The Prodigal Son Returns

What would it be like if it took ten years to lay eyes on your homeland again? What thoughts would go through your head as you came closer and closer? That only hours away, and you would walk upon the soil you were born on...and returning to the oldest rock in the world.

I know what it means to walk along the sands of the most western part of Canada, just off the Pacific Rim, where our world ends...and the ocean continues on. In less than 12 hours, I will be boarding a ferry to return home again, and in less than 24 hours, I will be back where it all started for me. I will be back in Newfoundland, and I could not think of a better scenario to finish a book on my life history, in a land older than time.

So now, as the afternoon sun rises in the sky above, I finish what little packing remains, sit back, and prepare to leave. Here are my thoughts on the upcoming summer, where I hope it will lead, and what I know I will finish. Here you go, and may you enjoy.

To taste the salt of the air again...that is what I want. To feel the rain off the coast of Newfoundland landing on my face, soaking my skin, and cleansing my soul. To climb heights of grandeur, and spend nights in adventure and candle light vigils. To know I am home again, and know that it is due time.

To learn the history of my homeland, and where we all really came from; if not those answers, well at least some sort of beginning. To touch the oldest rock in the world, and to know my core is solid because what I am made of is where I am from. To see sights the world holds and protects, and to get paid to write while I write and write...and write.

To spend days in solitude and once again, learn who I am while strengthening who I will become...to know thyself is the ambition; to love thyself the key. I only wish I could take you all with me, take you by the hand as I see the glory I know I will see. I only wish for this and more, yet I know more is to come my way not so very far away.

The rest there is to say, there is not the time to write. I'm leaving to greet the twilight in the dawn, sailing over the seas, and watching the world awake. When we next meet again, you will see what I have learned and what you will see as truth...it is in us all but now we have to fight for what we want. Take what is yours but leave what you do not need, for then there is plenty for us all. Until we meet again, people, until we meet again.

"History has to move in a certain direction, even if it has to be pushed that way by neurotics."

- Orson Welles

Blue skies breaking through the cloud of Winter.

I am on the eve of my last exam for the semester, and coming to the end of my second year in university. Tomorrow does not loom large for me in the sense of scrambling to study because you either know it or you don't...hold on, let me check my papers to see if that is correct. Dang. Dang dang dang. Exams. Dang.

To tell the truth, I am not sure what I feel more: Pure unfettered joy that the madness has ended, or sadness because I have to wait another four months to pay for a return ticket for the madness all over again.

I love being a university student, I love all the challenges, and I love hanging around with smart people. I really love being around people with something to say because my mouth slowly closes, my ears perk up in attention, and I will go silent. It is then that you know I am listening and absorbing my surroundings. It is all in the learning people, it is all in the learning. The following would be what I have learned since I came to university. Here you go, and may you enjoy.

I learned that sometimes it is okay to wish for the fairy tale ending, but don't necessarily expect it to be an ending you always imagined. I came to see that sometimes friendship can seem as solid as wrought iron when instead it turns out to be soft pliable putty. I learned to brush off the dust, hold my head high, and eventually started to smile again...and we made our last acquaintance.

I learned that there is a Southern Sky to our Northern Sky, and that Brasil left Canada leaving an imprint on the boy from Newfoundland. I learned that it is not okay to wear my heart on my sleeve, but it is okay to have another watch over it until it is ready to feel again. I dug a little deeper when it was needed, and hovered below the surface on so many levels.

I learned that friends can be taken away in the blink of an eye, or in the squeeze of a trigger. I learned what it felt like again to be outside a church on the East Coast while funeral service was said for a brother. I tasted the salt of the rain, and gave thanks for the salt I was able to release in memory. I saw that it is not only possible to continue on, but that now we must push a little harder, laugh a little louder, and smile like your days will ever end.

I greeted the summer with an old friend by my side, and met another that means the world to me. I kept contact with another friend who was away from me, but is still one of my dearest allies. I learned that bonds are strong in the beginning yet so fragile in the end. I kissed french lips, danced a latin salsa, and learned a little history. I learned that music and dance is a surreal way to depart the summer, and even better when it is a three day celebration of debauchery and memories.

I made my way through fall, and learned that New York City was real, and not just an image on a television screen. I learned that drugs, alcohol, and a large back piece tattooed in ink do not necessarily make a good mix...but well worth the homage in the end. As fall fell out, I said goodbye to one who gave me back what she held watch over...my heart, now back in my pocket instead of on my sleeve. Winter came and went with walks on a beach with a new friend, and another from my past who came after the waves hit the beaches and destroyed a country.

I am learning that signs slowly desolve from sight and messages spring forth, as if sent in a coded envelope. I see that I am falling into an easy rhythm of placing fingers upon keys and depressing those keys to form my own form of music; my own form of style. I see them placing words on a screen, and that screen becoming the last words in my book of life; in my book of sight. I see it all because I have been walking for so long, and although I know there is so much further to go, that now the road is becoming smoother. It is becoming my path, and we all know your path is as warm as your Mother's kisses on a cold snowy day.

The sun is coming out to play early this year, and I can feel it to my core that I am that much closer to where I want to be. I know that it is still in the distance but also that the distance is not that far to go. I am learning to be patient, I am learning to pay attention, and I accept my mistakes by not making them again. Days pass on and nights roll in, each a new chance, to begin anew...to begin again.

If you can see truth in the fallacy, if all you want is to be free, then smile a little more, and love like you never knew it before. Chances are a revolving carousel of hope, and hope is what keeps our faith alive. Grab the ring as you pass by, and if you should miss, know that at least now you know it is there. Until we meet again, people, until we meet again.

"All bad poetry springs from genuine feeling. To be natural is to be obvious, and to be obvious is to be inartistic." - Oscar Wilde

Myth of the Day

Winter is in its early haul of heading out for another season, and I can feel the thaw of spring in its raw beginnings. My second year of university is coming to a slow close, and I am amazed of what I have already seen in those years; my days blurring into one another and my seconds flying by like the flutter of a birds wings on the wind.

I sat down and looked out my living room window, and out of that picture frame sat a room with a view. I could glimpse lights dancing across water and I breathed deep, grabbed my warm fleece jacket, and headed outside for some fresh air. The rest is just details. Here you go, and may you enjoy.

I stood on my balcony and stared across the water. In my gaze I could see the lights of the city as they glittered on the glassy ocean surface. I leaned on the wood, propping myself up in order to get comfortable, and let the games begin.

There is a legend of the Phoenix, of a bird that is burned alive and dies, only to become reborn again from the ashes of its former self. It becomes stronger, it becomes another life, and life is once again new and alive. It personifies the second chance we all ask for, the second opportunity that we long to give to another who may have passed on, and the second temptation we desire for that which has come and gone.

It was everywhere tonight...in my thoughts as I pondered my life where has been, where it is going, and where it is. What I have seen, what I have done, and what I have yet to see; all these whispered through my thoughts. I thought of that bird of flame and what it means to me. I thought of how my own legend is in its making, yet I also wondered if there will be any who heed my message. But, in the end, I thought of what I have learned as the seasons come in and the seasons fall out.

I watched as my soft frozen breath floated away in front of my eyes, and I gave thanks for the chance to see it and know it is my own. That once before my flames rose so high in front of me that I was unable to breathe...unable to think. I thought back to the days when my heart seemed to shatter and break, and knowing now that though it may crack it will be forever unbreakable; even though it may seem made of glass. Where once it was on my sleeve it is now in a place of safekeeping.

I need to get in touch with it again, I need to know it still feels the need to beat strong against another, I need to know that it still wants it all the same. I reached in my pocket and felt its rounded edges, fingering the smooth design, and held it tight in my hand. I see it for what it is, as I see myself for who I am. I see outside the picture frame and climb the road for the better vantage point. I walk my path and feel it as shifts and turns under my feet, and I raise my head so I do not miss anything that comes my way. I smile as life holds me close and grants me choice, as it grants me liberty. I see that there is no need for struggle in the end, and in the end we have our friends.

Breathe in and breathe in deep. Step out from what you once knew to be you, step out and become who you know you can be. Shine in the face of all the hardships when the days are long and full of darkness. Know we have to slacken, let loose the reins, and go for a ride. Let your soul carry you up and away, and allow your heart to trust again. Know that we are all here to take what we can, that we are all here to connect on all levels of time and space. Together we all can shine the way for the lost souls looking for the way home...and rise from your ashes to burn again. Until we meet again, people, until we meet again.

