Tuesday, December 28, 2010

If The Dictionary Is An Ocean, What Is Silence?

There’s a well of words inside my throat

A vast untroubled ocean in which I just can’t stay afloat

They are there, and they are waiting for a ripple to cause a wave

And that wave to grow and grow til a tsunami flushes out

From between my teeth to behind your eyes

I’m sure this won’t come as a surprise but

I’ve always fancied you a bit, but, well, your beauty and your age

Well, it had me in a cage, and no matter how I raged I couldn’t break the bars

That held me from the idea of us

But you responded and they melted, and in becoming the waters inside the top of my chest, I was left with far less being said then what went on inside my head



Oh ma’am please let me start again

You see I’ve seen how these things go and a girl like you simply must know

That it won’t always be easy, but by pretending to be a man in love, I can become a man in love, again



But should it be this way from the start?

How long must the seed grow alone?

Must it always be a false start?

May I cough up some vowels to feed the force

But if the dam breaks I apologize for what will come out

I’ll never learn that there isn’t a word for everything

No, words are only guesses at what’s going on in our heads


So


I’m not sure where that leaves me.

Friday, December 24, 2010

A Correlation

I had a talk with a friend this week. Maybe acquaintance. Still (re)working that part out.

Anyways, he had a very long, extremely passionate and perfectly worded rant about something. I got so caught up in the power and poeticism that I completely forgot to form an opinion of my own. So, I went on with the week, re-thinking things through that perspective.

But then yesterday, while enjoying some delectable vegan noms with a definite friend, he said something in passing that made me realize how incredibly subjective the aforementioned rant had been. It had contained traces of truth and it was mixed deeply with good intention, but in the end it was still an opinion, and as such inherently amoral.

This switcheroo got me thinking. So often we hear and accept things based solely on the fact that it was presented well. In a world where beauty is equated with all good things, our intrinsic desire for truth is satiated (albeit momentarily) by something gorgeous, be it person or poetry.
The idea of beauty as truth is so paramount in our society that the concept of finding truth in a poorly worded phrase seems contradictory. Yet it is often for the very reason that it isn't true that something gets a pretty package. Straight up lies are usually too abrasive to be swallowed, so they get coated in half truths and commonly held ideals so they slide down more softly.
Not to say that the rant was all lies, but his basic thesis (or at least the thesis I picked up) was neither right nor wrong. It was his opinion.

Of course, by my own admission, the fact that I can properly explain, re-explain, give examples and use large words in my effort to introduce this idea to you doesnt mean it is valid. No, the truth of a matter is fully independent of its expression.

In summary:

There is no direct correlation between the articulation and validity of an idea or statement.

So:

Question things.



Monday, December 20, 2010

Friends

I freaking love my friends.

I also love my acquaintances, mostly because of their potential to be friends.

Seriously though, how many things on this planet are on par with friends that you can get transparent with?

Saturday, December 18, 2010

The Stories That Clothing Can Tell.

(Since I am still in my pajamas, which consists of considerably less clothing than I could write about, let's just assume I'm wearing yesterdays clothes).

Sometime yesterday when I was very, very busy doing nothing, I realized that each article of clothing I was wearing had a memory associated with it, a throwback to a previous moment of my life.

The white, short sleeve button up semi-dress shirt I had gotten on an unplanned excursion to the Eaton centre with one of my closest friends after the two of us had helped another close friend move into her new apartment downtown. After I got the shirt I went and got my nipple pierced, and all of this reminds me of mac and cheese because the colour we painted my friends apartment was the exact same colour as mac and cheese.

So much nostalgia from a few pieces of sewn cloth.

The pants and undershirt were both from Georgia, and the sheer weight of the good times I've had there could fill up several dozen blogposts. I even started this blog while there. It's a magical place.
I'm not advocating materialism or anything, but merely a call to introspection: think about objects that you are constantly in contact with, be it clothing or cars or cats or crayons. Anything that is so ubiquitous it has lost meaning; Now, find a memory associated with that thing, find that time it was there when you laughed so hard you peed yourself, that instance when you realized why it was not blue, but it was in all actuality, green.
Find it, think about it, treasure it, move on.


Wednesday, December 15, 2010

Paint Varnish

So, I started a new blog. I can't at present recall the URL, something like posimovi or posimovie. I'll post a link when there's something of substance up.

In the meantime, today I (re)watched Persepolis today with a (new-ish) friend, and it's possibly one of my favorite cartoons of all time. It's a grown up cartoon, but not in that it's choked with all manner of violently sexual language, linguistically violent sex or sexually linguistic violence (or any combination thereof), but rather it's an adult movie in that it deals with more mature subject matter.

Also, I love it's take on god.
Yes, it presents him as the old man in the sky, but he says a lot of things that I found quite moving.
At one point, when the young protagonist is upset, she is talking to god and explaining why she was trying to beat up another kid (it was for war crimes his father had committed). god's response is (along the lines of) 'it is not your job to judge him, only to forgive."

This made me think of the way people treat smokers. They're an abused and marginalized segment of society, and the more I think about it, the less I like it.
Yes, I understand that it is their decision to smoke and that it will poison their bodies and blah blah blah. But really, does making a reference to cancer everytime you pass a smoker really do anything to help? All it does is force them into a dehumanizing box that robs them of their God-given identity as human beings and puts a stereotypical mask on them.
From now on, I shall show more respect to smokers.
Not to smoking, to the people who smoke.

Also, my room reeks of paint varnish so I have the worst headache so far this week.

Sunday, December 12, 2010

Broken Noses, The Devil Wears Prada and the Surrealism of the ER Room at 4:30 in the Morning

So, last night I had the privilege of seeing one of my favorite bands, The Devil Wears Prada, for free.

Sorta.

Not 'sorta-for-free', just 'sorta-see.' I got punched (or something similar to punched) in the face 3 songs into TDWP's set, and it was way too confusing for me to try and process the lights and sounds of the bands intensity, so I just went and hung out with their merch dude. He's pretty awesome. Has a random tattoo of a tooth.

I'm not annoyed about last night, I'm actually really glad I got in for free, because paying 30 bucks for a shiner and a crook would not be worth it at all.

Anyways, we didn't stay for the headliner, mostly because they weren't as good as either of the opening bands (the other was For Today. So. Good.) but also because they weren't playing any songs we knew.

So, home we went. Well, home everyone else in my group went. I went home briefly to grab my healthcard (I was so out of it I grabbed my SIN instead) then off to the hospital for me for three and a half hours. It was all to find out that I didn't have a ruptured sinus, which is a good thing to know, but I really would have rather been sleeping.

So yeah, I think the whack messed up my head a bit because I definitely feel like I had an insight into this situation, but my mind currently won't connect the dots between what happened and whatever else is relate-able.

Ah well.

Thursday, December 9, 2010

What A Day I'm Having


Well, today was the day of the aforementioned artshow.

