Today....is slump day!

The body is abused, very abused today. It is feeling the aftershocks of last night's consumption of four pints of beer, 6 shots of Jameson and no food in the stomach. The heart is doing much worse. Yes, this is a diary entry and a sappy one and I just do not know how else do we learn about things if not through experiences of our own? I'm a bit too self-consumed though. Anyway, let me finish about last night.

I went out. I finally convinced my two Albanian girlfriends to come out with me with the promise that I would hook them up with my new group of Canadian boys who have become my partners-in-party lately. One of them I met in a bar and became friends with the rest of his group, all boys. All Canadian boys....
Well, let me tell ya about Canadian boys. They are polite and politically correct, but only up till the moment they no longer need you. They are good friends, generally. They are good men, good bros, and perhaps good lovers. They could even be good boyfriends but obviously am generalizing...

I got drunk. Pretty drunk. Stupidly so, since I had not planned to be. But as usual, to quiet the screams of pain, I chugged and chugged beer. It sounds depressing and self-mutilating this behaviour, no? Well, let me tell ya, I have turned it into an art of socializing and so-called-living-the-life. I stumble into people violently, demand interesting conversation with my insightful and shameless questions, break open their shyness with distinct fervour for I want a human connection. I am not interested in anything but human connections.

This year has been my debauchery year. But debauchery is my means of humanist experimentalism, digging of human psyche, my own specifically.

I am the cosmos and the others are me. I feel all this while I am listening to live music in a bar full of people.

Lonely is today...but only today!

"Holocene"

“Someway, baby, it’s part of me, apart from me.”
you’re laying waste to Halloween
you fucked it friend, it’s on it’s head, it struck the street
you’re in Milwaukee, off your feet

…and at once I knew I was not magnificent
strayed above the highway aisle
(jagged vacance, thick with ice)
I could see for miles, miles, miles

3rd and Lake it burnt away, the hallway
was where we learned to celebrate
automatic bought the years you’d talk for me
that night you played me ʻLip Paradeʼ
not the needle, nor the thread, the lost decree
saying nothing, that’s enough for me

…and at once I knew I was not magnificent
hulled far from the highway aisle
(jagged, vacance, thick with ice)
I could see for miles, miles, miles

Christmas night, it clutched the light, the hallow bright
above my brother, I and tangled spines
we smoked the screen to make it what it was to be
now to know it in my memory:

…and at once I knew I was not magnificent
high above the highway aisle
(jagged vacance, thick with ice)
I could see for miles, miles, miles

I fell asleep and awoke to a passionate kiss. He took advantage of my trust and entered my consciousness as I lay sleeping. I welcomed it, embraced it, loved it, pushed it away. I wasn't going to allow him to touch me. No, no dear sir, you cannot go down there, nor can you go up there. Keep your hands to yourself but give me free reign to your lips.

I wanted it. And yet rejected it. Could not accept the offer, for I would have lost the game.
In the war between bodies, the woman is always walking on eggshells. She needs to keep her focus, her balance, watch her steps carefully or she could be lost and crush herself under her own steps.

And then we kissed...and I loved it. And we kissed some more, and my resolve began to melt. And then he touched me some more, and I almost conceded. But I did not give in. I did not give in to my own temptations, neither to those of my body, neither to those of my heart. I just simply enjoyed the cleansing and satisfying process of being thoroughly, beautifully, passionately kissed.

Ah, how I want him! Ah, how I wish I did not want him. What a tragic war of emotions, this spark, this game of who seems to care less...

The countdown is on. Age 27 is already here and is no longer a number, but a state of mind; a culturally perceived last frontier of bachelorhood and more importantly, the first steps into old spinsterhood. Yes, yes....27 is too low a number to be saying these things, I know the North American cultural perception of this age. However, I am not North American (although have absorbed some its qualities) but a confused, deeply convoluted Albanian with a mix of values that seem to not know where they belong or where they would like to belong. At this current state, I am more of an amalgamation of compromised morals, muddled ideals, rejected and recycled superstitions and a new full set of decadent habits that I find incredibly essential to increasing my huma

nity and interestingness in life.

I am an odd one, inside of me. Outside, I seem a cheery, loving, party-animal babe that loves to flirt and make friends. I am the tactless jokes girl, full of life and energy. I am the speak-your-mind-first-think-later girl, the one with too many she's-ugly comments, the one with too much love for humans, too much tolerance, too much judgements, too much of everything. I am a mess of everything. And I am NOT the only one!

You are too, inexistent reader! We are all messes of everything, tangled balls of emotions, regrets, etc, etc, etc. Life is a string of etceteras.

Now go drink a delicious cold beer and don't pay any attention to my string of cliches.

The leaves fall,
one by one,
sometimes two at once,
sometimes three or more.