"Outside water like it was gray, I didn't what I had that day...walk a little farther to another plan; you said you did but you didn't understand. I know that starting over is not what life is about but my thoughts were so loud I couldn't hear my mouth." - Isaac Brock of Modest Mouse

Good Old Foggy Haze

I do not mean to be mired in past images and memories, but I am writing about living during a period of time when I was walking around in a complete daze of impactful thoughts. They would tattoo me out of nowhere back then, and as opposed to now where I know their meaning, back then they were all so overwhelming. Those days become real again, and I write words that place me in that skin again. I listen as words vibrate through my mind like a conversation I always knew was coming.

I am wont to be grabbed by a mischievious smile, a slight look that lasts longer than the average second, and the thought of what a life together could be like. But, I also know what a rough road feels like underfoot, and have tasted the bite of bad choices made versus better decisions to make. As hard as it can be and it may possibly get, it was once as hard as I have ever known...and that I survived with my head held high. No one will ever take that away from me, and you may be surprised to know that is not my inspiration. It is my will to survive that pushes me, the telling of a story that subsides within me, and the search for my soul that holds me.

It is in between the mad scratches of black onto white and the telling of my days, that I come across other times and other insights. A song can reach in and select its choice of dancing partners, and in the background the camera whirls silently on. This would be one of those times. Here you go, and may you enjoy.

I walked to school last year, a light fall rain falling over me, and to my right lay the Bedford Basin. Guitar strings played in my ears, and my eyes captured water joining with water, lightly skipping over the surface, and becoming one as it is meant to be. Ahead of me lay my future haunt for the next four years of my life, and I was to soon continue the writing of my book. My first draft lay finished less than three or four months earlier, and I was nescient to the fact that the second one was to soon be transcribed.

But, on that day, all that mattered to me was the sprinkle of life across my face. Images of days spent in front of assorted harbours, in awe of the ocean and its seemingly depthless power, and this time was no different. I was waging control over my decisions, and making them in favour of self as opposed to destruction of self. I smiled because I knew that decision was leading me in the right direction.

And I smiled a little harder as that realization settled in.

I knew then, as I know now, that it is all up to us. It is all up to us to decide how our lives turn out, but we must heed messages over signs, and see that our life is expanding as our roads are broadening. Our choices come to us as we make them, and what we make from them is left in our hands. To this day, I have always enjoyed the ride even when I could barely cover the price of admission. Hedge your bets but always cover your ass.

One foot in front of the other, another one forward, and another step closer. Every song must have an end, as every journey must have a destination, and every blue sky must give away to the starlit heavens. I licked the salt on my lips, and wondered what was next. If I had known then what I know now...would there still be a chance of carrying on? Of course, for we all know time waits for no man. I would not have changed a thing and will feel the same in the end.

Amazing what thoughts can come from a walk in the rain on the East Coast of Canada, on a day in the life of me. I am unable to let troublesome days bring an end to me, and I refuse to let them defeat me, even as I question the ambiguity. I only know to hold my head high, throw my shoulders straight, and just keep walking. As many times I may write it, I see myself doing it. Do not let the atrocities of this world effect your outlook on the best gift you could ever ask for. Your right here and now present of life. Until we meet again, people, until we meet again.

"Hark now hear the sailors cry, smell the sea, and feel the sky. Let your soul and sprirt fly into the mystic. When that fog horn blows you know I will be coming home. Yeah, when that fog horn whistle blows I want to hear it I don't have to fear it." - Van Morrison

Forgotten Promises

Sometimes, just sometimes, I lie awake at night, and think about her. Not her as the woman that I wanted to spend my ending days with, but her that I always thought would be in my life until my days ended. I think of the person I knew for half my life, and I think of the person she came to be, all of it in less than eight months...and then we were no longer.

I can handle the no longer, people, but, sometimes, just sometimes, my defences lower and my watchtower sentries flirt between the conscious and the unconscious. It is then that I have a hard time handling the no longer even friends part. It is then that I pick up my pen and just write. I scribble away the memories and forge on to where I know my road is heading; somewhere she is not, and to become someone I know I can be. The following would be some of my thoughts on those sleepless nights. Here you go, and may you enjoy.

It is the age-old game of the Universe versus humanity; one has been known to mock and the other has been known to betray. For me, it can sometimes come down to belief versus trust, and I wonder which one will win in the end? Or is it possible for a win-win situation where they both mould into one? Imagine that, people, imagine that it is all possible and you are one step closer to all your dreams.

My life dreams can occasionally throw unseen knuckle balls at me, and I stumble, slip, and fall. Yet my future is as clear as the proverbial carrot leading the donkey, and yes, every now and then, I have been known to make an ass out of myself. We all have our days, and for me, it is all a part of what makes us human, is it not? It is in the ability to laugh at yourself that we need to take pride in. But, as always, no matter what the costs, forward progression is the main link to survival. Sometimes though, just sometimes, it is okay to glance over your shoulder and see how far you have really come.

Is it wrong to miss old friends? The people who once were but now are not? I miss their presence, their smile, their arms around mine, and their acceptance of who I am. When my head becomes oh so heavy like it has been known to do, my survival in these moments hinges on memories; pushing forward on personal goals that become unspoken promises. I promise myself to continue on, and I promise to just place one foot in front of the other. The rest is just details lost on the rising wind.

Late one night, I was unable to sleep, and so spent a few quality hours pasting and arranging photographs into a pattern on my walls. Each and every frozen moment is a different theme, a different life, and another time. The Universe tests my will of progression by forcing me into situations where I am devoid of money, and then will step back; observing how I handle my odds. Belief in self is strength on its own for me, and I now find myself trusting in it more than I trust anything else. I want to be more, I want to see more, and if I believe that enough, then I trust that it will happen. Really, it as simple as that. Only time fills us in on the trivial details.

I see faces from my past that will always have a place in my present...even if they do not seem to care anymore. I will care enough for the both of us because even as I learn to forget, I see that I am learning to forgive. Through it all, I listen to my words, I trust in myself, and I believe in myself. Now, I just wait to see what the Universe asks for in return.

Love eludes my grasp, but I feel it rush back as a loved one takes me in their arms and holds me close. I feel it whisper in the air as I see a couple hold hands, I feel it brush my fingertips like the foamy ocean touches a soft beach, and I know it is not far until it comes to stay with me again. I will never give up, I will never falter in my steps, and I will never keep anything but the horizon as my life compass.

Each day leads to another morning, every second to another minute, and though the sun may set it will rise again. Sometimes, I wonder if she ever thinks of me, and if she ever wishes on the same star I used to wish on for us. But now, I just feel sad that there are two rocking chairs sitting and gathering dust. Maybe one day someone will walk by, and sit down for a short rest, and never ever leave. It waits for us all, people, it waits for us to make the journey of a lifetime because all we have in this life is time. Never forget who you are, and never forget we only have this one chance to become something even better. Until we meet again, people, until we meet again.

"Standing at the point, road across your doubts. What is at your back? Which way do you turn? Who will come and find you first? Your devils or your Gods? All you people think you run my life, say I should be willing to compromise...I say all you demons go back to hell. Save my soul; save myself." - Tracy Chapman

When the Past and Present Collide

It seems like we are given a chance at times - either money or your sanity. I am not a huge fan of dinero, and believe it to be an evil we are not allowed to do without. For me, I despise the fact that it is usually what interfers with my freedom, and hinders some event I may have planned. Lately, it has been a bane of mine, and making it difficult to breathe, and brings upon a not so easy feeling for me.

I know where I will be in a short span of time, that I am on the cupse of pseudo-financial stability; or at the very least, some form of something along that same line. In a way, it is my cash flow, or lack of, that is forcing me to view where I am (Halifax), what I am (broke student), and what I wish for my life (that everything keeps going the way it is going). Here you go, and may you enjoy.

I am writing out words that place me back in my past; I feel it again, I live it again, and I know what it is like to taste that pain again. I am in the same filthy lucre spot back then as I am now, strapped for legal tender but knowing I am going to be okay. Right now, it is like I am following familiar footprints on a familiar beach, when I look down and see they are my imprints. I find myself travelling backwards in time to secure where I am travelling forwards; walking through my-soon-to-be future by following my gift through all the madness.

