Passion or disturbance

philosophical, poetry

So it’s just one of those days where I question if I’m doing the right thing. I’ve done it before, right in the middle of a career, and started over again. But I hope this time I have found the right answer. At least for a longer while. I can’t stay in a career where every day I question if I’m really making a difference, when every step leaves me with a foul taste. Hobbies are different from passions; I’ve learned that the hard way.

Today I reached out to acting and modelling, something I haven’t done in about 10 years. I put myself out there, dipped a toe into those waters, but really I don’t want it, no matter how glorious it looks. I like my ‘dusty’ research, I like learning and the thrill of discovering something that not many others care about. It’s just one of those things everyone wishes to try because it doesn’t look so hard, it gets you recognized and successful. It’s not the success set out for my own future. I’m only 23, and it seems so early in my life, but so late at the same time. Don’t you ever get that feeling? If you only started earlier, where would you be now, or why didn’t you figure it out sooner? For a while, I felt I wasted a few years on my artistic goals only to see it was a fun hobby and maybe some extra recognition and money. Now I don’t feel that way. It was an experience, and though I may not have loved every second of it, I did enjoy it. I still paint, I still write fiction and as seen below, poetry. It’s a mode of expression, and if it leads somewhere that’s its own accord. I’m not guiding it, only giving it a voice.

Also, just found this very interesting painting that I wanted to share: Guillermo Kutica. I feel the dreary tone is fitting even though I found a light out of my musings; sometimes the dark just needs to come out.

Also, just found this very interesting painting that I wanted to share: Guillermo Kutica. I feel the dreary tone is fitting even though I found a light out of my musings; sometimes the dark just needs to come out.

So that’s what I’ve chosen to write about today, that instant after the seed of doubt sets in, when you are able to take a step back and say “No, that’s not right at all.” That step back was the most useful piece of advice I was ever given in art classes. If you focus for so long on one section, the whole piece is lost. To remove yourself, give the eyes a break and reevaluate after a few rejuvenating moments, and it’s all that is needed to see what you truly need to do.

(passion or disturbance)

I stray sometimes
if only to learn the truth
do I really need another route
or is it there
to test
and make a jest of me?
A perspective, desperate
needed in times of loss
faith stays in the trail I chose
and realize
it’s all I truly need.
When glory by another name
presents itself
shiny, fresh and alluring
of course I’m drawn in
like the moth to a light
a way out of darkness
when I am in the dark
the depths of my desires
of course I question
and doubt every step
dark is hard for human eyes
I can’t distinguish the ground
from the pitfalls
I need to stop this
distracting me
no matter how tempting they may be
the appeal for something new
washes over
pulled away with the tide leaving
and pushed aground later
when it’s too deep to swim.

Am I afraid?
Take the risk
draw blood on the way
I’m scarred for life
where the passion takes hold
it has hooked on
to my heart
and will never let go.

Daily Prompt Challenge: Tattoo…You?

musing, philosophical

Tattoos and tattooing has become a complex idea to me. I studied for a while as a tattoo artist before I realized the field was not for me; I was happy building my own collection, but didn’t have a strong need to share them with others. Tattoos became a way for me to express myself, more than paintings or poetry or novelization as I carried it with me. And it didn’t start as a way to rebel, or go against society like most of my relatives believed.

I saw tattoos when I was about 12 or 13 as a form of art and expression. That’s what I believed at the time, and in a way that belief has carried through to my perceptions of it now. I always wanted one of my own. I wanted something outward and colourful to represent the art inside of me. And so many things in my teen years gave me a reason to create one of my own.

That’s where my first came from: a budgie in flight, about to land, with the phrase “In the Presence of Angels” held in his feet. It was kind of an homage to my first true pet, Angel, but also to show I did care about those around me and their opinions. They were my angels, and I never wanted that to change.

It sounds so sappy now, but it still resonates true. Since then, I’ve inked impulse tattoos on my legs, ones that immortalize quotes that refer to an event, and memorial tattoos. My last memorial one, a candle and rose on my foot that started as a random image, probably relates the most to my feelings about being a tattoo artist. It was a fleeting idea, one that I attempted and left to pursue bigger things, things that I felt needed my attention more than something I was only half-passionate about. That doesn’t mean I’m not planning another tattoo as I write this post as I can’t stand stopping because of one little bump in the road.

Tattooing is an art form to me, and because of my tattoos I feel so much more comfortable in my own skin. I feel I don’t need to hide anymore as my ideals are out for all to see. If they analyze the images, go for it. The little skull on my ankle? I thought he was cute. The swallow on my shoulder blade? A permanent reminder to keep moving forward and to keep exploring. They may not be the best of tattoos out there, but they’re mine. What I can’t stand is people overcompensating their positive feelings on tattoos; I get it, you kind of don’t like them, but feel the need to compliment every one you see to show you approve of their existence. Whatever.