Rather than wing my speech, I was struck with a sudden moment of inspiration whilst doing laundry, and I penned this than read it later:

Today, I had the experience of ironing these pants. While that wasn’t really all that special, it gave me the inspiration for this speech. When I first read T.S. Elliot’s poem “The Hollow Men,” where we got the exhibit title 'Not A Whisper,' I had the experience of being moved in an indescribable way. Over the last few months, the students in the grade 12 art class have had the experience of putting together this show, and it has been indescribable. We have had the experience of having our vision expanded and our artistic capabilities exercised and tested. I am currently having the pleasure of thanking Mrs Onalee Creasor for all the time she has put into this group of students over the last few years.

As you wander around the room and wonder about the work, I want you to contemplate this as the culmination of 4 years of experiences. Much like the ending of The Hollow Men, this is us reiterating that this is the way our world of high school ends.

It is not with a whisper that we enter the world, but with a bang, fresh faced and ready for whatever life will throw our way.

Thank you, and enjoy the show.

And that was it. They handed out awards (of which I won one) and we all ate cheese and crackers and nanaimo bars.


Also today, I made this guy on MS paint:

I love MS paint.

Tuesday, December 7, 2010

Writing On The Blog (See What I Did There?)

I'm not sure when it was. I think back in May perhaps? Possibly June?
Either way, Underoath announced that they were writing new material, and I got ridiculously stoked.
They had a member departure which I won't dwell on now because I didn't dwell on it then, but this combined with their frequent tweets and video updates talking about how amazing this record was going to be had me sitting on the edge of my patience.
Then, the day arrived.
It was out.
I went, and not only did I buy it, but I thought I'd offer even more support than normal and buy the Deluxe edition, since I was so sure this record could potentiall
y change the way I view music.

I'd say November 9th was one of the most disappointing days of this year.
K, total lie. There's been much, much worse this year.
But it probably wins for November.

The album is good, I can't deny that. Spencer's vocals are, well, almost beyond description. The shear range is rather staggering. The electronica elements are much more prevalent and welcome.
I don't really follow guitars, bass or drumming too much, but they also sound nice.

I don't want to go into some bogged down song by song of how this albums doesn't appease; I'd rather just say that it doesn't. In listening to the band, critiques and fans talk about this album, I feel as though I'm missing something. I have yet to see a single negative review of this album, be it amateur or professorial. Maybe it's because I'm not musically trained that I can't appreciate the genius of this album. Maybe it's because lately I've been enjoying my heavy heavier (The Chariot) and my electronica glitchier (Crystal Castles), but this album simply cannot cut it for me.

I never really considered Aaron to be my favorite part of UO, but apparently his influence made this band for me. Their last album, Lost in the Sound of Separation is mindblowingly amazing. It oozes intensity and honesty within a kaleidescope of rawness and visceral power.

Maybe I'll gain an appreciation for it in a few months or years, but for now I will quietly pretend it doesn't exist and wait for their next release.

...


This lovely little picture depicts commonly used words on Underoath's new album (not including common words, such as 'and,' 'to,' and 'I' (which was used 108 times).







...



And as endnotes (because I'm too lazy to re-edit and find where to put these tidbits), I'm also confused by how everyone keeps saying the lyrics on this album are so good. They're, well, bland. Not that they don't get their point across in differing ways, because they do; however, the lyricist seems to be on perpetual downward spiral into the darkness of the human pysche. This can get rather dull very fast.
Also, if Spencer lacked the ability to repeat himself, this album would lose half of it's lyrics.

Also, if I zone out while listening to 'Driftwood,' I start to think my iPod has skipped to Muse.
Just a little fun fact.

People

are lazy.
Comments feed my soul.

Well, not really, but they're greatly appreciated =) So c'mon, dont be shy!

Let It

I spent most of today setting up for the grade 12 art exhibition at the Latcham Gallery in Stouffville. I'm a bit excited for it. On a scale of 1 to Mike Hrinca, Aaron Weiss and Alice Glass doing guest vox in a The Chariot songt, this is maybe a 5 (the collaboration being a 10).
I'm supposed to do the opening speech, and I'm seriously considering winging it. Every time I get asked as to the meaning of the title of the show (Not A Whisper, bastardization of the final stanza of T.S. Elliot's The Hollow Men) I invent a new meaning. It's a bit fun to see how far I can push it. Today in an interviewer with some member of the media I said it had to do with birth, since there are no whispers during childbirth, and we, as aspiring artists, are being birthed into the art world.
Believable. Ish.
The real meaning is simply I enjoy the prose of the poem. But, people like hidden meaning, so that was that.
I have 4 pieces in the exhibit, a drawing, a self portrait, a sculpture and my sketchbook, but I really don't like the idea of just leaving them there for public viewing.
Not that I have attachment issues, but my work really doesn't speak for itself. I try to imbibe my work with as much meaning and parallelism as possible, but it's not the type of meaning that an undiscerning viewer is going to pick up on.
I don't think this makes me a bad artist, more of an artist that can't be commercially successful. Which I'm cool with, because I'm starting to see more and more that my future doesn't lie in visual art.
But yeah, this Thursday, 7-9 is the gallery opening.
You should come.

There will be free food.

Saturday, December 4, 2010

The Lack Of Adventure That Winter Brings

I hate winter.
It kills things.
Mostly my will to live, but aside from that and all things green and happy, it also slaughters the opportunity for adventure.
In the summer, it's as easy as saying "Lets go for a walk and break into that house yonder."
In the winter, you need to be wearing the right coat, the right shoes so as not freeze off your darling toes, et al... Even the pickings for dumpster diving are worse in the winter.

In the winter, there is so much less inspiration floating around. This is really going nowhere, and I blame the temperature decline outside for that.

I think I shall spend today curled up in a ball, drinking tea, watching movies and reading Observatory Mansions by Edward Carrey. So far, it seems amazing.

Oh, also, my first art exhibit is opening next week on Thursday. You should come.

Monday, November 29, 2010

The Chariot-Long Live

Every review I've read online about this album starts with some comment of how the album starts with feedback, so I'm starting mine with a comment about how all the reviews start with feedback.
Positive feedback I might add, from both the album and the reviewers. The reviewers give it because they have good taste, and The Chariot gives it because they're The bloody Chariot, and as such they can do as they bloody well please.

Rather than give a break down of each song (see what I did there?), I shall summarize each song with a single syllable: "guh."

This album is just "guh." Now, that really isn't the best way to describe the album, but it is the easiest. It's just so multi-faceted, with so many 'candy' bits (awesome/catchy/high replay value) and bone crunching delivery of shark solid lyrics.
Excerpt:
I saved my money, but it can't save me
Oh how I love it.
The vocalist has expanded his vocal range, and the screaming seems like it has more of a southern drawl in it, a bit like Twelve Gauge Valentine or MATSOD. Only far superior to either.

