And another thing

That's the title of the new Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy, by Eoin Colfer. It looks terrible.

A while back, I drew these little comics of two animals talking, each only saying one thing. I liked them, I'm going to post a few when I get back to my scanner. If anyone has suggestions for animals, let me know.

Music for a found harmattan

A harmattan is a dry, dusty, easterly wind on the West African coast. And no, that has nothing to do with anything, I was just surprised there was a name for it. Anywho, I think I had some things to say, but I forgot what it was, this seems to happen a lot. Anyways, I guess I'll just keep on writing down words until I get somewhere cool, I bet this is what God must've felt like.

Oh! I remember! I want to be a dad. I don't mean to put down my own father by saying this, I love that old guy, he's so old, but I feel like I wasn't given as much advice as I needed. I kind of wanted someone to sit down with me a few years ago and be like, "You'll make mistakes, it'll happen, and nothing will change that. You won't know what you want, you won't know what you want to do with your life, who want to be with, who you want to be friends with, and the thing is that nobody really knows. Everyone's mostly just playing it by ear, and you have to, too. So you'll make mistakes, and there's no changing that, the important part is after." I mean, that's advice that I would've loved to have before. I mean, I was told to pick yourself back up, but it was never really drilled into me that it's okay to fall in the first place. But the thing is, the people my dad told me made mistakes, the people with tattoos and piercings and everything, they seem happy. Or not happy, but alive. They're uninhibited. I mean, they got so used to people staring that they don't care if people are staring. They're the ones that make-out in the middle of the street, that jump into each others arms, that show their emotion, really and truly. And I respect that, I needed to be told to be that uninhibited, not to stuff up my emotions, because, really, I have trouble showing them. I don't really know where I'm going with this, but I don't know, I've gotten a bit too self-conscious. I'm going to try to change this.

And we sat on the mattress, drinking red wine.

That's a line that I like a lot, from a story I am writing right now. I like it a lot because I think it describes the characters and setting well within itself. I mean, they aren't sitting on a bed, they're just sitting on the mattress. And why would they sit on the mattress to drink red wine? Why isn't there a couch or a table present for this? I should probably know these things, but I don't. I just figured it worked for the character to only have a mattress in her apartment. There's also the fact that they're drinking red wine. It makes them a bit cultured, but poor. This sentence, in itself, is a starving artist. I like the amount it communicates, unless I'm making leaps.

I was excited to write this story, amazingly. I don't know, it seems like so much lately, I've been writing and forcing myself to write, but this story just popped into my head complete and wonderful, with themes and symbols and all that jazz. It just happened, and I couldn't wait to write it. It needs a lot of work, but it's good and I like it. It's amazing what a difference it makes when you actually want to do something.

I was actually thinking today about skyscrapers. I read something online about how this guy realized how much meaning there is in words when he realized the buildings are scraping the sky, and I'm almost sure this is a lie, but since then, I could not get the idea of skyscrapers out of my head. To me, it's a misnomer of biblical proportions. These buildings don't scrape the sky, they push it. Think about it, think about where the sky starts. Where does the sky start? Personally, when I'm at the top of a building, even the CN Tower, I don't feel like I'm in the sky. But when I'm in a plane, I feel it, I feel the sky in between me and the ground. I'm sure it'd be the same with a hot air balloon. So I propose that the sky in fact exists above the tallest building. For this reason, the skyscrapers are pushing the sky, they're pushing the sky to higher and higher reaches, not scraping as the name would imply. Of course, skypusher doesn't have the same alliterative appeal as skyscraper, so I guess I can't change the name. But still, think about it, we accept many things as facts in our lives, whether it's because of the language we use for them, or some cultural conditioning, but there's no real way to back these facts. I guess we should start a revolution.

See you on the other side, brothers.

And sisters.