My skin feels bare when it doesn’t have colour on it. It’s a blank canvas, just waiting to be covered. My parents probably don’t feel the best from that idea, and I most likely won’t cover a lot of my skin, but it’s still an open. If I want to have a permanent reminder in the future, I have no qualms against inking it in my skin. My tattoos show events and things that are a part of me, and though my tastes may change over time, I can’t and don’t want to change who I was at any point.

Maybe tattoos play a bigger role in my life than I thought…

cute skull

Help I’m Alive

Art, philosophical, poetry

I realized I have not posted on here in a while… quite a while actually. Writing terms papers does that really, too much writing on one day and BAM, don’t feel like writing anymore for the day. Hence the Metric song title as a blog title (very good song by the way, I love the songs where you like the sound, and then actually listen to the lyrics and enjoy those too). BUT I am back with a nice little poem and maybe a few thoughts somewhere in between. So this poem is a few weeks ago. I have recently began to focus on a workout now that I’m away from the barn so often, I actually need to exercise myself. I took up yoga, Vinyasa style, as it’s offered at my school. Pretty neat eh? I love it, and at the end of each class there is a meditation portion that I thoroughly enjoy. You’re not meant to think about anything in particular, but I make sure to write directly after it to have a record of that session. Sometimes I come up with great ideas, others I just feel  really refreshed. But this poem was written as I was walking home from the class:

I feel the hollow

where the ribs hold up my skin

and the muscles pull them upwards

up and up

to breathe deeper

            it’s obscure in there

the only light let in

from the life I need

the blood rushing around and through

I feel the vibrations

everything within is moving

sluggish, upbeat

but today it holds strong

as far as it can manage.

My toes are cold

the extremities are losing purpose

my body must be in a bad state

I feel them as numb

an odd sensation

when I can still move at will

unlike sleeping

because I have full control

if I need to be awake

            in an instance I will be

and to feel the lack of reason

to feel the limbs fold in

when the most vital needs win the struggle

of circulation

chokes me.

Where does it stop

do I decide how much is needed

or will it tell me

or never stop until it is all

shut down.

Do you ever feel the sensation of just being? No focus on the world around, but only on the world running inside you. It’s magnificent; I never realized what I was taking for granted in myself. The way you breathe, the circulation of everything necessary… In this age, we’re so focused on the material, emotional feelings and such around us and I admit, I do it too. The art around me on my walls attests to that easily; the stack of clothing I just unpacked made me very happy at its presence in my hands as my own. But to step back every so often, to just feel this world without judgments, emotions or an inner dialogue really gives the chance to experience it. It’s like a next step from realizing yourself: placing yourself in the world as its not so different from the body’s rhythm. It’s too cold now to just go out an sit in a park (I don’t even know if there is a park nearby), but the few instances that I can, I just observe. In the end, it might not be the best thing to do as you do become ‘outside’ of it all but I feel it can center in a way that I have never been able to experience before. It’s great to get different views every so often, isn’t it?


Oh I need to do another post on my Halloween research, that stuff was interesting… Maybe I’ll post it tomorrow if I have the time, share my horrific and ghoulish findings 🙂

Poem plus rambling at the end

musing, poetry


Afraid to touch
from hysterical events
a shock to the mind
like electrotherapy to set me right
the reason is unfinished, vacant and hollow
except for the arrogance
running strong
I’m distracted
what to think about
though nothing sets in
watch a wreck in motion
glazed and
is it truly the result?
The end of days of struggle
only to be dull
an outsider
so cold
yet it’s home at last.

I forget the reason why I wrote this one, but it reminds me of something that I happened upon weeks later. I was randomly researching things in history like I normally do when bored (yes, I know I’m a nerd, but it’s so interesting to learn!) when I came across old files (or the internet’s version of this) on Russian scientific experiments in during the world wars. Now, unless I see a few scholarly articles on it, I am very skeptical of its authenticity, but the thought of it and of many other similar experiments makes me believe there is an ounce of truth there. I don’t recommend looking it up unless you have a strong stomach, hell I won’t even go look for the link because of the creepy-ass picture that was attached to the article, but it was on a sleep deprivation study via a gas that kept the participants awake. The outcomes were dreadful and horrendously described, but deep down I know there was a bit of logic there. When separated from sleep long enough, sanity is a far reach. There is no reasoning, no logic that we as sleepers can understand, and just with those thoughts I fear that the experiment could be true. And if its not, I don’t care to go look if it is because it’s a very sad instance. If there was something so horrible that we thought it could be true on some level because of the depravity (especially in this particular era of medicinal experiments) that humans can be capable of inflicting, doesn’t that say there is something extremely wrong with us? If we can easily torture and kill off our own race with such ease, all because of a religious/political/scientific belief, and under those guises its accepted, not applauded in most cases but still pushed under the rug, how is that any different from the people we loath and scorn, and call killers?