Sometimes though, I come screaming out of my past into my present, and feel the wind knocked out of my lungs. It can leave me grasping at air for some sort of balance as I grab at thin air for something...anything resembling support. Then I right myself and realize I am that support, that I am my own goddamned saviour. It is usually that my friends are the balance.

Assignments and days of limbo are what my future prescribes. Busy times and many many...many words to type. Mundane days are broken by laughter shared with friends, an infancy of beginning plans in the works, and finishing the first writing of legacy. Seemingly a summer brimming with potential and good times to be experienced.

By walking through old forests of memories past, I am able to see who I am becoming from the person who tasted his own mortality...yet would not even let that stop him. I know more and more that I am one day closer to what I have always seen happening - from my first scribbles so many years ago to the story that is unfolding. I soon know my worries about petty cash and all the worries in tow will not be so worriesome anymore.

It all comes down to alignment, people, it all comes down to alignment. Open yourself to the universe, find that which makes your soul sigh with passionate tones, and dance with the winds. See past the intangible impossibility and grasp the reality of what can be will be. How much do you want it? Can you taste it on the tip of of your tongue like the flowers taste the morning dew? I can, people, I can taste the best years of my life coming forth from the darkness of yesteryear, and I can see its light shining bright for all to see. Until we meet again, people, until we meet again.

"When worlds collide things change on the inside and time just slips away. When worlds collide the universe is shaken in so many different ways and you feel like you can fly. You think you know the reasons why everything is as it is and you have never been more alive. You have been walking on for too long a time and you have finally arrived." - The Jimmy Swift Band

Elements of Nature

I sit here and type words and scrawl across a page of white. Not so many moments ago, I lay in my bed, staring up at my ceiling in silence, pondering the anomaly that is my life. How it closes one door with a clang, and opens another with a breadth of quiet. I learn so much every single damn day, and every single damn day I find another reason to smile more than the day before. I am in a state of limbo for the next few months while I wait to hear where I will be working this summer, and then it will only be another few months after that when I will be narrowing the window on finishing my book. Life, oh glorious life.

I have not had time lately to post new entries since I have been busy with assignments and the hardships that come along with being a student...okay, no, there are no real hardships being a student per se, and actually I love being one. But with studying and learning new knowledge, and writing my life story, well, I have not had much time for anything else. I know there are some who read my words more than others, and so for those who do, it is not my goal to disappoint. The following is a writing from back in the wee beginnings of this new year. Here you go, and may you enjoy.

Sometimes, strength comes in all shapes and sizes, and other times, it can come from impossible angles. On some occasions, it comes in the form of a light touch on your shoulder, a strong hand holding yours in a tight grasp, or even something as simple as kind words delivered at the opportune moment.

Patience comes from strength, and to bank our strength, we must first understand the art of patience. To see that although we might want things right now, like yesterday now, that they might not necessarily be meant for right now. Does that mean we must putter and kick our feet during this period of wait? By all means no...I personally use it to learn some more, to garner more knowledge so when it grows into wisdom I will be ready.

Outside, the snow is falling down, and winter is in its full element. Oh the days when I would flex my body into twisting circles of spinning speed and velocity; days when snow was my life, nay, my existence. And now? Now, I sit back, laugh at my life, and accept what I must accept. Strength of character is sometimes aligned with diversability, and is always a reason to better myself that much more.

So, I lean back against the sturdiness of an old, strong oak tree, and I feel it support my weight like the embrace of an old lover. Up ahead, I can hear the vociferous clatter of the north wind howling my name, and even from my vantage point, I can feel its light touch from so far away. But, for now, that distance is kept, and a voluntary tacit agreement is made between two parties...that I will follow after I am done my short stint here. That I will follow my road, follow my soul, and continue on to create my life in the best image I know...to shape it as my own.

Travels, friends, lovers, all of this and more awaits. But, for now, right at this very moment? Well, patience and strength hold me tight, and ask me to just breathe. Not so far to sit and wait, young one, not so far at all. Do you hear it people? Do you hear the call of life as it whispers your name on the wind? Will you heed its rustling of your heart and soul, and will you follow your road to the very end? It is, as always, only up to you to decide what is true versus what is a fallacy.

So, I bury my body deep under layers of wool, cotton, and a mass of stitched warmth. I flick out my light, and lie in the dark breathing...in and then out. I give thanks for the allowance to even breathe at all, and see that I am that one step closer to reaching my dream. Every word I type, every page I fill with scrawl, is one more reason to greet the coming day with a smile. I am curious, people, as to what makes you rise from your warm bed on a cold and crisp morning? Do you have someone next to you who may bring a smile to your lips? Or is it the thought of another that spurs you on? For whatever reason, make this day better than the last, and make this life the best you have ever tasted. Until we meet again, people, until we meet again.

"We can let circumstance rule us, or we can take charge and rule our lives from within."
- Earl Nightingale

Covering Any Incidentals

Character n. A description of a person's attributes, traits, or abilities.

Test n. A series of questions, problems, or physical responses designed to determine knowledge, intelligence, or ability

I walked out into a light winter mist of rain just a few days ago, and it brought me back to another night and another time in Whistler. My mind raced through memories and days from so long ago, and I thought of how the mist looked like patience floating away from me. I could see how it was just out of my reach, but is seemingly always close by when I am in need of its virtues.

For the first time in oh so long, I have solid ground underneath my feet, and I peruse my landscape that changes ever so slightly...yet always stays the same. I have been taking the minutes lately to look forward to my future roads, and understanding how walking along my current one aids me in realizing the aspect of patience in the first place. To me, it is all about the continuing on of our roads, no matter how they dip or how they will fall. Patience does nothing more than offer clarity as we brush off dust and continue on. Now what I have learned from patience is another entirely different story. Here you go, and may you enjoy.

Patience is a virtue that has maladjusted, maladapted, and malaligned itself in so many scenarios that make up my crazy life. How many times have I moved forward with small little glances over my shoulders? How many times have I remembered where I was so many years ago, and how those years taught me to see the validity of patience? I wonder how many times indeed, as I write my story, and see where my whole life uprooted itself from my core. I feel my soul reacting to what needs to be done, and also feel its incessant pushing from inside me telling me to write and write...and then write some more while editing on the run and then write some more.

Why the obsession you may ask? It is so I can truly start my life and begin the workings of my next chapter in my chronological timeline. Right now, in my present, I am overwhelmed with my memories and I see that I must be patient...and take the time to write some more.

I find myself awake in the late nights, thinking about those days when, and I see these words become a black imprint on solid sheets of white paper. I see the days happen as I renew my footsteps, and I see the steps from so long ago that now seem even farther behind. I see my days grow even better as I write them, and I feel them even more as I live them. I scribble a sentence here and there, spice some language with the truth while scrambling to learn anew, and it all allows for my character to be made. I see that I am placing my own personal touch on the person I am becoming, and that I am the genuine article versus the paper mache side of it all.

I sit here and write, and know some will be seeing what they think is my soul laid out to bare. Truthfully, my real soul is being typed out letter by letter, word by word, memory by memory, and it is really laid out for me every day I wake up and look in the mirror. I know who it is I see in the reflection, and I feel a little more pride with every one of those passing days. As I have said so many times before, it is forward progression that is the only link to survival. Survive I did, survive I am...and survive to dominate is where I am headed.

Falling leaves that mark the days of cold, or winter rains that bring cold white snow. Running through the spring air as the trees grow again, and summer days that we never want to end. For each and everyone of them are a season in and a season out; patience that it will all follow its due course and trust that the path is just. Smile a little more, breathe a little deep from within, and always make sure to keep your eyes peeled on the horizon. Until we meet again, people, until we meet again.

"Through the water, through the rain...through the soul of everything. Throw my memories to the wind and I am almost gone." - David Gray

Forthcoming Dreams

Reincarnated v. To cause to appear in a new form; refurbish or revitalize

Fantasy n. Imagery that is more or less coherent, as in dreams and daydreams, yet unrestricted by reality.

Simple words, simple text, and a simple message all intertwined from a simple thought. I spent the afternoon today watching the movie "What Dreams May Come", and it shuttled me back to another time...another place. I remember reading the book of the same title so many years ago, and once again, found myself in another day when I was not so sound of mind, body, and soul. The following may be long, it may be short, but only time will tell. Here you go, and may you enjoy.

