Instant Poetry Vol. 1

This past week I posted three poems on my Instagram account and wanted to share them here. I am very proud of them and hope you find something in them that moves you. If not, then I did my best and I wish you well. If you do, then stay a while and maybe we can inspire each other.

IMG_3764IMG_3769fullsizeoutput_620

As a writer I typically always carry a pen on me regardless of whether or not I’ll actually use it, I just believe I’ll always need it, I usually have a little notepad with me too. In the days of smartphones and tablets though I find myself using my phone now more than ever to jot down story ideas or concepts and even to craft full projects. I still absolutely adore the feeling of pen/pencil to paper, but it does feel good being able to share something with you so easily.

Thanks for reading, may these find you well and may your heart beat strong. Be kind to one another, love deeply and be weird.

Advertisements

<Creative/CONtrol

I feel as though something every creative person struggles with from time to time is the concept of doing it for themselves or doing it for them. The “Them” I am referring to is the clients/employers/general population. It can be easy to get caught up in the idea of producing art or otherwise creating things for a paycheck. I mean isn’t that the dream? Being able to do what you love and being financially secure from it? At the same time though, can’t that be torturous if you wind up doing something thats only a fraction of the craft you love? Something thats diluted and watered down by the interjections of an institution of some kind? I myself do freelance writing and while I do enjoy aspects of it, I find that it takes away from the time I used to have to create in the way that I love to.

With that being said, I’m not complaining, only stating that in those situations you need to make sure you find a little bit of time to do what you truly love and balance your passion with the paycheck.

Heres my effort to do that exact thing.

I present to you Chapter one of “A Bastard’s Last Dance”.

The liquid that filled my mouth was thick and tasted of metal. My jaw was clenched tight as another fist swung into and connected with the right side of my chin. The blood I had been holding onto fled the vessel of my mouth with vigour as I fell. I landed on my left side supported by my hands and knees, the blood slowly dripping from my now open mouth. I had no words for the man standing behind me though he had plenty for me. I wasn’t altogether sure anymore why I was here on the ground. Not to say that I didn’t think I deserved to be but to say that I thought I had more fight in me. While assessing my beliefs in my combat abilities I felt the business end of a steel toe boot connect with the left side of my ribs. I am ashamed to say this is when I first cried out in pain. It wasn’t the two punches to the stomach or the two to the jaw. It wasn’t even collapsing on hands and knees in an abandoned warehouse where not one of my friends could find me. It was feeling the tip of that boot connect with my ribs and hearing the loud crack that went along with it. To clarify the audible I must confess that it wasn’t my ribs that cracked, though I imagine there are fractures. No, it was what I had placed in the inner pocket of my jacket that emitted the distressing sound that caused my outcry. The item to which I was affectionately attached had initially belonged to my father. It was his favourite watch that he had left me. The last object besides the DNA within me that connected us. I knew that the destruction of a material item such as a watch could never sever the bond or dissolve the memories I had of him. Though it was the principle of the item that I had wished to remain intact. As I rolled onto my back with the pain in my ribs pulsing through my torso I clutched my jacket where the now broken watch resided. It was neither the item or my possession of it that brought me to this low of a place both literally and metaphorically. It was something else entirely that can neither be truly possessed or otherwise owned. The man was pacing around me saying words that I both understood and didn’t agree with. He made claims of trespassing and theft though to which he referred could as I mentioned, be neither owned or possessed. As I lay in pain on the ground surrounded only by emptiness and the words of my villain, I managed to retrieve the pack of cigarettes i held in my right side pocket. He didn’t seem to care as I flipped open the lid and produced what was now a half sized cigarette presumably damaged in the struggle. I lit my small but equally as appreciated saving grace and took my first drag. I was overwhelmed with an awesome wave of calm as it soothed my aches. Intent on savouring my chemical bliss I let the smoke drift slowly through my lips as I noticed his ranting had stopped. Drawing my eyes back to his presence he stood now several feet away. All was as I’d left it save for the knife now clutched tightly in his grip.