Happy Valentine's Day

Hey,

So, today's Valentine's day, and I feel like I need to remind myself of this fact. Even though I'm spending it working in my room, and it would be incredibly easy and probably better for my happiness if I didn't think about it, I feel like I have to. I mean, I need to remember what's happening if I don't want to fall off the face of the planet. It's kind of funny that remembering what love is and what it does is keeping me grounded. Because, really, no matter how alone I am, how much I cry myself to sleep at night because I have nobody (and it's every night, sometimes more than once in the night), how much I want to yell in a drunken stupor while wearing only a bathrobe (or in my case, a backwards snuggie) at the couples walking down the street, I honestly like love. I'm a fan. Yeah, it fucks you up and all that jazz, but I don't know, love is what makes pigeons pretty and music danceable and art worth doing. And yeah, Valentine's day is incredibly Hallmark'd, but I don't have a problem with that. Valentine's day is a day for everyone who wants to do something to prove their love to have an excuse, it gives all those nervous dudes and ladies a reason to make a move. And I respect this, I love this, it's beautiful.

I guess that's all I really have to say. Love is beautiful and I dig Valentine's day. Just not really this year.

Love,

Lee

Den of thieves

I like pigeons. I don't really understand it myself, but I dig them, they're probably my favourite animals. Which is weird. They just seem incredibly free and social and cool. They seem chill, like nothing really gets to them. They aren't scared of shit, and if they get scared, they can just fly higher. I respect pigeons. Did you know they're one of the only birds without a set flying pattern? They're like those spiders that hunt every piece of prey differently. They're innovators, they're cool.

So, this morning, when the sun was rising, there were two pigeons flying in front of the church across the street. Imagine this, it was beautiful, they were flying through trees and branches in front of this old stone church. And they were flying together, they didn't have a pattern, but they were doing the same thing, always within a foot of each other. It was amazing, I was jealous, I wanted that, they seemed to be flying from the sheer joy of being alive and together in this place. They eventually settled in a tree with starlings and squirrels and all manner of beauty. And I was listening to French music this whole time. It was amazing, transcendent, I loved it. Then I had to go to the bathroom. When I came back, they were gone. And I was pissed, yeah, and sad. I'm not going to say it's beautiful that it was fleeting or anything, but I couldn't blame the birds for doing it. I mean, man, birds have to fly, dogs have to run, squirrels have to jump, and when I came to after this brush with transcendence, I realized last night I covered a wall in my room with art that I made with ink and paper. My wall is covered in Jack Kerouac and words and birds, and I love it, I barely remember why it happened but it's great. And I'm not sure where I'm going with this parable, but the point is that birds have to fly and I made art. Is that a fundamental truth of humanity? I guess each species has something that they do the best, that they're designed to do, but what is man's? Is it art? Science? Sociality? Or do all of these fall under the action of thought? How many different ways does thought and intelligence manifest? And it's amazing because I always considered emotion to be the most important thing, but emotion is not a unique trait. Is that why I like it? Because it connects me with the world on such a primal level? I forget how I started to talk about this.

The main point is, I like birds and I drew some pictures. THE END.

Man must explore

I haven't been able to sleep lately. I don't really know why, but listening to music or thinking is just more appealing. I've even started to keep a notebook next to me when I'm trying to sleep, just because there are things I want to write down. I woke up today to see "Chickens! Holy shit chickens!" written down. I don't remember why this is the case, but I figured any answer wouldn't be satisfactory, and the mystery of the action explains a lot more than any answer.

Anyways, I can't sleep, but oddly enough, it's not really a problem. I still get up when I need to and do what I need to, and the next day, I'm still just as refreshed as I would've been had I not stayed up for an extra two hours listening to music and thinking about angels. I don't understand.

Oh, and I changed the title, I like it, because this is about very fun words, and hope and derring-do are two of the funnest words. Yeah, things change, but this is like a steady evolution, I'm just trying to fill an ecological niche here, nothing more.

Until next time, live and be lived.

Peace.