A smile that flutters behind my eyelids, and I realize that there will be more than enough time for my future dreams. But my past dreams? Once upon a time, I had a best friend to share my laughter with, and for a brief glimpse into the future...one to grow old with. But now? She is gone like the dust on the rising north wind. She is no longer someone I know, and so, really, has no relevance in my life anymore. Sad, isn't it? But, it is not she that I speak of next.

In my present day, would I run to her side if I could? Nay...I would sprint. I feel the cold thaw of winter bring the warming of my heart. I wonder if I am chasing a dream or does it really exist? Does she really exist? I can hear whispers through my mind tell me that I must finish writing my story...and then will I not only find her; but she will find me.

Time slows for no man. We walk, we talk, and we sleep. When we wake, what is it that we forgot from our dreams? What is real and what is fiction to us? Beauty surrounds us in our waking moments...the quiet hush of falling snow flakes, coloured leaves dropping softly to a canvas of red, yellow, and green; the blossoming of flowers on a dewy summer morning.

In my passing days, I recognize snatches of my dreams, and in them I see the hard shell that I rely upon to protect my heart...I see it as a wall of transparency for my heart needs not protection anymore. It only wants to roam untethered, breathe in the richness of life, and find the one it was always mated for. It will, and always has, refused to give up, and so I trudge on.

Distance means nary a thing to me. It is the journey through my days, my sojourns on sandy beaches...it is the remains of my imprints on the soft sand that I leave behind. Once again, how could I give up? If you have met me, you would know what it means to me to be a survivor...if you have never met me, you can only imagine what you would see in my eyes.

Picture a grove of tall, thick tree trunks, their tops swaying and brushing the heavens. Can you hear the laughter of children and see their shadows dance across the ground? Life need not be all fire and brimstone, people, it need not always be a hell on earth. I have walked through the darkest part of my life, and returned to the daylight intact...my eyes smiling, my soul stronger than ever, and my heart now in my pocket for safekeeping.

So, skip instead of walk, bounce lightly versus heavy steps, and believe in your dreams. Have faith that what is written in the stars for one can be written for us all. When you want to scream, when you want to yell, and when you want to hear the words that you are not wrong; that everything will truly be okay. But why scream and why yell? You already know it to be true. Never give up...never. Until we meet again, people, until we meet again.

"Sing me the truth sweet bird of youth...I got some trouble trying to understand. Beneath the veils of mystery, are these the the movements of some unseen hand?"

- David Gray

The Fallacy of Superman

Concrete adj. Existing in reality or in real experience; perceptible by the senses; real

Honesty n. Truthfulness; sincerity; integrity

I am not an advocate for the use of lies, fallacies of composition, or the fabrication of stories. To me, they have no place or context in my life as I feel they are a source of discomfort, and something that more and more people choose to sweep under the rug...but just because it is out of sight does not mean it is out of mind, people. The constant movement of thought that erodes our days into flitting images and yet we never seem to have enough time for anything anymore...and for me not even enough time for sleep. Sleep is a novel idea lately, and truth is, I can never seem to get enough of it.

The truth is never hard to find, but yet it can be so easy to hide. It is like a communication code that only some seem to possess the answer to because we realize the key points to this code is practicing. You have to practice the art of honesty and learn why it is so important, to see the semantics behind the art, and allow it to become second nature. Why else would so many people lie instead of expressing how they truly feel? Is it because it is easier to do so? Learn a new way to see life, learn a new way to contemplate your existence, and overall, listen to your words and see if they hold water to others. Here is a glimpse into what I have learned about truth...other than the fact that it will set you free. Here you go, and may you enjoy.

Chances at a new day do not come around all that often...second chances in general are even less rare. To obtain the full reach of a day in your life, to stretch your thoughts a little further, and to express your ideas with clarity is the goal, people. To go against the grain and accept what is mine to accept is all apart of life's little secret...the hidden jewel of thought that tells me life only gets better. I have lived my life by a certain code in the last five years that is new to me, but it has been lying around the recesses of my soul for much longer than that. It was an incarnation, that although dormant, only waited patiently in the wings for its cue of a proper entrance.

To me, truth lies in the eyes of the people I meet, see, and observe. To me, the eyes are the human portals that guard entrance into the soul. They hold the keys to endless locks and hidden latches that will only open if you have the right combination...the right codes to unlock my past, my present, and where my future is headed. So speak your words with careful thought and purpose, preach the message of your story, and show the world that it holds merit. Run with goddamn scissors, run barefoot in soft summer grass...feel light rain fall across your face like the reality of life. Release all the burdens of deceit and lies from your past until your step is lighter and your eyes tell a different story. I look forward to what they will say to me when we see each other anew.

Tell me honestly what you mean and I will listen with an honest ear. Show me not a smirk nor proclaim conceit in your tone, for then I will bite my lip and see through your thin facade. Honesty is not about one-upping each other, people, it is more than that. I have one who is, and always has been, nothing more than consistently honest with me. I can tell by her bated breath, how she will pause after she tells me her truth, to see how I will react to it. Yet she still delivers her message with nothing but caring and hope that I will understand. She is honest to me because she recognizes the impact of truth, but still worries about how the truth will fall on others ears.

Do not worry about me, people, for I will always listen to the truth versus the fallacy. I believe that we all need to live with that virtue to realize it will eventually be joined by more virtues. You learn the virtue of strength, and patience develops alongside of it. Look to increase your knowledge, and wisdom shall follow suit not so far behind. Stretch and breathe, then stretch and breathe some more. Inhale your life and exhale your future...all of it one breath at a time. Keep reaching for that level of life where it all makes a little more sense, where it all fits just a little more tight, and where the truth awaits us all. Until we meet again, people, until we meet again.

"I'm only a man in a funny red sheet; I'm only a man looking for a dream...I'm only a man in a funny red sheet and it's not easy...it's not easy to be me." - John Ondrasik of Five for Fighting

Creation from the Destruction

Soft adj. Easily moulded, cut or worked.

Membrane n. A thin pliable sheet of material.

A blanket of snow falls over the East Coast of Canada, and the majority of its residents are lounging in their homes; feet up over the chair, feet at the bottom of the couch, and a friend somewhere near by. The other crazies are the ones valiantly out shoveling, plowing, or salting our overwhelmed roads. The snow just seems to keep coming at us, as we become hit with one big dump of snow after another big dump of snow...and there is another supposedly on its way.

How ironic is it that I am getting dumped on in Halifax, when there are rumours of landslides in Whistler? I am talking mudslides here, people, and not avalanches as there just seems to be rain falling in them there mountains. And me, unable to truly enjoy this snow as it is meant to be enjoyed: Screaming and whooping and freaking the juice out of your sytem until your generator purrs in contentment. Imagine what this unexpected time must do to my mind, and to the ideas that never slow their frantic pace. Now imagine what comes next...yes, you guessed it. A story. Here you go, and may you enjoy.

I am a proponent of using certain words in their sometimes individual spaces, other times throwing them around-all-willy-nilly, and and oh my God, sometimes even dropping them helter skelter. But, if I am able to place them in context, then all the better. It is all about the act of pushing out your comfort zones and stretching your boundaries...just to see if they exist. I have always been fond of my own personal saying, and it is an idea that aids me when times seem at a low spot. When these days hit me, I see them as opportunities to test my limits of scooching my soul that much further, and then I see myself testing my limits until I see that I have none. Try it...I dare you to try it just once. Think a little something different, a little something you have never looked at before. If you have so many times before, and the days seem long...well, just try again because you never know what might happen.

So, okay, people, you may say it is not that easy; that it is not so much said, and then done. To this I reply: Why not? To say that is putting a limit on yourself, beginning with an impassable gatekeeper, and setting an unreachable goal. Take the time to destroy old self concepts of old memories and of old status. Deconstruct your outside world and then reconstruct a new one. Smell the air of freshness surround you, and inhale it deep into your lungs. Then when that same breath seems a little stale...then deconstruct reconstruct and follow until you see fit; or until comfort is attained, which ever comes first. For you can always regain your breath back in the dust of rubble and debris of old thoughts that no longer fit into the equation, and so no longer bring nothing but positive energy instead.

It is then, that you will look up and take in your three-hundred-and-sixty-degree-view of the world around you...and know that you are more comfortable with what your life consists of. But, more importantly, you are so comfortable in your own skin. You realize that it involved the shedding of old ideologies enforced upon us, usually by our own making at times, and that you have expanded old zones and old ranges. You suddenly want more, you suddenly see yourself becoming more, and then one day you are suddenly walking on a new road.