“Well alright then”

I mumbled softly. My eyes floated back to the smoke still escaping into the world. I took another long drag, this time enjoying it more as my last. As he took another step towards me the plume of smoke I exhaled reminded me of a rose. A beautiful and elegant rose, like the very flower that got me into this mess. I closed my eyes to his advancing and basked in the memory. The warmth filled me as a pot of hot water and I floated away silently. Drifting away just me and my flower.

Post_Vacation_Bliss.exe

I’ve never really taken a vacation before. I mean, not one that was longer than a weekend and in a country other then the one I live in. Not one that I can recall while I sit here and type this anyways. Which is fine, because I’d rather have gone on few amazing vacations instead of many mediocre ones. Which is just my way of justifying a lack of vacationing I suppose. Its like when people say that its not how many friends you have its the quality, they’re just ashamed that they aren’t likeable enough to have more friends (I’m joking). I think I jut never thought I really deserved to take a vacation because I never really felt like I worked that hard to have earned one. I don’t feel that way now. About the vacation I just took at least.

It was time anyways, my partner and I have been together almost four years and had never had a real vacation and after the last year of endless hard work we just went through it was hard earned and well deserved. I mean she works hard, very hard. I suppose I don’t like, save lives or anything, but a friend once told me that its all perspective. For instance, I serve coffee at my day job and do freelance writing in my nights. You could argue that with the coffee I provide, I am saving lives. That isn’t to say that I’m on the frontline of salvation armed with percolated glory and a sling of holy coffee beans. Though it is to say that maybe that old yarn about “Give me my coffee before I snap” could be true for someone on a specific morning and I’m the one postponing the breakdown. Either way.

I don’t actually believe that I save lives, but I do believe that I at times have the ability to make a difference in someones day. Even if I’m just a blip on the radar, which is okay with me believe me, I think I leave a mark. Now I want to clarify that I don’t mean leave a mark like a lasting legacy and they’ll tell stories of my wisdom at the campfire to the younglings before bed. Just that maybe they’ll smile and think for a second that the day isn’t bleak and the end is a little more distant seeming than the horizon (Which isn’t me saying the end is nigh, we’ve probably got another ten years at least, or twelve).

The strange thing about vacationing to me is that you leave your home, go somewhere new to you (or familiar) and you live like you would if you weren’t restrained by work or obligations. The reason why I find that strange is that if we really wanted to I think a lot of us could live like we want a little more frequently in the place that we do call home. Not to be little the vacationing aspect of life, I do love it dearly, I just think that we may idolize a concept that can be applied more directly to everyday life. I mean think about it, maybe your idea of a good time is to climb way up into the alps or ski down a mountain in the freezing cold at break neck dangerous speeds (I’m not a skier, can you tell?). Then of course you cant just do that on a whim because your day job felt extra boring on a Tuesday. Maybe though, we can do more of the little things daily that make us smile and keep us happy instead of postponing them for that big trip you’ve been planning for two years and haven’t saved up enough for yet. Just a thought.

Regardless of what works for you, you should do it. For me, a vacation seems to have worked at least a little bit. The inner monologues have slowed down to a reasonable pace and the hordes of people I share this world with don’t seem quite as intimidating as usual. Maybe now I can get back to being productive in a creative way more frequently. I mean I do love money (money money money) but I should spend more of my time doing the things I love. So without dragging this thing out into a rally or a Ted talk. Lets all raise a glass of whatever you’re drinking as you read this and toast to love, dreams and whatever it is that makes us tick (unless its illegal, then cut it out you cheeky monkey).

Also, one last thing, never gamble. Even when you win, you wind up losing. Unless you win big, like really big, then always gamble and always win.

 

Sometimes It Works Out.

As some of you may know. I started making music from time to time. What I had done was set out to create a 6 song EP that I was proud of. I have finished that. Now, there are a lot of changes I still want to make, and only three out of the six songs I actually love. As well I plan on completely changing one of them. I do have to say I am proud of my commitment to the work.