Reminds me as well as a more light-hearted (ish) concept that I saw on QI last night. First of all, if you’re like me and like to know a few fun facts or stories, QI with Stephen Fry is brilliant and hilarious. Especially when David Mitchell and Jimmy Carr are guests, but ANYWAYS… The issue was on polygamy vs monogamous marriages. Fry noted that if someone (in the US, Canada, western world etc) is in a monogamous marriage and cheats on or deceives their spouse with another partner, it’s not considered breaking the law. BUT if someone who said to both women or men, hey I love you both, I want to marry both of you and they were all okay with it, it’s breaking the law. Weird. Then again, there are so so so so many laws that have no logic to them… Okay, so forget the law fact for a minute. In the monogamous case, yea it’s not right, not a lot of people would agree with it, but the polygamous one is still almost seen as taboo even though everyone’s good with it.

Human logic takes a step forward? Nah. Never apply logic to humanity!

Decisions, decisions

musing, Uncategorized

Aaah it’s so far away and yet I can’t stop thinking about it! A student exchange to England is in my future, and I am so excited to get back to the UK for a few months. Ah, but that’s the question… to do a single semester for 4~ months, or a full year? Guess I need to figure that out soon.

Pros of a full year: get to spend it in England (booya!) and have more opportunities to get over to the continent and explore (so much there…can’t even list all the fun times); more time to learn another perspective of the world and history; also more time to spend in research mode for heritage… stuff.

Pros of a single semester: less money spent (of course, but is this really an issue with dreams?); more time at my home university to learn the Canadian view; home for Christmas and with the family for longer; also more time with the horses and my birdies (a very big pro).

Do I really need cons for each? Nah, it will be an amazing chance either way, the only con I can think of anyways is I might need to catch up on some courses to finish my degree… but that is not a problem. I do love school, not many people would say that but I really do. Missed it so much I came back after graduating!

Well lots of time for the decision to be made. In the meantime, I’ll leave you with a new painting of mine called ‘The Ward’, based from a picture I took in Ireland near Castle Ward. Beautiful land, you really feel like you’re in another time there. So I painted the gateway to the water, a pathway to another place. Felt like I needed to get some nature pictures out there too, though architecture always creeps back in. Not that I mind it to do so, I can never escape the pull of made objects and the natural world intertwining.


16 x 48, oil and spray paint!

16 x 48, oil and spray paint!

Musings at Old Town Hall

Art, philosophical

I wrote this in November of last year, hanging out around the Old Town Hall building. It helped the night pass by quicker, and gave me something to think about.  It applies to me even now, and rereading half a year later I think I’ve finally taken that first step to success.

I’ve been on the outside for as long as I can recall. Always on the edge, like a shadow, but one that sometimes overlaps on others.  Just enough that it’s noticed, one that you can place a game of hide and seek with and always trust to be there, but a shadow nonetheless.  Shadow is a very dreary word though, I don’t mean to be depressing about it.  I quite like being the shadow; it’s trustworthy, cheeky, never the centre of attention.  Though I’ve yet to find what I’m the shadow of.  So far I don’t match, haven’t found what I’m supposed to attach on to.

I though I had found it for a short while, but those days were all be incandescent light, not from the natural glow of the sun.  I do see something.  It’s off in the fog, walking away (or towards other points, depends on how close I feel to being attached again).  But then it becomes an unfamiliar face, once it’s close enough to distinguish the features.  And then it just keeps walking by, missing me completely, not noticing the wanted shade, a want to become something.  I guess I’ll have to go out searching for another.

I’ve cramped up, waiting.  It’s painful o be still and lie in wait.  I’m sick of it, but instead of diving head first into the fog I weigh my options.  I need to; there are so many paths to choose from that I can’t blindly dive into one (very blindly, man you should see this fog, sometimes I can’t even see the buildings beside me).  As with any fog, the things closest to you are the easiest to make out, the easiest to decipher and to find a sense of comfort in the familiarity.  But then the familiar just becomes that; I know what it is, I’ve learned how it works, studied it long enough to know everything about it.  Which is why the other paths are so much more appealing.