To me, it is all about following my dreams down my own road to the point of no return. I mean, really, people, why would I ever want to return from the road of my dreams? No, I choose to forge on and endure what some may call the long arduous trek, but towards what I prefer to call the solid call of life. I only ask that we may all do it with our heads up; always forward and awaiting what comes next. Walk the road to see what it really feels like underfoot, and not just as the road that you see in the distance. Until we meet again, people, until we meet again.

"Where do you want to go? Who do you want to be? What you want to do just come with me?"
- Anthony Kiedis of the Red Hot Chili Peppers

Perception versus Invention

The winter season is rolling into its full swing of control over the lives of all Canadians - throughout the country we all find ourselves huddled inside our abodes, waiting until the snow stops falling, the wind stops howling, and the cold goes away again. I while away this time working on my book, making full use of my classes, and using the moments to think. Big surprise, huh? Me thinking...will wonders ever cease. It all comes down to choices, people, it all comes down to choices. In that vein of thought, here is my thought on an important subject of personal validation. Here you go, and may you enjoy.

I sat in a class while around me a debate started to pick up minute steam...minus the students who are seemingly afraid of their own voices, and thus, never seem to place forth their thoughts for a mass forum. But me? Huh...I have never seemed to have a problem in exercising my mind and using it as it was designed - for learning, sorting, and assimilating as much information as I can possibly absorb. Just call me the Human Sponge. Anyway, I digress, and return to our topic of debate.

We were discussing the concept of how we perceive people's influence in our lives. Whether it be how they may look at us, how they may judge us, but more importantly, the persuasive tactics of significant others in our lives. The thing is people, I really do not care too much if someone does not like how I dressed myself this morning, or if I did not shave, or even if they find I talk too much. I do not live my life based on other biases and opinions nor do I feel anyone else should. If you have confidence in yourself, believe in yourself, and trust in yourself...well, the rest will follow.

An important point in the discussion was that as we grow older, our significant others become less influential to us. To me, significant others may mean my family, a mate or partner, but more specifically, it means my friends. On that note, I disagree with the idea of my friends becoming less of an imprint on my life as I grow in senescence. To me, my friends are a large piece of my personal puzzle, and they have helped me place abstract corners into slots where they never seemed to fit before. They are my confidants, they are my savior's at times, they are the ones who believe in me, and they are the ones who listen to my thoughts and concerns.

Is that to say that I place all my trust on them or want them to live my life for me? Hell no, but I do want them to see what I am accomplishing so they can revel in my glory with me. Does that mean I only run to them when I am in distress or in need of a shoulder to rest upon? Once again, hell no, because I make a point and effort to always inform my friends of their worth to me, of what they mean to me, and to the ones that have seen me through my many trials and tribulations over the years...well, you are the ones that I love to the very marrow of my bone.

So, if a significant other comments on your clothes, then smile and say thank you. If they ask how you are doing - and they are the ones whose opinion you value - then let them in to your mind and confide in your fears and desires. These are the ones who aid in shaping our lives because they are the ones who see you as the sculptor...they are the ones who will sometimes wipe the sweat of your brow when you become too intertwined in your art that you forget everything else surrounding you. I know from personal experience, people, and I know that my friends understand my love and appreciation for their contribution to my life.

So, take the time to let your real friends know that you love them. Take the time to pull them close into your arms, tell them their personal worth to you...and above all, tell them thank you. I say thank you for those who mean the most to me, the ones who have held my head up when it seemed oh so heavy, and to the ones who let me do the same for them. Pull your shoulders straight with pride, run not walk down the road of your dreams, and make sure you know it is okay to sometimes slip and fall...for there will always be someone to give you a hand in standing tall. Until we meet again, people, until we meet again.

"Don't walk behind me; I may not lead. Don't walk in front of me; I may not follow. Just walk beside me and be my friend."
-Albert Camus

Below the level...dig deep.

I spent some time flipping through different sites today...I am finally done exams - for now - and so have time to kill before I go see the family for the holidays. Anyway, I digress, and return to my line of thought. While browsing people's blogs and thoughts, I came to see that most of them are just superficial, and most of them do not even amount to that. Yes, I know blogs are for rambles, for thoughts of tortured times...but damn, people, use the space to say what you really want to say. Have the fortitude to speak your mind and stretch the line past your usual blah-freaking-blah. Then there are those that I came across, and I felt my breath catch. I felt the power of words, of images, of creativity shatter the status quo...and made me smile with pride. They made me think and that usually means I go deep. Here you go, and may you enjoy.

There were so many images on the screen...photos of groomed trails and people getting their shred on. Old architect of expansive spines and peaks of history all caught and confined in the border of a photograph. But, it was the sunsets that really caught my eye. They stretched over the span of the horizon and refused to let you breathe again...countries and beaches I have never heard of before but that I now aspire to lay upon. To watch the sun spiral down below the ocean to find its own brief rest. Inspire me with your life, inspire me with what your eyes have seen, and just inspire me with the road you have chosen to walk with mucho gusto.

Then, another's words spread down the page in collected lines, allowing my mind to soar to another time, another place...another soul. Desire to collect lost moments, to refuse what seems to be, to shuffle feet so time slows for us all. To know that life is nothing but an hourglass that we can all easily flip right-side-up, and start the process of life anew. It is as easy as that, people, it really is.

To all who read this, I ask you to do something for me. Imagine in your mind that there is a closet. Open the door to this imagined place, not too quick nor too hasty, for who knows what may be inside. When the coast is clear and the dust settles, look inside and see what lays propped up in the corner. Do you see it? Do you see the shovel against the back wall? It is there, without rust, without wear...begging to be used for the first time; aspiring to be used for its one and only purpose.

Take the handles in your grasp and heft its weight to see that it is sound. See that it fits your hand like it was meant to be, and that it has a handgrip seemingly custom made for you and you alone. Note that it is featherlight and that it is of perfect balance. Now comes the real test.

If you squint in the dusty dark, you will see the back of the closet has a small hole...just perfect enough to fit your body into. Crawl in and start digging the rest of the way. Strike the shovel tip against soft soil and delve deep into your mind, your body, but most important of all...your soul. See the trail of bread crumbs leading back out and know you will never become lost as long as you have a well-planned exit.

This is the rabbit hole I have been down so many times, so many spirals of deep travels below surface thought, so many travels into the depths of my soul. It seems that everytime I come out, I have learned something new, I have some new insight, and that I only have to brush off loose dirt to be clean again. So, if you have the time, open the door to a new you, open the portal to a new destiny...just open your life to the universe that surrounds us all. You might just be surprised at what you find. Until we meet again, people, until we meet again.

"A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step."
- Confuscious

Policy of Economics

There is a time of year that University students feel a bite...some might say it is the cold of winter setting in, others may say it is the pinch of Christmas spending on the wallet, but all will agree with this: It is exam time, people, and dammit, if it does not seem I am losing my memory.

Everything I learned in the beginning of the year I am relearning...more study time on top of old study time that equals an additional portion of personal time multiplied by lost sleep subtract profits from quitting my job to have more study time and and and...fack. Right now, if you cannot tell, I am studying for my final exam in Economics, and yet what I most think about is my upcoming trip to see my Mom for Christmas. The following are some of my random thoughts during the snatches of time I steal away from my books. Here you go, and may you enjoy.

School seems to be absorbing all my time right now. If it is not Public Relations, it is a paper that was due for it. If it is not my writing and media class, it is the media kit that was due for it. If it is not Spanish then it was the Spanish oral and soon to be final exam...then there is Economics.

Economics economics economics economics...did I mention economics? Man, if I never have to do Economics again, it will be fine with me. Oh snap...I still have to do Macroeconomics before I get my degree. After that, I strive to make enough money so I can hire an accountant who likes crunching numbers, looking at my books, and seeing what I have made versus what I should invest. But for now, no mas, people...no mas.

But, other than that, I love being a student. The grind of it all can be tedious, but in the long run, it is that same grind that adds spice to my life. I feel my mind stretch past capacity, and then I feel it come to a halt. I take a break, and keep adding volume once again. It is so inspiring to keep adding and adding...and adding more on top of that.

It can come down to so many things for this cat, so many things that snap my head back to the future: seeing family during the Holidays, seeing a friend in Vancouver, having a good chance to arrange my future, and in general, chasing after my dream. I get a little closer and closer everyday, and everyday I learn a little something new about my life. Then I wonder...can it really get any better than this? Yes, says a tiny voice not so diminutive in volume, yes it can...and yes, it will.

