KEEP MOVING

I made one phone call to the Flan Man for a place to crash, then I packed most of my needed and cherished shit into 2 backpacks, the infamous powder blue LTD Bowling bag and 1 environmentally friendly grocery bag, wrote a rather un- thought out note, ate some leftover pizza, and walked out.  It was time. Everything was telling me this, from within and without.

Yeah, I know, one would easily question why a 26 year old in about ten grand of debt and no car would choose to pack up and move out with no real certainty of a firm place to stay. And I myself question this move too because on the outside it looks like I’m heading backwards down a very unknown road. The circumstances aren’t as noble sounding as that dude from “Into the Wild.” He knew what he was doing, or wasn’t doing, but me, all I know is that for some outlandish reason, it’s written in the blueprint… I’m meant to be doing this; bouncing around, all over the city, anywhere n’ anyway I can with a backpack on, music in the ears and a million different thoughts waiting to be put to paper. How can I feel shitty about my situation when the resilience of writing is at an all time high. Label this as the summer of self-discovery for me. A vastly growing awareness that there are still people I have to meet, places I have to find and experiences I have to endure in order to fully understand who I am and what the hell I’m really here for. Because right now I’m only going with what feels right and that is to keep moving. Once again, I hope you understand.

Idle will kill.

There’s a chance that I’ll look back on this later and shake my head with mild flavored embarrassment, but I highly doubt it. Maybe it’s the Bukowski I’ve been digging so much lately. Maybe it’s the Iggy Pop in the headphones. Maybe it’s something I’ll never totally be able to explain to the ones I love and they’ll resent me for it. But there’s nothing I can do about it right now. Whatever’s happening to this kid here is too refreshing to turn back. I only worry about Charlie. I only hope she understands and finds herself and everything else she needs as well. That she doesn’t give up on me. I’m preparing for a drastic change of lifestyle in a future I still can’t see yet. But it’s very hard to imagine without her. What’s meant to be will be no matter how bleak it can feel at times, I remain positive.

As time rolls on, decisions are made and the money is saved I feel stronger and happily separate from the pack but still, like everyone else, I wish there were more damn hours in a day.

always the last place you look

I was not even halfway through sanding out the first coat of the drywall in the basement when my brain pumped the brakes a couple times n’ squealed and it said “hey what the hell are you doin’ down here, workin’ your balls off on a beauty of a Saturday and who the hell are you doin’ this for anyway?”

But then my soul swung in –on a chandelier made of recycled gun parts, like it’s occasionally known to do- and it said;

“You damn fool! You’re working for you!  You’re on a mission, like everyone else but you haven’t forgotten it yet. Came pretty close though, idiot! Be grateful. Most people work for nothing but money and that’s all they ever get, be it a lot or a little.  You may not make a pant load, but when you’re working to profit the kind of currency that truly makes you happy then all you need is enough tangible cash to buy a ticket to the next destination. “

“Things are changing in a big way again and you my friend, are workin’ for purpose, to fulfill things you’ve always wanted to do, but you may not have always realized. Hard to believe I know, but that’s why I chimed in there, because I’m your fuckin’ SOUL and it’s about time you started utilizing me and my services again. Idiot. Remember when you cut it n’sealed it, for like 4 months on the graveyard shift, out at the Window factory without windows, then you went home, slept for 4 hours and got up to go paint Andrew Parr’s aunt’s house until 8pm, but you didn’t give a shit, no, you ate it up cuz you were workin’ to get to Vancouver. Remember that? That was me baby! Your soul- all cylinders firing! Remember when you arrived out west and you worked at Calhoun’s as a night manager of the damn graveyard shift again, and then you got off at 7AM and went to film school so you could make your first movie? That wasn’t your brain. He helped a little bit, but remember when you had to work at DQ to buy a plane ticket home? That was him. No inspiration, just action. He got the job done but damn, what a strange time- feeding the homeless from a satchel of cheeseburger experiments on the walk home. That contribution was your heart. Everything else epic and memorable was me. Soul, okay…… so don’t make me call you an idiot again.”

 

I figure the brain, the heart and the soul are the three different viable sources within us lucky ones aware of what we got and if you’re reading this than you most likely fit the profile so congratulations to the graduating class. Use these gifts and try not to be an asshole, at least not in public.  It gets too damn easy to fall into the rut of the rat race so check yourself daily. I’m pretty fuckin’ serious. A lot of those early Jack Johnson songs were onto something. I think. Either way, I had to write this piece to give props to my soul, fresh out of doubt rehab and ready to guide the way again. Let’s do this. 

missing out

I never really listened to the Beatles much at all.
I still don't lest I'm baked with nothing to do
and I guess that's just what happened. On Canada day, of all days
why did I choose to stay in?
I blame the music and the crazy effect it can have on a person
in times of up n' down.
On this particular occasion, the suspect is "Dear Prudence."
Do you see the irony?
It took me a while.
Still doesn't explain why I wasn't getting hammed up somewhere.
I stood up for a back stretch and realized I was still in my work clothes
writing this.
My hands, speckled with paint and dirt and half-healed cuts.
I come up with lines like that last one and it feels like
there's another character speaking out from inside me
and he's a better poet.
I've tried poetry before but I tried too hard.
Truth is
tonight I figured out what a writer is...
When you sit down to write and everything hits at once
and you know that you'd be missing out on something
if you went out.
So you stayed in.
And a greater gift than karma prevailed.