The hole within me grows,
bit by bit;
sometimes two by two,
sometimes exponentially more.

He has forgotten me,
but I still have him,
inside of me,
inside this memory-ridden conscience.

There is darkness and light,
they fight.
They hate each other,
they love each other,
they're hateful lovers,
they play games under the covers.

I want one as I want the other.
One is always following me,
while the other constantly evades me.
Except for brief periods where it gently lets me capture her,
hold her and caress her,
feel her warmth while she fools me that it will last,
and then, she escapes just as swiftly.

I want her to stay,
but she is fleeting,
capricious like the wind,
transcendent like heaven.

Love, oh you cruel thing!
Your light torments me,
my desire of you consumes me,
my journey to you has exhausted me.

I want your shape to metamorphose,
for the love of a man I now oppose.
I want you to change your cape,
the love of career and money
I want to stake.

I hope our wishes will parallel one day,
for I am tired,
of this constant chase that to win, I pray.

She smokes another cigarette...
Tells me Megan has bronchitis again.
I listen to her as I type...
Meanwhile, another smoke ring she lets out.

She buries the cigarette,
in the swampy graveyard of past-smoked moments.
Drowns it in the cup,
wishes another memory away...
I am beside her,
not knowing what to say...

"Sleep, oh sleep, where art thou?"
She asks.
I answer - "Not here, not now".

She laughs at me,
I laugh with her.
I hold her dear,
my best friend, my lover.

She abandons the chair
and walks towards the kitchen.
Drawn there,
by her periodic hormones kicking.

I watch her walk away towards her room,
watch the candlelight,
follow her in the gloom.

We talk nonsense through the darkness,
feel the hollowness,
make love to the shadows.

Hear me now, oh dear friend!
Here's another legend, to comprehend...

As I lay....
she came to me.
Came to me like the white moonlight;
lulled me to sleep,
and awoke me to my dreams.

She tore off the head of my shyness,
broke off the limbs of my weakness,
set fire to my desires,
and clobbered my pseudo-nisms.

I was neither there, neither here.
I was perhaps a threshold of betweens.
I was enamoured with her sadism,
but fortunately,
she was more interested in my masochism.

I know she was and still is,
the light of day,
the dark of night.
I know she does not think of anything,
while I get ready to set flight,
to the dreams she instilled in me,
while the legacy she left roams free.
I find her everywhere,
but she does not want to find me....

Oh, fortune or misfortune,
whatever you may be called.
I summon thee to my soul,
so this frailty you can hold.
I crave your adventure,
your whips of experimentalisms,
your sounds of the present,
your slaps of futurisms.

I know she was cruel,
but her cruelty I needed.
She knew that toughness,
with sadness can be succeeded.
I cursed her many times,
but couldn't deny her force.
Her charms and tempations,
I needed them...
I needed them to be coarse.

I know she is everywhere,
I know she hides from me well.
If you know dear stranger,
where is she, praytell?

Nomadic Weekend

I spent the weekend in one pair of clothes. I walked and walked and walked in the rain, in the cold. I was angry, at times entertained, at times amused, and other times...just plain old feeling of blah.

It was an interesting weekend. I pet beautiful dogs who were congregated in a corner at Trinity Park, impatiently awaiting their turn for their picture to be taken. Fido definitely knows how to get dogs come to them...especially when the reason is a casting call for their new commercial.

I drank a lot of coffee this weekend. Not enough alcohol. Surprisingly, first weekend where I am sober...and then monday comes and true to my late tradition, I get drunk. This time, I blame it on my date who kept on feeding me alcohol on an empty stomach...or do I blame myself for thirsting beer so much? No clue. No reason. Perhaps...just old simple thirst.

Have you ever been to Trinity Bellwoods Park in Toronto? Am sure not, inexistent reader. But here's a quiet introduction...

Wolf and I - Oh Land

Before the world you know was like it is
I held a lover once and I was his
And we walked along the river in the sun
But he's a lonely man, so this was done
The only place we had to meet was night
While the sun he sleeps in shadows we can hide
On the mountainside we spent our time together
But it is gone when morning comes

And you are the wolf
And I am the moon
And in the endless sky we are but one
We are alive
In my dreams wolf and I

How many days and nights will come and go
While the only light you'll see is from my glow
There will never be a dawn that breaks the spell surrounding us
Til the earth dies with the sun

And you are the wolf
And I am the moon
And in the endless sky we are but one
We are alive
In my dreams wolf and I
(Repeat)

Oooh oooh oooh oooh oooh (4x)
Aaah aaah aaah aaaah aaah (2x)

In the endless sky we are but one...

I opened it,
cut it,
drew it,
then threw it.

You gave it,
sketched it,
handed it,
then broke it.

We exchanged it,
loved it,
cherished it,
stabbed it,
then discarded it.