To travel and see the sights I have seen make me only want to travel more. New York was awesome, as those who have been reading my posts could see, but my soul yearns for so much more than a passing visit to another city in another country. My feet desire to walk different soils, to run along foreign sands, to splash water in southern oceans...in essence, to live the life most are afraid to live.

Does that mean I am talking about you when I say that? I guess that would depend on the observer, no? If you feel I may be slighting you and checking your wants versus your needs, well...you would be right, people. Do you not know that to have something you really need, you must first fight hard to achieve your goal? That you must believe in yourself so strongly that even when times get tough, when the chips are stacked against you, that no matter what the odds, you will always carry on.

Forward progression is the main link to survival is it not? It has to be the main idea that propels us all in the direction of our dreams, down the road we are meant to walk...toward the land of enchantment where our waking days become more than what they are today. To the time when we place our footsteps in a stone cast designed for us, with us in mind, and for us and us alone.

Take your love of life and toss it into the rising wind; watch it rise and watch it fall but know it flows with the path of right. Know that where you are is where you were always meant to be...and where you are heading is only up to you. Always has been and always will be. If it was up to me I would walk the road for you, but where would be the fun in that for you, hmmm? Until we meet again, people, until we meet again.

"A dreamer is one who can only find his way by moonlight, and his punishment is that he sees the dawn before the rest of the world. - Oscar Wilde

A Crack in the Concrete Jungle

Day 5 Sauntering through the City

"Dude, that is not that big." I woke up as soon as I heard Eric enter our hotel room, and then felt his hands pat the upper portion of my back...a-not-so-light-tapping on my freshly scarred skin. I called him a bastard and we all laughed together; then him and Chris inspected my new tattoo together. Eric commented that it was not that big, while Chris looked at him and gave a contrasted opinion. I took it all in and knew the truth...while it was not as big as I first intended, I am still glad I did not go any bigger. In the end, I was the one who was under the needle for three hours.

I washed my back, threw on some neo-sporin, and gingerly pulled a t-shirt over my head. We smoked some cigarettes, smoked a little something-something, and rapped about the years that have passed since we last saw Eric. Time passed slowly, time crawled by, and time lazily reminded us how important friends are: That when you are amongst them, you must see that you have all the time you need.

We ambled through various portions of New York City, and finally decided to eat at a Vietnamese restaurant in China Town. We filled our stomachs and headed to the Financial District to take a peep at what most people unfortunately consider a tourist attraction now: The remains of the World Trade Towers.

We walked for another half-hour, smoking cigarettes like a newborn sucks on a pacifier, and finally reached our destination. Man, it was an amazing sight...all around you in New York there are constant reminders of concrete, mirrored glass, tall billboards, and everything is in a competition to be higher than everything else. Then, boom, all of a sudden, you are standing in front of a monument of what were once the tallest buildings in the world...and now there are only the carcass of a concrete slab.

I think what hit me the most was not the destruction of neighbouring buildings, nor photographs of what the towers most resembled. No, to me, the image that to this day still sticks in my memory, was the framework of a steel girder that remained from the implosion...and I think of all the people who lost their lives, who lost their loved ones. My heart slowed its beating so as not to disturb their rest, we paid our respects, and then we were off again. We spent some more time with Eric at his apartment, hung out and smoked some more cigarettes, and then followed his directions to the subway and our way home.

Not too long after that, Chris and I decided to head our separate ways for the evening: Him to a jazz bar and me to locate a 24-hour Kinkos so I could send a paper back to Halifax via email. I looked at the address in a phone book, stuffed my books into my backpack, threw on some warm clothes, and headed out into the New York night...and promptly got lost in a New York minute.

It felt like I was wandering around the same block, but it was only a different portion of a grid...sound confusing? You would have to be in my shoes to truly understand I guess. Everytime I thought I was on the right street, I would be wrong, and every set of directions seemed to get me closer and closer...but never close enough. Finally, I strolled into a StarBucks, and ordered a rice-krispy square and a tall coffee. The clerks told me that since it was the last square that I could have it for free, and heck, gave me the coffee for free as well. I gave my thanks, laughed at my luck, and headed outside with a renewed need to find the Kinkos.

For the next hour, I walked around and around what seem to be the same block, but oh, the sights I saw: Madison Square Garden, The Empire State Building, The Metropolitan Museum of Art, and my favourite: The New York Public Library. It spanned an entire city block on its own, and as I walked around it, I knew of a person who would enjoy the view with me. Someone who had just entered my life, and someone who will know who they are as they read this. She was in my thoughts as I sipped my coffee, and she was on my mind as I thought of how we could wile away many an hour reading there together...giggling as we became lost together.

Finally, I found the Kinkos, and spent the next hour and a half typing out my paper. I saved it, hit send, and made my way out into the darkened night. My mission was accomplished, my goal achieved, and now all that remained was to find my way home again.

My heart bounced around my soul, free of constraints, and knowing my path was well-lit...and I laughed. Life, man, I tell you, life and what it does to me. It is so truly amazing to me people, it takes my breath away and offers me a better one in return. Do you see what I see? Do you know that for every struggle, no matter how hard it may be, that there will always be a better way? Deep dig and find that well of knowledge within; delve deeper, and turn it into the wisdom you have always carried with you...walk tall, walk proud, but most importantly, keep walking forward. Until we meet again, people, until we meet again.

"Been dying since the day I was born
Cause there is no road that ain't a hard road to travel on."
- Sam Roberts

Quien es tu madre?

Day 4 GOSSET on the Back

"Tell Todd to come over and I'll hook him up." Chris looked at me, and hung up his phone. What I had really wanted was now finally about to happen. My chance to forever honour my Mother, and have her name on my skin...her maiden name with my first initial.

The only problem was that I was very drunk, and that did not bode well for the pain or the fact that my blood would be very thin, and therefore, very messy. But, hey man, I really did not care about that because one of the my biggest goals on this trip was coming to fruition. It was time for some good hurt; time for my tattoo to finally be placed on my back. I took a last swig from my Guinness, said late to the remaining crew, and hit the door running.

A few minutes later, I stumbled into a Howard Johnson's, and made my way to Gabor's room. Gabor was a California boy through and through, and made of the salt I usually only saw in Newfoundlanders. Who better to inflict pain on me right? We smoked a little something-something and went over the details of how the design would look. While he drew it up, I rushed out to a 24-hour pharmacy and dropped some questions on the clerk.

"Hey, dude? Do you guys have any Saran wrap? Some neo-sporin? How about some vaseline and some medical tape"? He looked at me like I was the strangest cat he had ever seen, and then pointed me in the right direction. I grabbed the supplies, threw in some chocolate, and cashed a traveller's cheque. Word to the wise here people: Do not bother with traveller's cheques while staying in New York because they are nothing but a hassle. But, if you do decide to use them anyway, any 24-hour pharmacy will cash them for you.

I stood stock-still while the carbon paper was placed over my upper back, from one armpit to the other. The whole design curved up from there to just below my shirtline, and just underneath the bottom of my neck. Finally, a few minutes later, it was set, and we were ready to go...my skin just itching to be splayed open for all to see.

With the first rips of the needle, I felt my mouth go dry, and my stomach start to heave. I made Gabor stop, telling him I was going to puke. He looked at the shallow pale of my face, and showed me the bathroom. I sat on the toilet for a few minutes, feeling the alcohol course through my body, seeing sweat run off my skin in driblets, and was completely aware of the first beginnings of raw ink. I sucked up my breath in a fell swoop, added brass to my balls, and went out to finish the outline. I lit up another cigarette, listened to the whine of the needle, and then felt the hotness of its tip dig into my skin once more.

For the next three hours, I sat with my back to Gabor, and my arms over the chair in front of me...and watched a football game. I switched positions to spots where the pain might go away, but it never seemed to acquiesce to my wants. I tried putting my head in the crook of my right elbow, my left elbow, tried my chin on my forearms, my forehead on my forearms, twisting to the right and left...it didn't matter. My lifeblood ran down my back, soaked my skin and mingled in with the black ink. Throughout it all, I kept one thing in mind: I was the one who asked for the pain, and so I had to be the one to forget it existed. But, damn, he knew how to grind, and damn, he knew what spots were more sensitive than others.