With that being said, I did wind up creating a song I turned out to be quite fond of. I haven’t shared it anywhere yet, and I actually made this on December 30th. I wanted to wait until the album was perfect and I could find a way to release it to you, but I really want you to hear this.

I hope you listen to it, I hope you like it, and I hope that maybe it moves you in a way that music moves me. The song is one that I like, and it completes the story I had tried to tell. The album itself isn’t perfect yet, but I like to think that this song might be pretty close.

Mess of Me

The day has finally come and now this feels real. For the past year I’ve been working on this website and it finally feels somewhat complete. It started almost three years ago late one night, when I had no idea what I wanted from it. Then I rediscovered it two years later and have been building it up to what it is now. 

What is it now? You may ask, or not, but I’ll tell you anyways. This site is a conduit, a sort of portal, that allows me to present you with my ideas and concepts. The things I’ve created and dreamed up. Whatever it is, I’ve worked hard on it and believe in it. I do it for you, but for me. 

That’s an idea that I realized mattered to me more than I had previously thought. I don’t need the validation, but I want you to feel something. Anything at all even. If something I present you with garners any sort of reaction then I feel accomplished. Even just the tiniest bit proud. 

I’ve kept a lot of this work I’m sharing with you secret for the past year. I’ve shared a lot of it online but not much of it with friends or family. That changes now. With this big site update, I finally allow myself to be openly proud of my work and my passions. I think it’s important, as I continue to grow as both man and artist. That this is the logical next step. 

Without any further ado, I present you with this MessofMe.com. The organization to the chaos. The construct to the concept, and the foundation of the formula. Everything you see represents a part of me. Hopefully you’ll find something here that resonates with you. 

Thank you for your time, and for everything else. You inspire me, and I hope I can inspire you. 

Taking Steps

I think that like anything, failure is something we can find ourselves accustomed to. I don’t mean to say in the way of accepting failures; but more in the sense of never reaching for something greater, because we accept that we wont succeed. I think I became incredibly comfortable in that realm of acceptance. Became the type of person who wouldn’t reach unless I knew I could fail safely. Didn’t take any risks unless I knew there was a backup plan. I don’t think this is a great way to live.

Thankfully, I’ve found myself slowly but surely digging my way out of that. Like any comfort zone it gets difficult to truly pull yourself from the depths, yet as with most things, it only gets easier the more you actually do it. Though I may seem to be preaching I’m still no daredevil, though I would argue that I’m at least making choices. That in the end is the hardest part I think. Making the choices that actively put you out of your comfort zone and force you to sink or swim.

Without that knee jerk reaction towards survival the human race itself would never have evolved to this point. Let alone me evolving to a level of actually being able to follow through on something. Heres to taking steps, may all of you push yourselves towards something outside your comfort zone. Find that place that you dream of reaching and reach, reach, reach until you grasp.

All That Gold

I think that one of the most precious resources we have in this world is art. I mean, how many times do you find yourself turning to art? I myself can come up with a lengthy list. I mean who can’t? With that being said, I choose to look at art as something even more precious than gold. The only difference really being that you can create it in your basement, your spare room, your friends living room and even in no room at all.

I worry that people are becoming too easily dissuaded from creating. There is such a huge amount of art circulating out there that one might find it daunting to even think about creating something and putting it out into the crowded sea of everyone else’ work. Which I understand completely. I’m pretty afraid of it too. I mean, here I sit having just finished writing my first novel, and I have no idea what to do next. It’s worse then that though, I haven’t even told that many people. Which maybe is a good thing? I don’t know.

What I do know, is that you can’t stop creating. You have to keep going and keep doing it. Treat it like the drug you cant live without, or the support structure you rely on. No matter what just do it. Thats the one thing I’ve become absolutely certain of. Will I ever become a successful author, a famous actor, or anything related to the art world? I hope so. Should the countless possible end results affect my present dedication to my passions?

Absolutely not.

I mean what do i really know though right? This is just what works for me. Find your own thing, stick to it, love it, and live it. Please. For you.