856, although it certainly didn't reconcile all the drama that had occurred the night before. I was quickly beginning to realize how aimless I was in life, and how important it actually was for me to have some solid ground to stand on, or otherwise risk sinking into where I was right now on more of a regular basis. Although poetic melancholy is nice from time to time, I don't think I could frame my life within it. Like any other average person, I was looking for a balance between adventure, spontaneity  happiness, and security. Unlike one of my best friends, I felt like I never wished to fully politicize my life. 

So, we checked out of the hotel, grabbed some breakfast, did a little more book-shopping, and hopped on a bus to Tsawwassen to catch the next ferry to Victoria. We were on the move once again.

We arrived in Victoria in the early evening, and already my mood was beginning to lift as the honestly friendlier vibes of the city began to permeate me with a feeling of welcome warmth. The long bus-ride from Swartz Bay to Downtown was a beautiful interlude and the Saanich farmland was a nice touch. I suddenly remembered, with a tinge of excitement, why we had come to Victoria: for the Anarchist Bookfair that started the next morning at 11 AM sharp. 

We spent the rest of the evening doing a bit of exploring before a friend of a friend and his girlfriend (sorry for the confusing terminology, gotta keep it confidential) picked us up and drove us to his place where we'd be staying the night (but would sadly be getting kicked out at 8 AM because he was heading to Nanaimo and didn't want to leave us there with the landlord in town). 

However, the whole night, my anxiety wheeled right back in full-force and I managed to stave it off with more alcohol. We later went downtown, where I was barred from entering yet another club due to my expired drivers license and, after asking to talk to the manager of the place, ended up getting put in a head-lock by a bouncer and tossed away from the line-up despite the friend of a friends girlfriend (haha, seriously, sorry) touchingly standing up for me in my defense as I walked away in frustration and further depression to slink onto the street corner and stare at the ground, overwhelmed by a feeling of angry futility at life.

I was saved from sinking further into my own head as my friends friend and his girlfriend both came out to embrace me and talk me through my despair. She lay herself on my shoulder and stroked my arm while he put an arm around me and held my hand to get me out of it. It was a beautiful reminder and reconciliation, and for the sake of not wishing to further ruin anyone's night with what I felt to be my pointless drama, I charged upwards and we all made our way to a gay club across the street.

Within 10 minutes of entrance, I had 3 men flirting with me and decided to discover, once and for all, whether or not I was gay (although I've always been pretty sure I'm not, but have assumed I am a ratio bi; either way I let loose with a sense of reckless 'what-the-fuck-is-the-harm-in-it' abandon).

That night, I ended up making out with three guys around my age, with a couple hoping to take me home. I agreed with much reservation, and before they had a chance to lead me back to their apartment I ran outside to meet my group of friends and said, "Guys, I don't think I'm gay. There are two guys in there that think they're taking me home but I honestly don't want to go so we should probably just leave."

And that we did.

So we caught a cab back to that friend of a friend of mines house and crashed on the couch until we were softly awoken at around 8:30 in the morning.

I woke up feeling light and well (that's the kind of hangover I usually get), but after about 3 hours, I began to descend further into anxiety and recurring panic attacks framed by derealization and a feeling similar to coming up on acid (which is terrifying when you consider you're not on a drug). 

Even the Anarchist Bookfair, which had been a main hall-mark of the trip, was little fun for me. It was interesting at arms length, but after about 3 hours of up-and-down panic, I decided I needed to go home the next day and simply bought a plethora of books like a pirate hoarding loot and made my getaway. 

Despite all of this, a recently re-befriended ex of mine wanted to see me before I left, and was a little upset to know I was going home a couple days early. 

We ended up hanging out that evening, and not only did she understand where I was coming from; she tore the answers to all of my problems from the bottom of my soul with a casual remark and made me realize what I wanted all along. 

I wanted to move to Victoria; I wanted to leave Powell River which was becoming stale to me after a year of restless wait; I wanted to go back to school because part of why I kept becoming anxious and depressed was because I was completely stagnating without intellectual stimulation beyond the lonely act of absorbing knowledge through books and chatting with a couple select friends; and I knew that I knew what I wanted to do and the life of poetic insecurity, no matter how much I may have idealized it as a result of Jack Kerouac's On the Road and The Dharma Bums, was not a life I was, at least as of yet, ready to live. If ever I was going to pull of something so brazen and incredible, I would need something to stand on first. And, perhaps I was never meant to live a life of such homeless wandering. That didn't mean I wasn't meant to live a life of wandering; in fact, I knew (and still know) somewhere deep inside of me that whatever I end up doing as a career in life will have to include adventure and intellectual stimulation otherwise I will never stick with it without some form of depressive resignation in a jaded form of adulthood (which I knew I would never let occur). 

So, I had the goal: school for the sake of school in a beautiful new city brimming with beautiful new people and beautiful new experiences, with the goal of eventually becoming an investigative journalist for reasons too numerous to list, and for its very own sake as opposed to working towards retirement and a seat-belt ending, although I also figured I want to grow old with a life partner and have 2 to 4 kids (having kids, I've realized in the last few months, is a great big beautiful goal for me and, although I'm in no rush to get there, I can't wait for it to happen).

So, after that beautiful encounter between myself, my re-befriended ex, and my future, I returned to the hostel we were staying at despite a couple more panic attacks along the way and slept till the morning, when I walked to the Greyhound bus depot and bought my ticket for later that day.

I was home by the same evening, and damn glad to be back in my own bed. I already began to feel much better, and simply spent the next couple of days sleeping, relaxing, and recuperating. 

I eventually got back to work, which made me feel a lot better as well.

It wasn't until the 3 friends I had originally been planning to move to the city with went down and found a place, returned and began packing, that I became depressed again at the remembrance that I could have been going with them if I hadn't been so transient and unsure in my affairs, and hadn't realized what I had wanted so late. Although I knew it was probably for the best with the job I had, and it wasn't as bad as I was making it out to seem because I still had plenty of friends in town as well as my radio show every Friday night, which was about to return to its former 'glory' with our added effort and co-ordination.

So, I still oscillate back and forth between depression, alrightness, and happiness; and I'm beginning to figure that's just the way it's gonna be for the next year until I finally get my show on the road with more money and experience to back me up.

My plan for this next year in Powell River is to partake in more artistic endeavors (perhaps actually write a full novel?), improve the radio show, take a class or two at the local Vancouver Island University come January, and work plenty whilst hopefully taking a few short trips here and there to visit friends in the city or explore parts of the area I've never taken the liberty to visit before. 

And then in March, I'm off to England for 3 weeks with my dad, step-mom, and brother; and I expect it to be an absolutely incredible experience, but it is still quite a long ways off so for now I'll just do all of the above and plenty of reading.

This has been probably one of the longest and most intricately detailed posts I have ever written.