The two biggest highlights of the album are the songs David De La Hoz and The Heavens, the latter's opening is just brilliant, and the former of which features an awesome guest vocalist with shiver inducing lyrics:
And we can be on fire again, you and I, you want this
Well say what you want, say what you mean

But even picking a 'highlight' feels a tad bizarre, because this entire album is just glowing with ingenuity and raw rawness.
Of course, all that being said, The Chariot is completely insane and probably won't attract everyone. They walk that line of amazingness where their pure power can either be a deterrent or an attraction.
Clearly, I'm attracted, but it won't be everyone's cup of tea.






Disappointed? I KNOW YOU ARE

Sunday, November 28, 2010

Saturday, November 27, 2010

Epic Post Breakup Letter That I Never Sent But Is Worded Nicely So It's A Blogpost Now

"Dear Person.

This may turn out to be the hardest thing I have ever had to write, but written it must be. I have been thinking about what you said and how it relates to my life, and I think it all makes sense. Now that I haven’t been in constant contact with you, I’m starting to realize how much of my life was devoted to you. Things happen, and I have no one to share it with. A person will make an interesting comment, and I immediately try to figure out how to recant it to you so you will best understand and appreciate it. I have conversations with friends and can’t wait to tell you.

But, then I realize I must wait.

And then I realize I mustn’t.

I don’t think you were the center of my life, I’m not sure what was. I just know it wasn’t God, and that had to change. And, I’ve come to realize, I can’t change it while being in contact with you. I keep having dreams where one of us initiates conversation, and we get sucked back in and have to stop again, and it hurts so much. If I’m talking to you about it daily, then my journey to find God will become centered around you. In trying to find God, it will just bring us closer together in a way that shouldn’t be.

In order to find God, I need to give you up. Completely. I can’t hold out for the hope that one day our paths will cross divinely and we will have our ‘ever after’; if I do that, then I will be finding God to get to you.

On top of that, I need you to give me up. I need to know you aren’t waiting, when I can’t. Go out and find your Darcy, your Rochester. Let him whisk you off in a way I never could. To be honest, the thought of you with another guy doesn’t tear me up as much as I would think. However, the thought of you being discontent with another guy tears me up so much. I just want you to be happy. And even though what we had was the best thing I’ve ever experienced, I need you to know there is better. Much, much better. We are young, and what we felt was intensified by distance and adolescent dreams of what life could be.

You have been the biggest thing that has ever happened to me. You made so many songs make sense, you made people interesting. Your passion for life and understanding was infectious, and I was so stricken.

I read once that you should date people in a way so that if you break up, they’ll be better people because of it. Even though we did not officially date, the mere adventure of being your acquaintance has made me so much more than I could have imagined. Thank you for that. Thank you, for being you. You are breathtaking. Sometimes words fail me, and now is one of those times. I cannot fathom what you’ve been and meant to me, and how much talking to you has helped me in every conceivable way. You are a glowing individual, and one day you’re going to make someone a hundred times happier than you’ve made me, as unimaginable as that is to me.

Even though I think me saying those things might hurt you even more, I feel they need to be said. I can’t let this end without trying to express how you’ve impacted who I am. I don’t think I ever truly could, so I apologize for my feeble attempt.

I am not coming to visit this summer. A friend kept asking me to work at camp over the summer, and I kept turning him down because I thought I had control of my life. God showed me otherwise. So, I have submitted my application to be on kitchen or maintenance staff, and I hope to spend my summer trying to connect to God and other people.

I keep wanting to go into asides about everything. Whats happened this last week, what new realizations I’ve had. I want to hear about your day, what you’re doing in school, how you’re reacting to your friends insanity and inanity. I want to talk to you about how you gathered enough courage to send me that letter, and how my responses made you feel. I want to learn, examine, explore life with you. I just miss you so much more than I thought I could.

I’m not sure where this letter is going. I’m trying to find words to express something nameless, trying to answer a question that has yet to be posed. There are still a thousand things I want to say to you, but I can’t find the words. I want to apologize for another friend’s response to your message on Facebook. I read your reply and I know that she hurt you, and I’m so, so sorry that she did that.

I don’t know what I want you to become. I don’t want to forget you, and I know I never will. You’ve set the standard of what I want, and I don’t even know if anyone else could hope to come close. I’m glad we stayed pure."



I feel like I've had a passionate life.

Friday, November 26, 2010

Long Live The Chariot

I went and saw The Chariot last night. Again. I wish it could be a weekly experience, but sadly, today is there last leg of the tour, and I'm working.

drat.

I tried capturing some video on my nano, but I missed the best parts because I was too busy being blown away to remember that I should record it. This is a more whimsical moment from the night:


"Oh, my mic cord is stuck? I'll just pirouette while our merch guy untangles it."

(Sorry it's sideways.)

Another reason to love them: They're incredibly friendly and modest. They introduce themselves, hug, ask questions, show interest. Very Georgian.

I picked up 2 of their CD's, so a review of one or both should be coming... Once I review Underoath... and A Day To Remember.

hmmm...

On the plus side, excellent friends are home this weekend!

Tuesday, November 23, 2010

3 in 1!!!

So, three reviews in one blog post, what a privilege for you, dear reader!

First up: Harry Potter And The Deathly Hallows Part 1. In a word: terrible. In two words: terribly boring. In several more words: terribly boring without any actual depth, character development, interesting dialog, creative lighting or unexpected anything. It is, at best, a shoddy collection of poorly filmed and barely connected scenes that amount to a waste of two and a half hours.
Don't waste your time or money.

Secondly: Skyline. Infinitely better than Harry Potter, and also better than expected. It has an almost identical plot to Cloverfield; people are at a party in an apartment in a big city, when something falls from the sky and strange things start to happen. While Cloverfield was game-changing and inventive, what with it's gritty, low-budget-yet-quality effects and hand held camera style, Skyline is just a bit more than a fun romp. There's layering to the movie, believable dialog, awesome special effects and shots, a mostly unknown cast and a fresh take on aliens.
While there were certainly facets of the film that weren't explored that a geek like me would love to know (mostly backstory stuff), it gave enough context clues to allow one to invent their own answers.
I would recommended hurrying to see it ASAP. Maybe wait for it to be in blockbuster, or download it illegally. If you enjoy sci-fi, this is a goody.

(And) Thirdly: A Day To Remember's new album What Seperates Me From You.

Actually, I'll review that later and (hopefully) post it along with my review of Disambiguation.

Dear Rachael:

Monday, November 22, 2010

Tertiary

I feel like my postings have gone downhill in their interest level.
But that's because I feel trapped in an in-between stage. I feel neither here nor there. Like I've lost something, but I'm holding a map to finding a better something, I just need to find North.

I always assumed getting my license would herald some sort of epic change. But. Nothing. I have no new insights. Only thing that really happens is that I misplace my phone more.