Now..."it" wonders,
wanders,
and clobbers
its way out of existence.

Poor state of freedom,
love,
idealism,
realism,
and painful dualism.

Now go kill yourself "it",
for you no longer are needed,
wanted,
nor requested.

Ziplining,
frontlining,
dangling,
my heart in front of you.

Cleaning,
decluttering,
waving off the emotions of my past for you.

Conversing,
inhaling,
exhaling,
connections with you.

Slow, slow, below me,
i'm breathing love,
staring at peace,
wishing bits of flesh in my fingers.

No, no...don't go away,
I hate the pauses between us,
claws in my soul,
sores in my visions of you.

Love will not meet us now,
we can't file it for the future,
we try to savour it mentally in our present,
but it's too far...

You come to me,
I come to you,
there's no respite,
just hunger,
thirst,
rawness,
and a chaos of you and I.

And they blew it all on telegrams,
instagrams,
and photograms.

They tore apart the suits,
gave up the green paper drug,
corrected their perspective,
and gave enlightenment a chance.

They thought they were reborn,
blessed the lightbulb in their head,
harnessed the power of peace,
embarked on their journey to nowhere.

I was them and they were me.
I do not know what they could see.
In the road of life they joined me,
but am not sure that we could all see,
the mountain,
the wind,
the stream,
or the bee...the life-pollinating bee!

They became preachers of harmony,
told me stories of the effigy;
the Buddha, the Allah,
the Gaia and Sidhartha.

I listened to them with my third eye open,
for my mind, their logic could not follow.
Their vision, for me too broad,
their love, out of scope.

I tried to listen to their beggings,
but my heart could not handle their wailings,
so I took my green paper drug and suits and left,
and opted for my materialistic cleft.

And in the way back I found,
the mare and the hound,
and all love that is bound,
for nothing is better,
than the beautifully realistic ground.

Albums discovered today

Yusef Lateef - "Eastern Sounds"



Gil Fuller, Dizzy Gillespie & Chano Poz - "Afro"



Various Artists - "Electric Jazz Lounge"

Let it be,
let it be,
for she won't come to me.
The voice,
the drum,
the beating and the hum.

In the light she rests,
the clouds are her dress,
the sun her companion,
the moon her lover.

I'm seeing the edges breaking,
can see her floating,
for she is always there,
to make us bare.

I found her in the water,
I found her in the air,
I found her lost,
but she seemed not to care.

I told her to come over,
I wanted more of her,
she refused to see me,
accused me of being greedy.

Oh love,
why do you always escape me so?
Let me go, let me go...
my desire for you has burnt so...

Her or me...

In her arms I fell,
In her chest I broke,
In her ears I spoke.

In her mouth I breathed,
In her soul I tilled,
In her mind I chilled,
In her voice I screamed.

In her life I found,
the mare and the hound,
the lover on the ground,
the tree and the sound,
the cheeks all browned.

She heard me say,
that my lover is May,
that my heart is in disarray,
that I know only how to betray,
that I will go away,
and leave her in peace, I say.

I don't know what will be,
but she might as well just leave me,
for I know that in the present,
the past will forever be.

My lover,
my dream.
Oh, my angry stream!

Flume

I am my mother's only one
It's enough

I wear my garment so it shows
Now you know

Only love is all maroon
Gluey feathers on a flume
Sky is womb and she's the moon

I am my mother on the wall, with us all
I move in water, shore to shore
Nothing's more

Only love is all maroon
Lapping lakes like leary loons
Leaving rope burns
Reddish ruse

Only love is all maroon
Gluey feathers on a flume
Sky is womb and she's the moon

Holocene

"Holocene"



“Someway, baby, it’s part of me, apart from me.”
you’re laying waste to Halloween
you fucked it friend, it’s on it’s head, it struck the street
you’re in Milwaukee, off your feet

…and at once I knew I was not magnificent
strayed above the highway aisle
(jagged vacance, thick with ice)
I could see for miles, miles, miles

3rd and Lake it burnt away, the hallway
was where we learned to celebrate
automatic bought the years you’d talk for me
that night you played me ʻLip Paradeʼ
not the needle, nor the thread, the lost decree
saying nothing, that’s enough for me

…and at once I knew I was not magnificent
hulled far from the highway aisle
(jagged, vacance, thick with ice)
I could see for miles, miles, miles

Christmas night, it clutched the light, the hallow bright
above my brother, I and tangled spines
we smoked the screen to make it what it was to be
now to know it in my memory:

…and at once I knew I was not magnificent
high above the highway aisle
(jagged vacance, thick with ice)
I could see for miles, miles, miles

I was teased by your inquiries,
I was spit out by your words,
your assertions of me and my bones,
my translucent weaknesses,
and transcendent desires.

When your eyes are pain,
and your sounds are in vain,
I find I wonder about what could be lost,
and what is currently found.