One way isn’t as murky and dense as the others.  I can see it leads upwards, and can imagine what’s along the way.  It seems safe, but I have no idea what’s over the hill; when it does drop (as they all do), what will await on the other side?  Will the fog be thicker, pooling in a valley and no way out is found, or clear up in the lower grounds, finally safe and out of the clouds.

Then there’s back the war I’ve come.  There’s cover there as well, but I’m very reluctant to backtrack on my own steps.  I walked out of it for a reason; do I really need to revisit something I already know pushed me out?  The stop lights stay red, but sometimes are an appeasing tint of green, like a beacon to return.  Again it’s the question of familiarity.  I don’t even need to question it though as the amber lights begin to flash, turning to red once again.  The past is just that, and will remain that way; I need to leave that comfort zone and face what’s ahead.  Or to the side, another option available.

To one side there is complete and utter whiteness, a fresh slate.  It looks well lit as I could continue on, but too dense, too foreign to even get a glimpse of what lies in waiting for me to stride into.  It could be glorious, uncharted territory where I could be more than a shadow; I could be the shape the shadow imitates, morphing my way into a solid object.  That way is the way of great risk, it could also be worst scenario what I’m sucked into the density, lost forever to the foreign land.  The question here is do I dare take the risk, plunge headfirst into the cold air and hope for the warmth to clear it from the earth?  Do I dare leave the solid weights around me, turn away from the traffic backed up and the semi-clear path set out ahead to challenge myself?  Because it will only be me for a while, I can’t say how long, but until I find my footing in the white, enchanting abyss I will be alone.  There may be some along the way to turn me from danger, into destruction or travel with until my destination is clear. It will stay there too until everything lifts.

Baby steps are the only way to begin.  Swerving into the bright white lights, or continue forward where the lights are a warm red, choices I need to make.  I could wait, but where’s the adrenalin, the feeling of being alive in that.  Why dip a toe to test the temperature when instead one can run and dive, the shock of a difference (much colder than though, or pleasantly warm and refreshing).

I can’t answer it now; my options aren’t completely weighed and measured. I take pride in my reasoning, and to change that feels like changing too much of my true self.  I proceed cautiously at least, I can;t stay stagnant any longer with my muscles too tense, coiled and ready to be worked and spring to their limits.  I don’t have the energy for it now, the night obstructs my view too much to make a conscious decision.  I need sleep rather than sprinting halfheartedly into something I could regret, or not able to continue until there is a clearing ahead.  I am weighed down by the impulsion I spent earlier on nothing.

So I’ll wait for the dawn, allowing my head to rest and the energy to build for the journey.  My muscles will need to relax for a bit, their anxious journey won’t begin just yet.

With time, the fog is worse, the coldness is setting in my comfort area, slowly closing in.  Instead of letting fear overtake me I breathe, stretch out my hand and adjust my whole body so I am more at ease.  I use my memory to recall what was around me, and it still is even if I can’t see it.  I breathe deeper, letting the cold, damp air burn in my lungs and leaves me invigorated from the change.  This is my chance.  I begin to move, and it clears as I near another wall.  Turning a bit I find the light and a clearing.  I relax and think, “let’s see where this will lead me,” and don’t regret a second.


Meddling honesty


The idea of working for life is a horrible thing to look forward to. Just to be able to pay for tuition and other shit this year alone, I’m exhausted at the end of every day and can barely do anything else (aside from working and driving) with the energy I have left. Why do I need to push myself to daily headaches and no room for a life outside of the job site, just for the ability to survive? It seems wasteful, I could be a great mind for writing or art (that’s just being wishful of course, but never know what the future could or would have brought), and yet to be able to use that full potential I would almost be penniless, and existence I would rather not sacrifice as I’ve lived in comfort for much too long to let it go willingly. It’s what we are all striving for, a life of comfort, conditioned to believe it’s what we all need. And I believe it honestly, anything less wouldn’t feel like the same life I’ve had before, and even writing that I can feel contempt for those words. I’m lucky, I know it, and so many others suffer just to reach towards it.

In the last few months I’ve been paying more attention to this particular topic, and while feeling grateful, the need to reach out, to help, grows. This influx of apathy is so confusing; I’m barely making ends meet for myself to stay within my own limits of comfort (which I’ve learned are much smaller than I thought they would be), and I want to help. Just thinking of this post, a lot of it is I, I , I… human nature is to be selfish for your own well-being, this I believe entirely, and yet… sigh, lots of thinking that needs to be sorted out! Thinking just leads to going in circles with the same thoughts, waiting for that break to get out and go on the straight-away again.