I helped out at a youth retreat this weekend, which was uncharacteristic of me (I thought), but I did it because I had no reason to say no, and I thought it would be fun. It was fun, but I thought it would be the sort of fun that makes me re-evaluate the world I live in and would leave a lasting impression. I haven't had something like that in a while. A catalyst for a mind-shift. I normally get a new perspective on life every few months, a new focus, a new issue to wrestle with.

But nothing seems to be shaping in the murk of the back of my head. I feel like I'm running in circles. My sister had to do a paper on Myers-Briggs Typology for her psych class, so I helped her since I was heavily into it at the beginning of the year. I went back and reread mine (ENTP) and it made a bit more sense, but I realized how much I haven't changed. I've become entrenched in a mindset, a lifestyle. I can't think of how to change it, or what would come of a change, or why I even should.

I'm not even sure if this is a legitimate issue or just something that I'm giving myself to gnaw on between real issues.

I'm not blue, I'm not purple, I'm in that realm beyond easy labeling, the blue-purple, the red-oranges.
I'm tertiary.

Sunday, November 21, 2010

TPC and BAT. Hipster Points!

Still need to write my review of Underoath's new album, but I'm giving it it a grace period in case I stop disliking it... I'm starting to be afraid that won't happen though.

Currently listening to Tokyo Police Club (Champ), and it makes me think that life is going to change. Or that I'm going to find myself in the midst of an adorable relationship with an unpredictable girl. It's grainy music, as if it was a photo the ISO would be unbearably high.

I don't know.

I just apologized to a friend, and the band goes into the studio tomorrow, and I had a heady weekend, tried to write a list of goals, and this list doesn't have a point or connecting element.

I think I'm just trying to make sense of life. Even though it's not being confusing or throwing me curveballs.

I'm discontent in a not-unhappy way. Malcontent? I don't know.

Audrey Hepburn gave a charming description of a similar feeling in Breakfast At Tiffany's:
"No. The blues are because you're getting fat and maybe it's been raining too long, you're just sad that's all. The mean reds are horrible. Suddenly you're afraid and you don't know what you're afraid of. Do you ever get that feeling? "
Except this feeling is a lot more ambiguous. I'm extremely something of something, but I'm not sure which of what.

If you figure it out, please let me know.

Thursday, November 18, 2010

This Week In Review

Last Thursday I had an existential freakout and deactivated my facebook, then decided to take it a step further and just turn off my computer for the week.

I got so much done.

I started reading the Bible again, which was the main reason behind the whole fast, but I also cleaned my room, finished House Of Leaves ('Wow' is all I have to say), got my G2, saw the most amazing live performance ever (also "Wow"), got stood up for the first time, took a potentially epic friendship into stages of actual adventure and a host of other joyous activities. Obviously, not all of these things were dependent on me not having electronic interference in my life, but I found it odd to have so much 'free' time. As though the things I do on the computer were actually important.

I realized the issue is I would sit down to accomplish a worthy task, like blogging or writing a letter, but I would continually be distracted by mostly pointless things.
So, my facebook is staying deactivated for now. All I really miss is scrabble. And the thousands of pictures of my nephews.

As shown by that list above, quite a bit has happened over the last week. Each could really be a blog post in and of itself, but the thing I will focus on is the performance I saw on Tuesday: the almighty The Chariot:

There was supposed to be a picture here of the band playing, a picture that captured their indescribable intensity and passion, but, as I suspected, no such can exist. It would be like a tornado, a hurricane and a forest fire all encapsulated in Coke bottle.

I've tried to describe to people over the last few days how mind blo
wingly amazing this band was, but no one seems to get it. Not that it's a fault on their end. Putting into words the glory that transpired is tough.

Oh, and Lights was there. She tweeted this photo:

This would be Josh Scogin, the frontman for The Chariot, being his wonderful entertaining self.











Another sign of how excellent this band is: I bought one of their band T's. I have a personal philosophy of not wearing graphic T's in general, esp. ones that advertise things I don't get paid to advertise.
There are only 4 bands on this planet that I would wear their merchandise, and The Chariot is one.

Also, had epic talk with one of my closest friends the ride there, and the ride back.
Oh, and earlier that day I had my first mentorship meeting. Then I got my G2.
I would say that was the best Tuesday of the week, by far.

Well, she is waking up
And she is finding out she has no pulse
Just like her "God" that she is trying to sell
But she ain't bought

Her lion is scared
Because he is finding out
She's waking up and he can't stop breaking down
And fading out as she gets up

Well, she looks around, Ariel
You have no pulse
Much like your religion, but it's fine
Just fake it

The wrath of God's grace is but an ocean to a child




Wednesday, November 10, 2010

Circuit Bending

I recently got into Circuit Bending, and managed to convince my art teacher to let me bend a turtle for our sculpture unit, but I have to formulate a solid opinion on circuit bending.
(For those curious as to an explanation, see here: http://www.anti-theory.com/soundart/circuitbend/ )
On one hand, it's incredibly refreshing. It requires all of one's attention, which can be incredibly calming; the downside however is that interruptions are around 5,000 times more annoying then stubbing your toe.

The real, real point of this is is that I just attached two LED's, that I salvaged from another toy, onto my turtle for art, and I was very pleased with myself and felt like sharing.

The End.
(review of Underoath's new album up once I've listened to it a few more times).

Monday, November 8, 2010

Quoth

"i like my conversation like my sleep
just as long as it's deep"

Also, this video impressed me mightily:

A Loss of Vision

I feel as though this blog needs something fresh.

Reading what I've written is nice, but it's all so thoroughly non-cohesive. It bounces too much. Not that I'm advocating structure, more trying to figure out what to write now. See, if I had a theme for this blog, or a fixed topic, new posts would be so much easier. As it is though, I usually just write whatever I want to whenever inspiration strikes, but what with the onslaught of lowered temperatures, inspiration has decided to stop striking.

Winter is always like this: it makes me want to hibernate. Or at the very least, curl up with a special someone under a blanket with a hot coco and a classic. But, sadly, I'm filled with longings for the unattainable, and there's only one mug beside the remote.

Another problem I have with this season is how it requires attention. In the summer, or spring, or fall, whenever a task becomes too cumbersome or uninteresting, a quick walk remedies that feeling. Or at the very least focuses my creative energies into some other effort.
Not so with winter. It's too cold, and as beautiful as snow can be, blankets of white do little for my imagination.

So, I spend my time online, accomplishing nothing and waiting for something worthwhile to transpire.

I need a hobby.

Saturday, November 6, 2010

Chunk 1, Unedited or Proof-Read.

I never talk to my co-workers, I simply imagine their lives as they pass by and smile. I conjure up stories of what they do on the weekends, I misconstrue their friendly glances at each other as confirmation of secrets kept. I wrote.

And then I awoke.