When the water has boiled,
and the heart become ash,
I find that you are still rain,
whose moisture I crave.

And now in my bed,
while thinking of my pain,
Someday perhaps,
you will make it rain...
And perhaps,
the flowers in my rock,
can bloom again.

Hungover state...

Another day staring at a computer screen, all hungover and dried up from the alcohol, your skin burning, your eyes itching, your stomach churning. Days at the office while hungover can be fun, mostly in the form of comatose zero productivity and news browsings, music-listenings, paperclip-filings, and all other various forms of mindless laziness. Then lunch time arrives and you fly off your chair like a hyena ready to attack the food court for your choice of prey, all in the attempt to fill in the hole left over by the insane amount of alcohol consumed the night before. Ah, the beauty of abusing one's body.

Nothing better than some good skull-splitting headache, heavenly body tremors and some delish serious stomach pains. Wait, the beauty doesn't end there either. Then you get to deal with people telling you that you look as if you have been dead for the past two weeks, all day!!!! On top of that, you get to deal with the many mistakes that you will make during your day at work which adds to your work, your misery and your hard-earned misfortune. Ah dear, dear, old, partying soul!

During all this, you tell yourself never again...only to do it again come 6pm. The life of a young professional is hard, my friends. You got debts to deal with, dreams to crush, debts to attempt paying, bodies trying to connect and failing miserably, and oh- yes, the constant struggle at trying to achieve your so-said potential and your bosses' demands. All of this while trying to look like you're the shit....'cause in the end, they all tell you that you are, it is the politically correct thing to do. However, whether you are or not, am afraid, it all ends up being categorically determined by your spiritualistic, emotional, mental and most importantly, materialistic achievements.

The chance to do well is high, but the chance to fuck up is higher. And fate would have it, that hungover or not, you just happen to increase your chances of mindless and hopeless fuckupery by continuing your lifestyle of self-abuse. I for one, am the best example. And believe me, self-abuse kind of consists of everything and anything...Bite your nails? Self-abuse! Look at the guy you like but got no guts to ask out? Self-abuse! So, you see, self-abuse is all-encompassing in the web of life. Hence, do not be afraid of it. Embrace it! Love it like it's your unborn baby (cause it comes with just about the same pains) and cherish it and feed it and let it be because in the end, you got no say in the matter. Well, perhaps a bit. But us losers and lazy bums, prefer to blame it all on the universe.

So....don't be afraid to sin, you will need it to make it in this life.

Fall...

I fell into me, quite unexpectedly, and it was hard...a hard fall. I fell and crashed into my insecurities, I saw them for what they were, the brightness of truth hurting my eyes, my heart, my ego. I saw there the debris of my emotional baggage, the hording of my failures, the blurriness of my dreams and the shards of the pain I once felt, its edges still cutting into me.

I knew that this ugliness of truth would only do me good, but I could not accept it, so I looked away and I continued in my adventure of ignore-your-problems party. I drank and got high, I ignored the tears that would sneak out from time to time and told myself I was fine, I kept on going and still do and wonder when the ignoring will stop. Perhaps when life will have slapped me raw and will have left no more room for avoiding things I got to deal with...perhaps! I knew though, that sooner or later, I would come to you...to you, dear me. This is all a journey to get to you, my id! This is my coming-of-age story, my moment, my dream, my climax...when I have finally found myself.

Watching

And I watched you watching me, but you forgot they were watching you and so we all watched and were watched but did not really see.

August 1, 2011

31 degrees celsius of hotness,
wind to wipe off the heat
from time to time.
Lots of people at starbucks,
and me,
helping myself to some alone time.
BOn Iver in the background,
the deep sound penetrating thoughts,
instilling emotions,
and showcasing moments.

I want a lover and a best friend,
a man that can hold my hand,
without being afraid of attachment
and nonsensical emotional demands.
I want someone who can withstand,
the gravity of my eccentricity,
the pull of depravity,
the tenderness of my wholesome sensitivity.
Only couples, in this goddamn place,
their presence irks me,
their connection enrages me,
and their love saddens me.
I want someone to love and be loved,
I want a lover to hold,
a mind to explore,
a heart to devote.



This post makes no sense,
but I want to post it nonetheless.

Ramble II

Whoa, Whoa,
You can't be feeling this way.
Don't allow the misery to enter.
Come on, girl. You know better than that.
Yet, you let the waves overtake you,
you let the pain break you,
and the people hurt you.

Darling, life is tough.
You can't deny it, stop it, nor drop it.
You can only accept it and and then hang on with grit.
You can tell me to hold some of weight,
this way you'll pull through.

Let this be a lesson, dear girl.
Life is tough, but so are you.
You are a weed in a strong stream
and you do not let the current take you
for your roots are strong,
and your dreams long,
and you know this is where you belong.
In this strong current,
you have your people throng,
to make you not forlorn.