It was in the last five minutes of it all, when he was putting finishing touches and fill-ins, that the needle hit my spinal chord or touched on a nerve ending. Listen, people, I have broken my lower back before, and so know what shock feels like to your system...but fuck. My whole body recoiled from the shivers of agony that raced up my spine, and my mind screamed out to all that is holy and just. Then, a few minutes later, it was complete. I slapped some hands into mine, laid some money on the television, and made my way out into the early morning.

Outside, I finally released all the discomfort in little grunts, and felt my upper back throb with the new ink displayed upon its surface. I hailed a cab, made my way back to the hotel, bought some pop from the vending machine, and washed the hurt down with Jim Beam, while smoking yet another cigarette. It was done. My back was finally done.

As it is, I carry my Mom in my thoughts wherever I go, and now, I carry her on my skin as well. She is my angel, my reason for being, and the strongest person I know, bar none. My skin came from her, my blood once her own, and now both carry her with me until my end of days.

I fell asleep with Saran wrapping on my upper back, and face-down so my new creation could breathe. The next day was to be spent with Eric and Chris, in a city-walk to match all city-walks. But, that is for my next entry, and all I could think of at that moment, was sleep and some healing hands. Until we meet again, people, until we meet again.

"Beauty is skin deep. A tattoo goes all the way to the bone."
- Author Unknown

Monogamy in New York

Day 3 Wedding in the Park

"Todd, dude, wake up. They have closed off an entire street for like 10 blocks. You should come check this out."

Once again, Chris was up before me, but to be fair, I was up longer than him the night before. Good old Jim is definitely Jack's illegitimate cousin, but oh so smooth. It seems there is a market of some sorts down the street from our hotel doors. Eric was not getting married until three p.m., and so we had more than enough time to kill. I looked at Chris with one eye, nodded my head, and began the process of waking up.

Ten minutes later, I found myself in a luke-warm shower, then smoking while I got dressed, and waiting the distance to hit the elevator to head to the market...and then smoking again. It was all we did there, and it was continuous. So why stop now, right?

We lost the next couple of hours walking up and down the street, marveling at all the assorted little booths, and breathed the surprising crispness of an autumn day inNew York. The cross streets of the market were patrolled and bordered by the City's finest, and we were able to freely check out our surroundings. There were trinkets, food booths, t-shirts on plastic display cases, bed sheets for sale right next to another who was selling black dress socks; all of this and so much more.

The funny thing is the fact that they just shut down a street almost half a kilometer long, and yet it was only one tiny fraction to the rest of Manhattan; much less New York City itself. I would keep forgetting small little facts like that, then look up and be reminded of where I really was.

Then, I swear to God, I blinked, and I was standing in a small portion of Central Park watching my two old friends say their vows to each other. The party was a collection of Rural Canada, Canadian Rockies, Southern and Northern California, and then there was the Halifax chapter of me and Chris. All of us, in the world's largest city, and having the time of our lives. Well, at the very least, I knew I was loving my time there, and could vouch the same for Chris.

The reception passed quickly with a light dusting of dry jokes, remembering the past, and honouring the future; while outside, the city continued its eternal battle with insomnia. We drank, laughed, and smoked the rest of the time away. Plans were made to go to a pub, we said our congratulations to the bride and groom, and made more plans with Eric the next day. Then, bam, we were gone again.

We found a pub close to the crew's hotel, joined some more from the wedding party, and I listened with joy to the calls of $5 for pints Guinness. Turns out my tattoo was not to be, and so I drowned my sorrows in a glass...okay it was a few more than that. I was no longer worried about how it would thin out blood that would no longer be even drawn from my skin. Not tonight, anyway, and I swallowed my frustration in a gulp of stout, and let it out with an exhale of smoke. Then watched it, like my chances of getting my tattoo, float away into the cool night air, and join the rest of the lost and forgotten stories of New York City.

I sat and drank with Chris, some of the crew, and we laughed and made new bonds. With or without my ink, it was already one of my best trips in a while, and only seemed to get better and better as the minuted ticked by. How was I going to know that it was only going to get better? Until we meet again, people, until we meet again.

"New York's such a wonderful city. Although I was at the library today, and the guys there are very rude. I said, I'd like a card." He says, "You have to prove you are a citizen of New York." So I stabbed him." - Emo Philips

Rain Falls in the Concrete Jungle

Day 2 Dropping the bling-bling

"Dude, get up so we can go check out the city."

I woke up and realized I was still in New York, and it was now raining outside. Chris was already up and showered, awaiting my slow ass, and I pulled myself up from under the covers. What with getting my school work done and passing it in before deadline, so I could go to the States in the first place, I had only survived on limited sleep in the last few weeks. I stood in the shower, woke myself up in its luke-warm spray, and then dryed off and dressed.

We headed out under a light mist and took a good look at the city in the early daylight. It seemed much bigger now, and there seemed to be so many Starbucks around, tempting me to drop in and buy a coffee. We wandered around the streets, smoked, wandered some more, and kept our hands busy with lighting and replacing.

The rains fell in an even soft pace, and we dropped into various shops to get an idea of what it is to shop in New York. As much as I wanted to peruse, my real purchase was my tattoo, the homage to my Mother...the woman who has the highest regard in my heart, and so deserves to have her name in permanent ink.

By this point, we were not sure if we even going to get the tattoos, and it seemed more doubtful as the hours passed; already, even without that, the trip was worth every penny I had spent. With or without the ink...but I so hoped it would be with. We took a short break from smoking and went to spy some more stores, and kill some more time.

We found sweet deals on assorted items like belts for two dollars, hats for eight dollars, and shirts for five. We picked up a few things, but for the most point watched our billfolds, and made sure we had more than enough to survive the next four days.

When we next saw the light a half hour later, the skies had turned black, and the streets were now puddles forming on old cracked concrete. All about us there was a ceiling of umbrellas, and the city still kept its hustle and bustle, never slowing down, always moving, no matter what the elements dictated.

I briefly wondered aloud to Chris if it could possibly be acid rain, then shrugged my shoulders, and we lit up another cigarette.

The next few hours found us walking along the clustered streets, exploring side avenues and flourescent lit shops; some long and narrow, others short and squat. Want a watch with a leather band? Or how about one with a faux-studded-wrist band? Interested in some bling-bling necklaces? You know the ones with the diamond-encrusted-name-all-gaudy-and-gangsta-like? For you? Only eight dollars. Come on, how can you pass that up? You have to be mad to walk away from a deal like that.

We fueled up on some Chinese buffet, washed down with a Corona, all of it at reasonable prices, and hit the road again. We walked around for another few hours but knew we would only spend more the longer we stayed out, and it was raining harder. I remember snapping a hopefully cool shot of the Empire State building, with some rain on the lense, and falling down all around us.

We made our way through the crowds, walked through Time Square, and down along Broadway. As we did, I was forcibly reminded that before this day, that those were all names from television, movies, songs even...now I was leaving my imprint on them.

How cool is that to know? That just a boy from Newfoundland would one day walk on the streets of New York? That he would do so a man, one who sees his life in great lights, and has everything at his fingertips...at its very core a brass ring held firmly in his grip.

We dropped by the crew's hotel, to see what was up, and if there was any more news on the tattoos. We all chilled, smoked some cigarettes, and then repeated the same process some more.Then they got ready for a family dinner and we left for our room. Along the way, we grabbed a bottle of whiskey at a cheap cost, headed to the hotel, and grabbed some pop for mix.

I then proceeded to pass out for a couple of hours, then woke up and we grabbed some food while the crew slept off dinner. We ate a donair with the familiar surroundings of Halifax being replaced with Manhattan, and the sights and sounds of Times Square. Huge billboards on the sides of huge buildings, tall ads on the fronts of tall floors of glass and concrete.

I ate my food, and tried not to look like a tourist. But God, the city is freaking huge and I was only in a tiny part of it; and that tiny part of it is bigger than any city I have ever been to in Canada.

Eventually, news came too late, and we missed the crew by minutes. Chris and I headed to our room again, cracked the bottle, and poured its contents out in a toast. Cheers to New York, cheers to friends, cheers to a wedding...and cheers to life in general. A few more cheers later, and I was buzzed enough to sleep, and felt the bourbon dull the excitement of the next upcoming day.

The wedding was due up, the reception after that, and maybe, hopefully, a tattoo for Todd, if time and the universe allowed. Cheers to that. Until we meet again, people, until we meet again.