I can't tell you how long I've been dreaming in narrative, but it's been this way on and off since around the time I first noticed that clouds could be mountains. My body relaxes into disconnect, and my mind fires up a thousand type-writers, sending indelible streams of ink into the prefrontal cortex of my brain, covering everything in words. Skies of grammar and ground of punctuation. If I haven't experienced it in a book, the sensation is not in the dream. The air smells of library and bergamot, and the wind whispers poetry in my ears, subtle readings of Elliot and Poe rising and falling with the temperature. The only way that colour is experienced is in that odd dream-esque way of knowing but not knowing.
And then, as sure as surfacing, she arrives.
She is comprised of the tiniest font possible, thousands of verbs and adverbs and adjectives and cliched phrases race over her flesh, are her flesh. In spite of the constant motion of her skin, she does not move, although she is never in the same position.
She is motionless in motion.

I've been seeing her for months now. She's a customer at my work, she's leaving the coffee shop right as I place my order, she's just behind the shelves in the library, on the street, in the sky and now, in my dreams.

I'm not obsessed, I'm not stalking, I wouldn't even say I'm interested. She wasn't my type, but she also wasn't so thoroughly not my type that she was my type in a roundabout way. She wasn't exceptionally plain, but didn't quite drip with that gorgeousness that some people seem to exude in place of carbon dioxide.
She simply was and simply wasn't.

Yet there she was in helvitica and times new roman, haunting me in the friendliest way possible.

I think her name was Fire.

But I'm probably wrong.


This Annoys Me and This Interests Me

"How are you?"

What does this question even mean? While it's infinitely well intentioned, it is ultimately meaningless. Can one really delve into the entirety of human existence, or sum it up with one line?

Also:

How closely can the image of God resemble before it is God? What does that say about us? What does it say about God?

Thursday, November 4, 2010

Limitless Language

My mind is quite working the way it used to. That dramatic shift I spoke of in the last blog? It's apparently just a subtle change of the wallpapering in my head.

Now at the end of every day I lie awake at night and wait to feel
The wires of my brain get cut and quietly rearranged.

A thought occurred to me today: what if language was perfect in it's ability to express?
Can life ever be fully expressed through one medium? Can one mode of expression handle the immensity of everything? Obviously not, but what if it could?
What if everything we said was perceived exactly how we meant it. Whenever we whispered 'I love yous' or soberly said 'thank you,' it was taken with every ounce and pound of meaning that it was imbibed with.
Or even screams of "I hate you" could be heard with the understanding that it isn't forever, the person saying it feels like they mean it, but they don't really.

I think people would say a lot less for a long time. Then some would speak their heart and find that others out there mirrored it. Some would still sit in silence and ponder what to say until a brown eyed girl would walk over to them and ask them if they would like to dance.
And they would say "Yes."
And they would mean it.

Of course, such a world doesn't exist, but if it did, I have a feeling it would be at a disadvantage.
If life could be explained, if it could be fully understood with something as limited as language, then it would lose very much of its livelihood.
One could take the pro's and con's and wage a mighty war in prose and possibly convince some members in the audience, but in the end it's all speculation.
This isn't even an idea of a perfect world.
It's a question of limited perfection should be.

Tuesday, November 2, 2010

There Something Somewhere Doing Something

I feel as though I am on the precipice.
There is a great fall before me, and what is at the bottom, well, time knows.
And God knows time.
And I, well I, I simply do not know:
What is keeping me here, on this edge, here waiting for a push.
Or a slip of the foot.
I'm not sure if I'm worried or excited, and I'm not if this unknown feeling is for the fall or the inevitable moment when I land and must take stock of my new surroundings.
Sometimes everything feels so surreal that the idea that it is really real feels simply sacrilegious.
I'm not sure why I'm writing this blog like this,
this almost poem-but-still-not style of writing.
I always feel that poetry loses quite a bit in the transfer between mind and paper. Like within those few seconds, a wind gently shifts through the room and steals some of the magic.
Of course, I wouldn't be presumptuous enough to call this poetry, why, it doesn't even rhyme.
Of course, life doesn't either, and it still has that literary beauty to it that is just beyond the realms of the narrative.
Now I'm talking in prose and the meaning is all but lost, and I'm sure thats symbolic of something, maybe my desire to stagnate, a desire to not jump off this cliff.
But I think
I think

I would if I could.
But
there seems to be a wall in the way.






Sunday, October 31, 2010

"What are the Differences Between Soccer and Jello Shots?"

Not many.

(Just a warning, when I started this I wasn't sure where it would go, and I'm currently at what I'm assuming to be the halfway mark, so I thought I would just come back and give this disclaimer that I'm still not totally sure where it's going. So, bare with me.)

Last night I had an extremely stimulating conversation with a friend of mine. I posed an idea, then reposed it a few times until he understood it, then we dissected it, but didn't reach a satisfactory answer. Hence, this blog post.

Based on the hypothesis that everyone on the planet is 'skilled' or 'talented' at at least one thing, what would be the stipulating factors for that thing at which one is to be talented?
In trying to decide, me and the friend chose two different activities to contrast: drumming and the ability to do Jello shots quickly. We both immediately agreed that drumming was a talent and a skill, and that Jello shots were not. Then I questioned the difference between soccer and Jello shots. Aside from the obvious way that they are performed, there really are very few differences. Both are done for an audience, they both have a potential to elicit a response from the audience, they both take a certain level of physical aptitude that is not available to everyone. They can be done competitively or for recreational purposes. Aside from the fact that one involves kicking something and the other swallowing something, there aren't really that many differences.
So, can sports then be considered the one 'thing' that a person is talented at? If so, could the ability to do Jello shots be your one talent?
Or, maybe the specifics aren't important, but more of a general 'physical' talent.

Yes, lets divide it that way.

Let's say there are 3 schools of talent: Mental, Physical and Artistic. They all have a bit of bleed into each other, such as Dance could be considered both Physical and Artistic, and writing could be considered Artistic and Mental.
Now, in order for it to be considered a 'talent' that a person is good at, there should be common factors that bridge the gap between the 3 schools; things like the 'talent' must elicit a response, the 'talent' cannot be something that exists merely for the enjoyment of the 'talented,' there must be a passion, or at least interest, in the 'talent.'
Since I'm not really sure where this is going, those are just some idea's that I threw out and now I'll try and apply it.
Lets take an activity, golfing, and apply the standards.
A golfer that is commonly considered very good (also, the only golfer who's name I know) would be Tiger Woods. His talent certainly elicits a response, other people gain from what he does, and I'm assuming he's interested in it because he's does it for a career.
However, all these things could also apply to a serial killer. Mass murder certainly elicits a response, other people may not take express 'enjoyment' from the activities of a sociopath, but they certainly have invested interest, and quite a few killers were obsessed with what they did, which would be a formed of passion or interest.
So, can killing be considered a talent?

I think the sheer scope of this question, plus my general lack of training in the field of abstracting ideas means that this blog could go on indefinitely without any sort of conclusion in sight.
As such, I think I'll leave this alone and come back to it later after I've had more discussions with other people.