Girl, girl...weep not,
regret not,
cry not,
instead laugh lots,
give smile shots,
and lifebolts
to the colts
that surround your lot.

Now go play,
'cause life doesn't wait...

Persepolis

"Listen. I'm gonna give you an advice that will always be useful. In your life, you will meet a lot of assholes. Remember that it's stupidity that pushes them to be evil. It will prevent you from answering to their nastiness. Because there's nothing worse than bitterness and vengeance. Always remain worthy and true to yourself."

Extract from the movie Persepolis.

Dance with me...

Dance with me,
and fire dances with you.

Play with me,
and they forget you.

Hurt with me,
and I might love you.

Love with me,
and I might hurt you.

Dance with me,
and I might dance back with you...

I gots me life.
I think I do.
I gots me love.
I know I don't.

I gots me riches.
That's damn not true.
I gots me feelings...
that I want to undo.

I gots me clouds,
in my head.
I gots me prayers,
in my bed.

I gots me hatred,
in my heart.
I gots me peace,
perhaps not.
I gots me wishes,
and those are a lot.

I gots me quarrels,
with myself.
I gots me troubles,
that I put on a shelf.

I gots me lots and lots of things,
I gots me a life,
that brings me drinks,
parties,
people,
and cheers,
but none that eradicate,
this web of fears.

What will you give me,
oh, auspicious stranger,
will you give me more of the above
or the latter?

Tall order of Perfection, please!

Americans!

Americans seem to have this obsession with perfection, an imaginary idea that they strive for, fight for, lie for, even to themselves, but especially to others. They are constantly in pursuit of happiness - as it says in their constitution - but in actuality, it is perfection they strive for. They are convinced that the two are equal, are inseparable; hence, their constant pursuit. They are under the impression that the only life worth living is one where you are always successful, have the best clothes, best body, prettiest smile, most gorgeous car, best education, loveliest and smartest children. They love to compete and especially, with themselves. They are a weird bunch...but oh, so interesting. They have this obsession with always being politically correct, always saying the right thing, doing the right, projecting the right image and in my opinion it all goes back to their pursuit of perfection; sorry, meant to say happiness. They are under the illusion that perfection can be achieved, if only one works hard enough and tries hard enough. I am afraid they fail to notice that perfection cannot exist in this world and this is due to a very simple fact: we are human. I know it is so cliche to say, but it is true. And after all, that's what cliches are, just over-repeated truths. They want the latest gadgets, the biggest homes, the best clothes, the largest meals, the most in overabundance.

They want it all, friends. And why shouldn't they? They work hard enough for it. They have developed a philosophy of life that is entirely reliant on the individual, a freeing and debilitating way of life that is oh-so-solitary. You work long hours to achieve these materialistic dreams dictated by "society" or AKA, multinational corporations.

I am part of this intricate web of self-deceit and antagonizing freedom of self. I work for a multinational company, work in the hub of wall street Canada and I feel so...detached, so not able to cope with the glazed and corrupt look of materialistic perfection and high gloss. I wonder many times whether I want to follow the same dream...

This reflection will have to continue tomorrow.

So this is you denying?
Denying the simple fact of life?
Ah, poor, little soul!
What good will denying do?
Where will it take you?
How will it hide the rest
of your body except for your head?

No, no, don't delude yourself!
Don't salute the cell,
don't preclude the bell,
the bell of freedom,
the bell that can tell
through the ring of its own hell
the memories that seep in your well.

Hear it,
feel it,
for you may forget it,
and then abandon it,
the eureka of life,
the ugly truth of strife,
that simple fact of life!

Artsy roomies

Now that I live by myself and got the good fortune of having artsy people as roomies, I get to see and be part of videos like the ones below. They are my friends and inspiration. Should I dabble in some video work? I think so...

Brock Ave Chronicles from Laetitia on Vimeo.

Kensington Market Experience from Jon Riera on Vimeo.

I remember - Yeasayer

They tell me I'm beautiful, but I don't believe them. Instead, I choose to believe in the beauty of my music, the warmth of the morning sunlight, the crispness of the air, the white cherry tree with its falling petals, the humidity of the afternoon, and the sad truths in life...such as "fill in the blanks".

I have been obsessed for the whole week with this song. It reminds me of when I was in love...and him was stuck in my mind all the time, so frequent even now.

Sun!

Sun, sun,
Why do I love you so?
You warm my heart,
you warm my soul.

Sky, sky,
Why are you so blue?
Why is love,
so full of you?
Why does the colour,
relax me so,
why does the word,
fill me with warmth?


Sun, sun,
don't go away,
caress my heart,
brighten my day.
Give love to the flowers,
and to mankind,
give warmth to their hearts,
and make their world shine.