And the quiet cat sitting by the post perceives the moon

That is a haiku by Jack Kerouac. Yesterday I think I bought a thing of ink and some sponges to make portraits and pictures and the such. I tried to make Jack Kerouac today, and it kind of looks like him but it looks more like Leonard Cohen's terrible self-portraits from Book of Longing. Anyways, that is neither here nor there.
The internet is boring, I've realized that now. Yes there's a lot of weird things and it's cool to see what creative people are doing, but comparatively the amount of pleasure I get from it against the pleasure I get from walking around or reading or talking to people isn't enough to justify the amount of time I spend on it. I had seven tabs open, and each one of them was useless, who the fuck cares about facebook or tv tropes or anything like that? And I don't understand why I gravitate to my computer whenever it's around, it's a total attention whore, and I don't like it. I don't like having piles of poetry and readings that I don't do because there are dick jokes or funny videos. I don't care about this stuff, it's a simple fact, but for some reason I can't do the things I do care about.
But lately, I've noticed that what I used to do online is as boring as I'm saying. The websites I used to go to are all the same, they used up their potential, and I'm too lazy to try an find new ones. I could probably go through a list of the websites and webcomics I used to love and why they're now terrible. But I still go back to them day after day. I don't get it, I feel like a slave to these things, and I don't like it. I know I don't like these things, but I also know that I will keep on going back to them, because it's cold outside and poetry is complicated and sometimes my head just wants to stay still and I'm out of milk for tea. But it isn't calming, for some reason looking at these sites is stressing me out.
But you know, for all my bitching, there's art on the internet. The webcomics I loved, I loved them for a reason, because the stories are well-written or the art is good or the characters are realized. Like, recently, Anders (hearts) Maria finished, and the ending was sadder, more poignant, and better done than so much I have read or watched. I mean, the whole comic had this veneer of sadness and like there was a tragedy coming, but I was hoping, in my heart of hearts, that I was wrong, that everything would turn out okay because the world is a beautiful and good place. But everything doesn't turn out okay, but I still think that the world is beautiful and good, because even when everything fell apart, I still loved the characters and the art and I was amazed that I could feel so much for something that is basically zeros and ones on a computer. So, yeah, I guess I might wake up tomorrow and decide to stop reading all of these comics, but I know I will keep on reading some of them, because they're art, whether or not I like the medium.
I don't know anymore, the internet's a big place, and I'm not sure if it's the place for me, if I even like it or what it represents.

A day in the life

Hey,

People always come up to me, and are like, "dogg, you so cool, but so mysterious and distant, I want to know you, like the real you, like the you in your soul" and then we make out for a bit, but I digress. So, to ruin the mystery, shatter the facade, tear down the curtains, set flame to the smoke and mirrors of my life, I'm going to let you in on a secret: I'm basically a stoner without drugs.

I'll elaborate. On facebook recently, there's been this group, "Can this onion ring get more fans than Justin Bieber?" that I've been paying attention to because fuck it's getting a lot of fans and I don't entirely know why. For serious, every time you refresh, there's a hundred new fans. There's, like, 1,200,000 fans now, and it's only been like 4 days. Ridiculous. Anyways, after obsessively refreshing this page over and over again for a day, I started to get really, really hungry. I looked at that picture of the onion ring covered in batter and deep-fried to perfection, and I imagined sinking my teeth into it, and have the taste of the onion explode into my mouth and making me nigh-unkissable for, like, a day. Or until I brush my teeth again, they both fit. Here's the deal though, when I get

Haha, it's actually ironic, but the rest of that sentence was going to be, "an idea, I don't let go." But then I went to get some more onion rings and completely forgot about this post. Here I am, about 3 days later, and it was just sitting on my computer that whole time. And looking back on this post, I realize that I am pretty much full of shit. I don't know, I've just been trying to figure a lot of things out, my life's been kind of messed up lately and it's freaking me out. I'm trying to find all these niches to fill, all these things I can do, and it is helping, but I haven't really found it yet. I've been attempting more art, I've been walking more, listening to more and new music, and it's all helping, but I feel like there's something missing. But, today, I was sitting in Cafe Baleze, reading poetry and drinking coffee and it was perfect. There were some girls laughing in the back and some old men talking in French near me, and classical music playing and I was there reading poetry, and I was happy. The Superbowl had started, and I was afraid people would judge me for doing homework in a cafe rather than being somewhere drinking and watching it, but the more I read Sharon Olds and Allen Ginsberg and the colder my cappuccino got, the less this stuff mattered. I think I need to start loving where I am and being where I love, and yeah that's hard to do but I think I can do it. Sorry if this got angsty and I'm sorry for anyone who wanted to hear the rest of the onion ring story (spoiler alert: I got onion rings) but it just feels right to do it this way. Maybe it is, maybe it isn't, but it happened, I just did it, and there you go.