Also, my entire premise of the assumption that 'every person is talented at at least one thing' could very well be completely false, and there may be people out there with no talent whatsoever. I don't think that, thats why I wanted to work this out, but it might just end up that Some People Just Have No Good To Give.

Tuesday, October 26, 2010

Anberlin and the Unexpected

I won free admittance to the Anberlin concert that just transpired a few hours ago. That's the second time this month that I could see a band for free that I had already paid for. Such bittersweet luck.
They put on a good show. Didn't play two of my favorites (Haight St. or Inevitable), but who can begrudge them that when they played so many other solid songs?
Something that I realized about them though, is that if I hadn't been listening to them for as long as I have; if i just heard one of their songs on a friends iPod, I doubt I would like them. Stylistically, they don't play a genre I'm really into at all anymore. When I first got into them back in grade 7 or 8, they were 'heavy' for me. Come grade 9 when I got down with bands like Inhale Exhale and August Burns Red, I realized Anberlin is really on the soft side. But in spite of that, they still have a soft spot in my heart.
And the light show they had was very fresh:
Thats not an image from tonight, it's a photo stolen from an email sent out to people on their mailing list, but it could've been from tonight.

I suppose I should dig deeper and find some sort of hidden meaning to that revelation, but I don't want. I want to continue to like this band as a good go-to band for having a crush on someone, or staying up late driving around doing ridiculous things with good friends. Or nursing a relational wound. Anberlin is set heavy in my heart as the soundtrack of the past six years of my life, and I think that affords them some respect.

Something that I would've enjoyed though was a bit more personality from the band. Rather then give the songs any context or relay any deeper meaning, they simply rolled from one song into the next with what was at first interesting, but gradually became annoying, drum loops.
If they came back again, they would need to have an opener I loved and a different venue to play in.
Fin.

Monday, October 25, 2010

'Dialogue, With A Question Mark"

This post has nothing to do with the song by The Chariot.

I was just feeling a bit pretentious and mentally playful, so I started skyping a friend about life.
Here is what went down:

Caleb Crowe: dude, do you think this is life

Mr. Friend: what. studying?

Caleb Crowe: no, staying up late, sacrificing our time and selves for **** that doesnt matter at all, just so we can grasp at the hope that all this inanity will somehow benefit us in the future. but when does the benefit start? won't our jobs have us pulling the same bizarre hours trying to meet deadlines? when does the preperation for life end, and the living begin?
Caleb Crowe: sorry, the idiocy and cyclical nature was pissing me off.

Mr. Friend: haha. well. i havent figured that one out yet. ill tell you when it happens

Caleb Crowe: i don't think it does. western society is based on the idea of chasing a dream. it doesn't know how to deal with our acquiring it: it isn't designed for success, it's designed for desire. raw, unfilled longing for things that we can't gain through the means it provides us with.

Mr. Friend: it starts when youre retired

Caleb Crowe: oh good. start living when your life is well over half gone.. and even inretirement, we're still sold fasle hope of happiness. viagra, time shares, golf shirts. none of the idea's behind any of these constructs gave lasting satisfaction in youth, why should that change with time?

Mr. Friend: well we should start living then

Caleb Crowe: how can we tho when the society that not only places these desires on us also necisitates so much our time just so we can find ways to fufil our actual needs? and what does living even entail?

Mr. Friend: i guess no one will ever know

Caleb Crowe: talking idea's with you is frustrating. i usually articulate things better than i do with other people, but i get no feedback.

Mr. Friend: well what am i supposed to say... i agree with you
Mr. Friend: and im torn cause im doing work at the same time

Caleb Crowe: true. this is a bit heavy for a split interest

Mr. Friend: well. depends on the job you get. if you get an actual good job that you dont bring home. then youre set.
Mr. Friend: but if you take money out of the equation, then youd be living the life


As you can probably tell, I had this conversation with the intent of turning it into a blog post.

Caleb Crowe: what constitutes 'the life?' is it a universally understood idea with an objective measure?

Mr. Friend: well you can take it as you want really. if you didnt have to worry about money then you could be living the way you wanted

Caleb Crowe: but money will always be a part of the equation, so how do you configure the rest of the problem so happiness is the sum? (how d'ya like that extended metaphor, eh?)

Mr. Friend: well thats what im saying if you cant take money out of it then how can it be fully living the way you want to

Caleb Crowe: so, happiness isn't achievable?

Mr. Friend: we always want more

Caleb Crowe: but wouldn't happiness bring feelings of being content and saitated?

Mr. Friend: ya.
Mr. Friend: not pure happiness
Mr. Friend: well.
Mr. Friend: ya
Mr. Friend: haha

Caleb Crowe: so, life is at best a hollow facismile of what should be?

Mr. Friend: well you can find happiness in aspect of life but you wont be fully happy or fulfilled until you die

Caleb Crowe: so, what if you can actually find some of this elusive happiness in 'the rat race' and chasing what society purports to be 'the dream.' does that vindicate the amount of time we have to pour into that concept now in the hope that it will be payed off later?

Mr. Friend: well first of all society is stupid. secondly Jesus

Caleb Crowe: so, based on those two points, why spend time on this garbage?

Mr. Friend: we are living in a very messed up place, and what do you mean this garbage, like life, or work?

Caleb Crowe: work. this staying up studying things that we have no interest in or desire for.
Caleb Crowe: not just the lost hours of sleep, but just the amount of self that gets poured into it
Caleb Crowe: the worry, the money, the time, the relationships

Mr. Friend: well if you have no desire to do it. then i dont think you should do it. you should be at least liking what youre doing, or youre just setting yourself up for a long crap life

Caleb Crowe: do you like your program?

Mr. Friend: i dont know yet.


The conversation progressed into more personal realms after that, but I just thought it made for an interesting read. I hope you enjoyed.
(Also, Anberlin concert tomorrow night. This will be the second time I've seen them, plus I've been listening to them for around 6 or 7 years, so I fully expect to be blown away. Concert review to follow).


Wednesday, October 20, 2010

"It's This Brain of Mine; It's Got a Mind of It's Own."