P.S. I had a fantastic lunch today at St. Lawrence market with friends/colleagues who brighten my days. Wine and impromptu friends in the shape of cutest dog, make life's little pleasures the true reason for living. I hope you all had a wonderful day, too.

In the end they win...or is it you?

I saw you in the window glass,
you looked good.
In your Anne Klein skirt,
your maroon heels,
your navy mesh tights,
and your strong walk.

I saw you and did not recognize you,
did not know who this girl was.
Did not know who you thought you were,
perhaps not who you seem,
perhaps not who you want to be,
perhaps somebody else entirely.

Why are you so multifaceted?
Why this embellishment of self?
Why this self-preserved broken surface?
Tell me one thing and one thing only:
What do you want?
Do you want to be the successful hottie
walking the halls of Allen Galleria?
Do you want to be the simpleton
traveling the corners of the world instead?
What do you want?
Why is it so hard for you to answer?

What is it about this duality that persists in you?
Is the corporate world tempting you, misleading you,
engulfing your being in believing that money and power
are the only way to succeed and make a difference?
Be heard? Be loved? Be respected? Be appreciated?

My little girl,
why are you so broken?
Why are you so weak and flawed?
Why are you so easily tempted?
Why are you so humanly swayed into
believing things that are not you?
Who are you?
I know you can't answer...
But maybe through actions,
you can....

Do something,
Love yourself...

Now, Now...
Don't go thinking you can win,
not in this life, pal.
Don't argue with life's cruelties,
they will chew you up and spit you out,
yes, just like that asshole who just spit on the floor.

Let me tell you,
life is something you live everyday,
it's a bitch you want to fuck
but you can never have.
Yeah, that's right, you heard me,
you can't have her, man.
Why? 'Cause life is unpredictable,
it will throw you curveballs
that even the best baseball player can't catch.

Life is a human,
a beautiful mess of imperfections,
intertwined morals and emotions,
twisted like the roots of a tree.

Yeah, just live it one day at a time,
that's all you can do.
Hear me out, am telling ya,
you can't fuck this bitch.
Stop trying!
Let her come to you,
and then the fun comes...

I see...perhaps not!

I see it,
I see it with
the corner of my eye.
That change,
that change that is
lurking around the corner.

I feel it,
I feel it coming nearer,
that much-awaited moment,
that storm of activity
you have been craving,
that love of desire
you've been creating,
that thing you call future.

I see it,
I see it now,
yes, it's clear as day,
I feel it,
I feel it now,
no, it's not there yet,
but you will soon feel its presence
and then,
I will hear you say,
the convulsions of achieving what you want
are too damn distressing.

Titleless

Hey!!
Throw me that rock,
throw it at me,
smash my heart,
kill my brain,
just fucking take me out of my misery.

And when you're done,
wipe your hands,
i hate dirt,
on good shirts.

Yes, am talking to you goodlooking,
man with style,
money,
complexes,
sweet words and honey...
instead of honesty and love.

Am talking to you,
man who broke my heart,
am talking to you,
coward who can't ask me out,
am talking to you,
disgusting player.
Yes, am talking to all you men out there
who take and think they give
who love but instead they hurt
who are heartless but instead they play the lover.

Am talking to you, human beings.
Kill this heart,
smash my brain,
for you have all disappointed me.
But life continues...

Conversations with thyself.

Dear soul,

I would like to ask you, when did you become so cynical? Why are you always so tormented? It seems to me (your alter ego) that you like pain a bit too much, you enjoy melodrama a bit too often and you seem a bit hypocritical as well. What's up with this constant victimization of yourself? What's up with this addiction of always feeling sorry for yourself? It seems to me that quite a few people give you compliments, think you're pretty cool, in fact, a bunch of them say that you are one of the most amazing people they have ever met and yet, this doesn't seem to satisfy you. What's wrong with you, soul? What is this void that seems to be within you? I would like to understand you better, especially since your actions and behaviour directly affect me, your alter ego. I would like to understand you so I can properly correct you so I can be a bit happy too.

You seem to seek superficial happiness, fleeting moments of awesomeness that momentarily fill your void and just as quickly, disappear. A lot of times, I am almost convinced that you might suffer from multiple personality disorder, but since I am your twin in the sense of always accompanying you wherever you go, I know fully well that your emotional disorder or instability stems from your lack of self-worth and the many incidents that have weakened it. I know you feel bad for yourself soul, I know you act as if you're happy but you are deeply depressed, I know you have a fucked up situation soul, but who doesn't? Why is it so hard for you to see and accept that? Have you ever thought about how bad others might have it? But of course you have, I know you have, I was there when countless of people have told you the same cliche line and I know you are tired of hearing it, I know all you think about when they say that to you is that why the fuck can't I have it well like others? I know soul, I know how you feel for I feel it, too. I know that you are frustrated with your emotional state, with your reality and I also know you try hard to make it better, you analyze yourself to oblivion (myself included), you try to ignore it, you try to do things that could make it better, but I also see your failure soul.