"Start spreading the news, I'm leaving today

I want to be a part of it, New York, New York

These vagabond shoes are longing to stray

Right through the very heart of it, New York, New York"

- Frank Sinatra

Surviving The Big City

Day 1 Rising at dawn

"Halifax International Airport is closed," said the radio announcer.

Me and Chris exchanged glances, and now knew the reason for our hold up on the way into the airport. It was almost 6 in the am, our flight left at 7 am, and we were now slowly moving down a long line of other terminal bound travellers. It turns out a 747 cargo plane "fell-off" the runway, and crashed to the earth below...taking seven lives with in the process.

At the time, we only knew of the crash, and not of the lives taken. All I was doing was looking at the missed opportunity of not seeing New York, and maybe using the credit for a trip to Vancouver instead. I do not know about you, but I was starting to see it as an omen, the irony of having a plane crash delaying our entry into a city that was once decimated by a plane crash.

The real omen came to the forefront, when we reached the front of the long, slowly being misdirected away from the airport line of cars, and suddenly, we were allowed entry to the airport terminal. We looked at each other, and laughed at our luck. So, the trip began with a green light of stalling time, and a memory was created.

I realized that the trip I had waited so long for, a wedding I was looking forward to, of partying in New York, getting a tattoo, all of these things and more...that they were all in their raw beginnings. The upcoming post is on the first day of our adventure, and where it all started. Here you go, and may you enjoy.

Chris and I sat around the airport and waited for the hours to count off. The entire staff of the airport, from Tim Horton's right down to the check-in-clerks, handled their business like any other normal day...except this one was done under dim lights, hordes of people waiting for the runways to open, and praying for power to turn their computers back on.

After four hours of hanging out, we departed to Toronto for a 2 hour tour, and then gave the bride-to-be a quick phone call. Turns out her family is in the same airport, and as she tells Chris this I walked around the waiting room to recognize a face I have only seen in photographs. I pick her sister out, and what turns out to be the entire family, or close to, and introduce myself.

After a few minutes of polite shock, we all boarded the plane to fly to New York. To say I was excited is like saying a New York police officer has a thick city accent...fugghedaboutit.

Strong winds shook the aircraft all about as we dropped in from the clouds above the sprawling mass of skyline that is New York city. We were on the opposite windows, but I could still see the images of concrete and stone, all towering above the each other in an race to be the first to touch the sky.

The plane landed with a hard jolt and a bounce, as everyone exchanged furtive glances, and then a intake of breath as it reduced it speed. Then, suddenly, I swear to God, I blinked, and we were in Spanish Harlem.

All about people sat on their front stoops, as they would back in the movies of lore, and you could actually breathe the history of the land...or maybe that was the steam that shot up from the sewers on street level? It was not until later that I would wander below surface level, and learn that it was from the subways that sped underneath.

We checked in, had a small-freak-out over leaving currency and personal papers in the room, and then decided to hide them under the TV. We hit the road strolling, headed out to see the boys from California, and make our presence known to the world.

The world turned out to be a group of guys that quickly became crew, and we killed some time until the groom got off work. Then we headed to his house to see my friend from years back that I have not seen since last summer: my dog, Eric, the man-of-the-hour, the groom-to-be, and one who is not a big fan of the limelight, but is striving for the image he knows he is creating. A quick hello, a handshake to pay respect, and we were off once again, into the now coming night.

Hours later, we sat down while all around girls danced topless, and left us slowly watching our shrinking bank-rolls. My biggest shock was ordering a Jack and Coke, a Coke, and a bottle of water...then blinking in disbelief as it totals to a $30 bill. Fack.

The motley crew of misfits hit the street running, and hopped into one of the many yellow cabs cruising the core. A little less lighter, not so much drunker, but thoroughly already infatuated with the city of lights and bigger action.

Eventually, the groom wanted to call the night a night, and we all hung at a few more bars before calling it quits for now. A few more remained to observe and interact, while me and Chris walked back to our Hotel. We grabbed a shish-kebob for the road, and lit up another one of our many cigarettes.

I was chain-smoking Marlboro after Marlboro, as they seemed to help ease the shock of where we were, and gave us a reason to pay attention to our hands. That way, we did not have to pretend we could not see buildings disappear into the nether regions of the night, way higher than normal eyes could see. My neck already hurt enough as it was, there were so many times I strained it upwards to see the final floor to an invention that proudly earned its name of scraping the sky.

We arrived back at our hotel, listened as the door closed behind us, pulled the blankets up over our heads, and said our goodnights. Day 1 was over and Day 2 was already in its raw beginnings, a designated time to explore the world outside. To see why they truly call it the Big Apple, and to see if we were truly there...or if it was all a dream. We closed our eyes, and fell asleep to the sounds of the city that is never allowed the same reprieve.

I swear to God, the last sound before my thoughts went dark, was a gun shot in the distance. Or maybe it was just my imagination playing tricks on me, right? Right. Until we meet again, people, until we meet again.

"New York is great though. If you’re here and want a one of a kind souvenir be sure to take home the police sketch of your assailant." -- David Letterman

Pressure Drop

Fractured n. A break, rupture or crack, especially in bone or cartilage.

Skull n. The bony or cartilaginous framework of the head of vertebrates, made up of the bones of the braincase and face; cranium.

Funny...growing up I always had these pains that the doctors use to classify as a migraine. To me, a little boy, it did not really matter what they were called; I just wanted them to go away, so I could go back to playing with my friends. I do not know, maybe it was just me, but that sure did beat getting examined by men in white labratory coats.

The so-called-migraine followed me through my teenage years, and in through my early to mid twenties..then something happened and everything as I knew it changed. Now the headaches I get I just wish they were a migraine again.

These new aches now seem to wrench my mind away from its state of searching, and focus is shifted to the front of my dome. They are now occurring two to three times everyday, in the last year alone, but at least now they only last for 20 minutes or so each time. They do succeed in making this cat think hard about things though, and that usually calls for a story, right? Right. The following is how they make me feel, what they remind me of, and how I really feel about them. Here you go, and may you enjoy.

When I was little, while my friends were out playing in the summer sun, I would be lying down in the dark with a cold and damp facecloth over my eyes to block out the sunlight. Most of those times, my mother would be lying next to me, cradling my head in her arms, and softly smoothing my hair while telling me to let the pain go.

The headaches were not all the time, maybe one or two a month at the most, but when they came they brought time in a bottle...as in, it seemed to stop all together.

Ever reach a point in your life where the pain becomes almost exquisite to your senses? That it becomes so commonplace that it is almost a dull thud in the front of your mind? It is much better that way because otherwise the monster is released, and my world can subsequently go black. It kind of reminds me of a steel trap that closes with a vociferous clanging of the jaws, and then the pressure releases a tad to allow me room to breathe again.

Sometimes it is easy and other times it is not so easy. They may stab behind the eyes, will wrinkle my brow, and always remind me of the night when they truly came about...of the time when I was just allowed room to breathe at all.

Halloween is coming around the corner and I find myself wondering how I am going to spend it this year. To me, it is not a time of celebration of that night, but more so the morning after.

I am coming up on a five year anniversary where everything as I knew it completely changed, and life began for me in a different light. If the only thing I have left, as a side-affect as of that night, are these headaches, well...I have always been used to them and now they wax poetic for what I was granted in return.

It is when they come as bad as they do sometimes, that I raise my hands to my forehead, and feel the scar beneath my fingertips...and what was once unbearable becomes a challenge. The mark left behind, my reason for being, my reason for striving, and my reason for patience. I see it when I wake up, I feel its fire while sitting in class, and I know what it means. It is to live all days like every one is as new as the memory I am creating.

So, I smile through the times when the monster is off its leash, and I smile at the times when it seems I have forgotten to feed it...and there are the times when it fades my world to black. Then I raise my head and smile some more. The crazy thing is that with every passing day I seem to grow stronger and stronger, knowing full well that they too will pass.

If you can smile with every morning rising then you already have the day beaten, no matter what comes your way. Trust me on this, I know it from experience...the more you smile, the more your eyes reflect your outlook on life, and it seems that my smiles only become more genuine as the day unfolds.

They say that experience is what shines most in someone's eyes, so what do you think mine would tell you if we ever crossed paths? Until we meet again, people, until we meet again.

"If life's not beautiful without the pain, well I'd just rather never even see beauty again. Well, as life gets longer, awful seems softer. And it feels pretty soft to me."

- Isaac Brock of Modest Mouse