I tried going for a barefoot run the other morning, but the ground has become so cold that it just turned into an exercise in pain. Tonight, I tried going for a barefoot walk; This didn't work out either. The end of the summer was so chilly that it still hasn't really clicked in my brain that it's a different season now: that the days are shorter, the nights are longer and the air crisper. I keep expecting to walk out into pure unadulterated sunshine.
Of course I don't think I'm fat. I went out for a walk tonight because I've been pent up for the last little while, and I just needed something with cathartic potential. And exercise.
I'm an 18 year old male. Eight teen. Male. Last year I was 17 year old male.
My entire life I've existed as a male who falls grossly short of male stereotypes: when my brother was having epic war games, I was busy preparing a tragic backstory for the ammunition boy; when kids in my class were discussing skateboarding and cars, I was reading Tolkien; when all my friends were getting their licenses, I was too busy being introspective about things I can't even remember.
To the left of me is roughly $800 dollars or more worth of musical equipment. I can't play one song. I've read more novels then I can count, but the furthest I've been able to get in writing one is a chapter and a half. I have a sketchbook filled with monsters and abstraction because I can't take the time to learn proper proportioning. I've written more lyrics than I remember, but the only two songs I've performed live were covers. One was a cover of a cover.
I was contemplating all this, and I think the best way to describe how I feel is lopsided. Or rather, how I know I should feel. I'm currently straddling the line between knowledge of something and knowing it.
Growing up, teachers said that I had the potential to do very well, but I just didn't do it.
I never believed them. I thought that was the line they fed everyone, always trying to pull out the best in people by telling them it was just out of their reach. A very close friend of mine started a blog recently (http://seasonalcaleb.wordpress.com/), and in his inaugural post he talks about things the type of thing that I would be hesitant sharing with the people closest to me, and he just throws it up for the world to see. I'm constantly amazed when people's actions are so different from mine that I can't understand them at all.
This all ties in because I understand that I'm different. I get that the sum of my existence is a number different from anyone else's; I just won't accept it. I don't argue it, but I don't accept it. Growing up I always wanted to have some sort of instant intrinsic value. I think everyone does.
But I could never believe the teachers when they said I had potential that others didn't.
I have a hard time wrapping my head around the fact that I can be good at something without being the best.
Being at 18 year old male I have desires: I want to move, I don't want to be couped up, I want to create, I want to have and to hold.
This is just existential rambling at best, with trace amounts of connectivity.

I hate my cell phone. There's so much potential within it: it's a hallway to a hundred rooms, and behind each room is a unique and interesting person. But having meaningful conversation in this hallway is so hard. face to face interaction is where it's at, but I'm usually to distracted for it to turn out the way I'd like.

I'm ending this here, otherwise this would just spiral even further away from whatever the topic is supposed to be.

Tuesday, October 19, 2010

The Charmed Life (Or, How I Will Eat Mostly Waffles In The Days To Come)

I have a bizarre life. I realize I over use that word, but it's true.
Sunday I was just doing a routine check of my email, and got a lovely little message informing me that Haste The Day (http://www.myspace.com/hastetheday) would be staying at my house Monday night after their show with Enter Shikari.
Needless to say, I was incredibly excited. So, I did a quick clean of my house and figured out where everyone would go, went out and bought 48 waffles and the accessories in anticipation of their arrival.
Monday morning I went to school with the expectation that I would be chaperoning a grade 9 art trip to the zoo. Turns out the art trip is Thursday of next week. So, my plans were thrown asunder from 9:20 onwards.
The day progressed as any other day (except instead of spending my spares working on my art project (which I will post photos of as soon as it's done), I watched a movie in an empty classroom), until post-school where I went on a quick jaunt to a book store with a very dear and very absent friend.

Moving along.
Haste The Day didn't end up coming to my house, but my friend still got in for free and my entire group got free merch.
But the strangeness of the whole day had me pondering. How sure are we of our plans? To what degree do we really have control of our lives? Paradoxically, it's infinite and extremely limited. We can control our own choices and how we choose to act, but we have no control over others and they contribute so greatly to who we are and how our lives progress.
Not sure what this whole ordeal taught me (aside from the fact that both Haste The Day and Enter Shikari are amazingly entertaining live, each for their own reasons)(and that hardcore crowds don't know how to dance to dubstep) but it certainly has me thinking.
And eating.
I've consumed 12 waffles so far today.
36 to go.

Monday, October 11, 2010

Short Story From a Year Ago.

I was just looking through some of my old notes today, trying to find inspiration for lyrics, and I came across this anecdote that is just a few days over one year old.
It relates to winter, so I thought it was fitting:

"dear whoever is reading this"

and thats how the letter began. i paused for a second before continuing. i knew that jeremy would've paused when writing, so i knew that i too should pause.

"dear whoever is reading this.
hello, and thank you for your time.
first and foremost, i have 3 distinct memories of winter.
first: i am sitting in the skate park. my two best friends in the world are there, so is the man i loathe more than anyone. the ties between all these people were so intense and too complex that now they lie in utterly shattered and thoroughly irreparable ruins. this could be considered foreshadowing.
i dont know why this stands out in my mind. there may have been snow falling.
i dont know.
i remember he(the one i loathed) did something, and i looked to one best friend with outrage written plain across my face. the one i loathed noticed, and proffered some excuse. this taught me to guard my face.
secondly: i'm standing on a street corner. you are standing with me. we are waiting. (by you, i do not of course mean whoever may be reading this (my respects to you), but i mean you, the girl i stood with.) i do not recall what we are waiting for, i just remember i offered my jacket to you. and we stood there.
conversation flew in static bursts. carols came forth in a garble that only we could find funny.
this taught me something, i'm sure it did. i dont know what yet.
lastly: "

here he had taken a sharpie and skewered his final point in a long black, finite line, leaving behind only one indented stanza:

"i've grown feeble and tired of the world,
and I long to smell the sea
the sea.."

i had the tune in my head now. i knew this song. from somewhere. it stuck out like that word on the tip of your tongue, the dream that you had last night.
it was there, waiting in the ethereal reaches of my mind.
i read on:

"in my time here on this earth i've learned a few things that i believe to be completely concrete:
the main one being that what i think i know about things that cannot be measured are quite possibly entirely untrue. therefore what i just said may very well be the ramblings of a mad man.
self-doubt aside.
another thing i've learned is that no matter how much you"

here he had crossed out you, replaced it with i, then we, and finally

"one may gather self-confidence, self-doubt will always have that foothold. it can be lurking anywhere, in any or all facets of life, waiting to blast what you thought of yourself into oblivion. what you thought you knew about friendship was so thoroughly armored in assurance that you forgot to check the ground it was standing on. thus, it fell to a quicksand of impatience.
but i digress. well, i assume i need to. the official point is this: i'm leaving. dont try to find me."

oh. i stopped.
i reread up to that point.

"now that the main point is in the open, i may digress back to my prior distraction.
what i think i know. i thought i knew love. as arrogant as that sounds coming from a 21 year old, i would like to say that i was, for a while, blissfully ignorant of human nature. i was so caught up in endorphins and indefinite s that i couldnt see her selfishness staring me blankly in the eye."

me? no.

"i've learned to not put trust in a sweater to keep you warm, no matter what the weatherman says. i've learned that there is more bad in this world than good. i dont know how it still spins.
gravity will always win.
i think thats all i can divulge at this point.
but, as i was saying. said. i am going away. do not try to find me. and do not worry. i will be back one day, but till then, dont try to find me. that would ruin it.
the mystery for me. and you. the dear reader.
much love"

his unintelligible signature danced beneath his drawn-out and spacey goodbye.
i looked out the window.
and sipped my tea.
and waited.