I see it for we are both responsible for it. I see you ignoring the pain, ignoring your problems, focusing on the getting drunk and meeting new people, trying to get people to love you and never really achieving it, constantly looking for love and never really finding it, I see it all soul. I see your struggles, I see your achievements, I see your lucid moments and your dark abyss ones. I am there with you, soul....I am having this conversation with you because my lucid moment right now is in realizing that when you got no one else there for you, don't forget that it is you, myself and I....yes, I is in the equation too, but we don't listen to her very often for she is the superego, a bit too boring for us right now. But rest assured soul, you are the amalgamation of everything you need and for that....don't feel alone for I am here too so don't take all the blame for the way you feel.

Inspired

I just watched the movie The Romantics. I had never heard of it and I clicked on it because I thought the poster or movie picture seemed interesting and also, the title. Plus, I was just looking for some kind of romantic, melodramatic movie to see and thought this would satiate some of the thirst. I was right...it did.

However, I was surprised to find that critics did not agree. I read one review and although I liked the way the review was written and agree with most observations, I would disagree with its conclusion that the movie, just like its characters, is exactly as the main guy says in one scene: "We are all uninspired.". Well, let me tell you, I was inspired precisely because of this particular speech/one-liner. I was inspired to write here. That should say something...especially for somebody like me who is lazy and never wants to write....afraid of not being a good enough writer, much like one of the characters in the movie.

I wanted to say that if you do randomly see this movie somewhere and you are turned off by the reviews, don't be. Watch it! I liked the cliche story (although more twisted than most romantic ones), the dark undertones, the melodrama, the scenery, the dynamics between the characters, the sappy indie love songs, the  hipster clothes (so true to today's after-college society), the dialogues and even the cheesy poem-reciting. I liked it all. Maybe because my own life resonates with theirs, maybe because I can understand the duality or ambiguity of emotions and actions of each character and I appreciate the low-budget camera work that seems to give it personality and intimacy, I like it all. In fact, I wonder...why is it getting such bad reviews?
Could I possibly be so shallow and superficial? Perhaps. However, I still wonder why the author of the review at Slant Magazine would call the movie "turgid faux indie". I agree that it might give the feeling of fakeness, as if it is trying so hard to be indie and perhaps it is. However, it is still beautiful and thoughtful and I just don't understand why it would be viewed as so superficial. Perhaps I am not deep enough. Or perhaps, movie critics cannot shed their bias towards celebrities and properly appreciate an indie, even though its cast is choke-full of celebrities. Perhaps...

There are a lot of guessing in this post....but one thing is for sure: I liked the movie just as much as I liked its soundtrack. In fact, I would like to say that when it comes to movie, it's always best to watch it yourself and be your own judge. Movies are art; therefore, very subjective and personal. Don't let somebody dictate what you should like or feel...don't follow it, even though I always use it as a guide in my choices so am being a bit hypocritical here. You watch it and you judge for yourself....and the analysis? Well, you leave that to those who do that for a living, those whose profession is to do so. Your purpose in watching the movie is to enjoy it. That is why...read this review as well, maybe this way you are able to better understand the movie and your own feelings or judgements.

Happy watching!

Cafes

You know what is the allure and beauty of cafes? The fact that for three bucks (the standard price of an americano or large coffee), you get to sit inside a cute place for three hours or more, laugh it out with friends, have the time of your life playing cards, study, stalk, stare, observe, watch movies on your laptop, chat with friends, browse the internet, meet people, have a date, have a meeting, have everything....just for three bucks!!!

Let's also mention that cool cafes that are of quality, will not only have good quality java, but they will also provide decent sweets and good food. Yes, cafes are what students love, people love, I love...and for good  reason. Reread the paragraph above. Where else can you do all of that - almost the same stuff you can do at the comfort of your home - for such a low price? You go to a restaurant, you are almost guaranteed to pay 15 bucks and above and definitely feel awkward if you linger for more than an hour. In a cafe, the social rules are more relaxed, the people are friendlier, the atmosphere more lively and yet somehow soothing, the opportunity to meet a cute stranger, definitely higher.