Friday, October 8, 2010

Tiny Tide- The Identity Mix Up

A friend of mine posted this recently: and it inspired me to write down the thoughts that I've been having on this topic of late.

In preparation for writing this blog I went for a run in order to clear my mind. Didn't work. The question of identity is so multi-layered and ubiquitous that attacking it directly is something saved best for dissertations, not blogs.
So, rather than go broad scope, I'm focusing in on the idea of Labels.
Google defines a label as: "a brief description given for purposes of identification."
Not only do they identify, they dehumanize.
On Friday in my Hollywood vs History class we were discussing the Rwanda Genocide, and it occurred to me that humans don't kill humans. Or rather, humans don't kill people they view as equals; they kill people that they think they are either better than or people that they think are worse than they are (while that sounds repetitive there is a difference).
Case in point: The Hutu's didn't kill other Hutu's. They killed "Tutsi Cockroaches." An entire race was assigned an identifier, a label of being worse than those labeling.
Rather than asking ourselves 'how could one human being do this to another," we should rather try and understand how one human could come to view another as so much less than human.
This may sound rather obvious, but how does this start? How can someone go from a human to a cockroach?
We see things like this everyday, particularly in high school. "She's a prep, he's a jock, I'm a nerd, they're the guidos, and Terrence is the outcast." Labels carry with them connotations, and these connotations allow us to have fully realized views on someone we have never interacted with based on just a few choice syllables describing one aspect of their personality.
(This is ignoring the issue of deconstruction and inability to efficiently convey meaning precisely; When person A says says that person C is 'Stylish,' person B automatically thinks of all the people they view as 'Stylish' and assigns person C some of these characteristics, when in fact person A has a different view and opinion on 'Stylish,' and the meaning is lost to subjective interpretation).
Aside from the above issue of us not even properly understanding the sayer's intent of these labels, when we hear and accept a label, we attach thoughts and views to The Labelled that detract from who they are as a human being.
The more I get to know someone, the harder it is for me to describe them. My closest friends are the most enigmatic people I know. But I can easily place strangers in a box and assume things about them based on a few scant pieces of information. People are infinite paradoxes, and the shear potential of them is staggering.
Now, some might read this and think "This is stupid. ____ is a slut by their own admission. They've said they've done this and everyone knows it." This might be true, but is their entire existence really defined by one word? And if it is, why? How can they exist in a way that allows strangers to know everything about them through one four letter word? What are they so terrified of that they have yet to come into themselves as people?
Labels dehumanize. No one is so shallow that the sum of their being can fit into one word.
We love to try though, because labels make life easy. Interacting with strangers is eerie, so if we can delude ourselves into thinking that we know those around us based on the adjectives we paste onto them, then we feel comfortable because we 'know' them.
Same goes for self. We adopt the labels others give us, because it affords us a sense of familiarity. We can even make it a mantra of sorts. When faced with the question of 'Who are you?" we can just bow our heads and repeat to ourselves "I am the care-giver, I am the care-giver, I am the care-giver".
Really? The sum of you, the magnus opum of who you are, is 'care-giver.' Sure, it might be an important part of how you view yourself (and how others view you), but it is ultimately not you.
Since I've painted Labels as obviously negative, the question then changes from "Who do you define yourself as" to "How do you define yourself?"
Simply put, don't.
Stop saying this person is that, that person is this and you are something.
Humans do this to everything. We find similar traits and spank a label on it so we can understand it in contrast. Musical Genres, Dewey Decimal System, Church Denominations... Science even bothers to break it down in the order of kingdom, division, class, order, family, genus and finally species.
As a species, we need to understand. Labeling allows us this, especially where people aren't involved, but introduce humans into the equation and it takes away from interpersonal growth. Getting to know someone when we can have preconceived notions of them is like trying to eat a sandwich that's wrapped in plastic wrap. Gross, rather difficult and not at all the right flavour.
We must first peel away the plastic preconceptions of peoples personalities, then we can get down to the meat of their being.




Thursday, October 7, 2010

My Brother and The Dichotomy of Light and Dark

First and most exciting things first, my brother is now engaged. Good on ya mate
(No idea what that means, but it sounds appropriate).
I spent the last three days in his company driving East so he could propose and do some work related stuff, and it was crazy fun.
I forgot my camera in his car, so the photo that I wanted to attach to this post is still in P.E.I., so I shall simply tell you what it was going to be: Elvis, the tampon of male bonding.
Within the first hour of setting out on our epic adventure, my brother found a stray tampon in the car and attached it to the rear view mirror where it dangled conspicuously for the world to envy.
While not necessarily my favorite moment of the roadtrip, it is one of the few that is a)appropriate and b) actually funny to those who do not know us too well and c) it portrays the sheer inanity of my broski.
We were pulled aside crossing back into Canada for a customs check, and me and my brother got out of the car and sat on a bench giggling about absurd scenarios that could happen. In the midst of our chuckle fest, one of the border guards called my brother over to ask him a few questions.
Here is an excerpt from the conversation:
Border Guard motioning to me: "Who is that?"
Spen: "My brother."
Border Guard: "Does he do drugs?"
Spen: "... I don't think so?"

Bless his heart.

Early on in the roadtrip, my iPod died so we were devoid of any music until day 2 when we stopped at a wal-mart and I picked up Anberlin's new album "Dark is the Way, light is a Place," their 5th full length LP.
Here is an absurdly large photo of the cover of the album. I just love it. It's so thoroughly mature and enigmatic. Works perfectly for the album.
Consisting of 10 tracks and being 40-odd minutes in length, the album, while not spotless, is surprisingly good.
Rather than go on a track by track breakdown of hits and misses, here is the general idea: way too much structure, extremely well-fleshed out lyrics and catchy-yet-complicated music. Up until their 4th album, Anberlin's music tended to blur together; Not so on this record. Each song is distinctive, yet has that elusive cohesive feel of actually being an album and not a collection of singles.
My only real issue with the album is the penultimate track Down. Every time I hear it I think it's either Sleeping Sickness by City and Color, or The Unwinding Cable Car (acoustic) also by Anberlin. Or a weird amalgamation of the two. Plus, the lyrics make reference to burning a town. Yawn. Alexisonfire killed that metaphor back in 2006 with the track 'Mailbox Arson' off of Crisis, and it should really never be brought up in music again.
I guess another issue with the album is the closer, which clocks in at only five and a half minutes, whereas their closers had averaged a length of seven minutes. Pity too, since the refrain would have easily worked over another minute and half of build (You're not a slave/So get off your knees). Lyrically, it feels like part two of Soft Skeletons from New Surrender.
In spite of those issues, and an annoying tendency to have bridges that sputter off into silence only to roar back to life with a hearty chorus, this album is definitely worth buying. There is maturity in absolutely every aspect of this album.