I had an amazing time yesterday at Aroma Espresso Bar, a chain cafe in Toronto that gives good food, good pastries and pretty good coffee. You order the food and coffee, wait for your name to be called and then you pick it up; basically self-serve. The interior is red, the seats are red, the tables black and the people? Well, the people range from young adults to the elderly...but there is one consistency though, these are mostly fashionable, well-dressed, well-off peeps. You gotta make the bucks to come to this cafe for it is not cheap. However, it is still worth it...at least for the convos :)

No one tells you that when you grow up, you will become a miserable being with less of a heart, accompanied by a big pile of muddled ideals and a crapload of cynicism. No one prepares you for the hurdles of having to be an adult, no one tells you of the shortfalls of debt, the scars past loves leave and mutate into, the constant struggle of looking cool or productive in a society obsessed with image and success. Yes, no one prepares you for these...but you somewhat have an idea. You somehow can expect these when in high school your guidance counselor asks you what you would like to do and how to prepare for it (in my case, the ghetto high school I went to, it was more of a "please, try not to get shot"). But....you enter university and you forget just how miserable life really is. You immerse yourself in ideals, alcohol, weed, good conversations, foreign films, documentaries that confuse the shit out of you, constant articles and essays that bore the fuck out of you, and heedless sessions of making out with random strangers whom you call friends.

You forget that this is the best period of your life; so you abuse it, you love it and then you can't wait to get it over with and become the much-awaited adult that "they" and "you" have been preparing all this time. Then that moment comes and you are slapped with the harsh reality of the boredom and disillusion of "making it on your own". You learn student loans are the devil, interest rates will choke the life out of you, graduate school (if you want to be a "normal, respected" person) is an imminent cloud of rain on your parade, dating (shithole) is the biggest bitch out there, and of course, you need to deal with the looming precipice of marriage as well.

Ah, life is good. So good!!!
You are finally making some shitty money (where 35% of your miserable entry level position gets eaten up by taxes), wasting it all still on booze and friends (university life is hard to get rid of), clothes to look like you are more accomplished than you are, and oh yes...in my case, supporting your whole fucking family. That's right, can't you see rainbows over me? I can taste the bitterness of emancipation and 45,000dollars investment in nothing except some good parties and a few bits of information shared.

Where has real education gone? Where is my money's worth? Canada, why did you promise me a fake dream?

In the words of the sailor within me: FUCK YOU!

My Oksana

She is only 21-years old....
but she beats me,
in being cold...
cold-hearted, that is.

She is white-teethed,
red-lipped,
small-breasted,
sweet dispositioned,
in appearance only, that is.

I am 26,
stupidly complicated,
cowardly,
yellow-teethed
big-breasted
foolishly romantic,
inside, that is.

I am bitchy,
strong,
happy,
smart,
forgiving,
in appearance, that is.

She is manipulative,
sexy,
sensual,
fun,
selfish,
interest-driven,
she is undeniably,
just a darker version of me.

I am white,
she is black,
I am lost,
she is lucid,
I am naive,
she is superficially so,
I am in love,
she does not even know the feeling.

Damn girl....you sexy bitch!

Sweet Disposition - Ellie Golding (The Temper Trap cover)

Sweet disposition
Never too soon
Oh reckless abandon,
Like no one's watching you
A moment, a love
A dream, a laugh
A kiss, a cry
Our rights, our wrongs
A moment, a love
A dream, a laugh
A moment, a love
A dream, a laugh
Just stay there
Cause I'll be comin' over
While our bloods still young
It's so young, it runs
Won't stop til it's over
Won't stop to you surrender
Songs of desperation
I played them for you

Heartless

Did I ever tell you that you are heartless? All those years alone, your heart must have grown cold. All those bodies embraced, holes entered, none warmed you up. All those nights in different beds, all those kisses given, none electrified the dead muscles of the one organ you know nothing about. I pray that maybe one day something will wake it, I hope that maybe one day you will be able to make use of it, I wish that one day I can witness it...

Starbucks at Brookfield Place

Dear non-existent readers,

Things have changed and I now work for a consulting firm (that just opened a new office in Saudi Arabia, me very interested <3) located in TD Canada Tower, Brookfield Palace. It is a fancy, beautiful, grandious place with fantastic architecture and a rich history. It makes sense to have all of the above, especially since this is the tallest building in Toronto and also the Wall Street of Canada.

Also, you can imagine that this is the hub of suit-wearing, coffee-jugging finance guys and girls...or better said, men and women. Brookfield Place, unlike the other surrounding buildings, has all of the tops CEOs so it's mostly middle-aged to older men and women.

 There are few young men and ladies, but the few that are...are smartly dressed and oh-so snobby, everyone tries to look more serious and important than they are (yours truly included). However, what I would like to share is the craziness that goes on in the morning. Everyday at the time between 8:30am-9:30am, you see these same rich, smartly-dressed, serious people attack Starbucks like hyenas and fight over milk/coffee cream/ half&half at the sugar table, the whole thing is quite a sight. The table is a mess, the jugs are empty and we are yelling as to where are the new ones because we all need our caffeine fix and we all need to go back to our office to keep on slaving away in front of a computer screen so our companies can make money, consequently, us.

Yes, corporate life is hilariously serious. Just another day in the life of Canada's most depressed city...