Somewhere Good

Somewhere Good

Much has happened since we last spoke. Much and not a lot at the same time, if that’s possible. I must have been in Banff almost 4 months now, probably about 3 and a half months, I could work it out exactly but there doesn’t seem to be much point, time doesn’t work in the same way here. Back home nothing ever changes, I imagine if I was to go home tomorrow it would be as if I never left, but here everything can change in an instant.
When I think back on my time in Banff I remember it as a series of stages, each radically different from the last, but all interconnected in some minor or major (often destructive) way. I almost forgot about this blog, and for that I’m sorry, but writing a blog for me is like taking a photo, the thought of remembering or sharing an experience fails to enter my mind when I’m indulging in a moment fully.

Oscar Wilde once wrote; “each time one falls in love is the only time one falls in love”, or something to that effect, and Banff has taught me the truth of that statement. Not just in terms of people, but also places, objects, moments in time, lifestyles and ideas. In fact, most of the time it is merely the idea of a thing that we fall in love with. We convince ourselves we’ve fallen in love with a place or a person based on the way we perceive it or them, but reality is a complex thing, and while in many ways it’s subjective and relative to the individual experiencing it, oftentimes reality fails to live up to our idealistic expectations. That is what has happened with Banff a thousand times over, but I’m thankful for it. I too have failed to live up to other people’s expectations, but I’m not sorry about it, I’d go as far as to say I couldn’t care any less. I used to care, but I gave up caring about that sort of thing recently. We all have a role to play in the lives of those we encounter, and it can’t always be a positive one. I was seeing a girl for a while this summer, but whatever romance there was is now well and truly dead, and while she once claimed to perceive me as a “muse”, she now perceives me as merely a boy, or as she described me in her last blog a “4”. A 4 out of what I’m not sure, nor am I sure what I’m being graded on, I’d imagine that delusional escape from reality we call “adulthood”, or “normality”, which I’ll admit I’m not particularly good at, even a 4 is probably generous in this regard. I’m not normal at all, it’s been pointed out to me recently that I’m weird as fuck, but I’m okay with that because normal is boring, normal is what we are around strangers.

It’s a funny thing when a relationship ends, one day you think you’re totally in love with a person, the next they’re the furthest thing from you’re mind, one minute they’re perfect, the next they’re the furthest thing from what you now believe you desire.
We are our own worst enemies when it comes to romance, we have these ideas of what we want and we seek out the person our minds have already designed, but those people rarely actually exist, so we find someone that comes close and we lie to ourselves that they’re perfect, but it never works because we never really know what we want.
Recently I’ve begun spending a lot of time with someone who’s company I greatly enjoy, someone I met when I first arrived in Banff but barely spoke to until she messaged me one day to say she’d enjoyed reading my blog. We gradually sent more and more time together until it happened, I fell for her as I always do, but this time it came out of nowhere, it took me entirely by surprise, and for the first time in my life I’m content with how something is going. The best thing about it is it feels easy, all I have to do is be myself around her and she around me and it seems to work, I honestly can’t remember a time I was as happy as I am now, she’s not only become a lover but also a best friend, and I’m incredibly blessed to have got the opportunity to know her. I’m not sure where it’s going to go, but it’s okay because I’m certain that no matter what, if we allow things to run they’re natural course, it can only lead somewhere good.

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To The Long Nights…

To The Long Nights…

A bunch of twenty-somethings
clinging to youth,
clinging to the long nights,
late nights,
early mornings,
sunsets and sunrises,
lines of blow,
joints rotating round the room,
blocked noses,
key bumps,
one more line,
goodbyes and new friendships,
the nights spent drinking cups of tea,
sipping it while it’s hot,
burning our throats,
burning, burning, burning,
burning minds,
burning blunts,
burning dreams,
burning regrets,
burning time,
burning candles,
forever burning in eternity,
the infinite and ancient stars burning
as bright as our souls.

We cling to the words in our hearts
and the silence in our mouths,
to the demons we fled now lurking in the shadows,
to the regrets,
the depression,
anxiety,
desperation,
joy,
hope,
second chances,
to the bad choices,
to one more line and one more empty bag,
one more choice
between sanity and truth.
Embracing our truths
and the truths of those around us.
The truth of addiction,
the truth of madness,
the truth of imperfection,
the truth of fear,
the truth of freedom,
the truth of pleasure,
the truth of mortal beauty.

We cling to the past,
to flaccid ambitions,
and to those broken dreams
we remember as perfect,
to the dark sluts
who brightened our hearts
and enlightened our minds,
to the manic fiends
who’s vices justified our own,
to the fallen angels
the world disregarded and forgot
but in whom we found undiscovered beauty,
and to the unlovable hedonists
who’d given up hope
but we learnt to love.
We cling to one more line,
and one more late night,
one more excuse,
one more memory to be forgotten,
one more reason to live.

A bunch of twenty-somethings,
clinging to withering youth,
to blossoming life,
to the present.

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Impermanence

I cried at your funeral.

I don’t know if that means anything to you.
If it makes up for the fact that in 23 years I barely got to know you,
Or in the two years since I moved away I barely visited you,
Or in the six months you lay on your deathbed alone I only visited you once.
I don’t think it’ll mean a thing to you now.
I didn’t cry simply out of regret or despair,
Or out of a selfish desire for forgiveness,
I cried for the epiphany of the ineffable impermanence of life.

That week I lost you I also lost my perception of truth.
I lost my optimism,
My belief in love and hope.
The day after I learnt of your passing
A relationship I believed was eternal ended.
She said she hated the way I viewed her as perfect,
That we’re all impermanent,
That my belief in undying true love was a delusion.

I sat staring at the coffin that contained your impermanent remains,
And it hit me hard in the heart
And in the soul.
I tried to hold back those first tears,
As if I could convince myself
To stop caring
And stop loving.
But we can’t fight those rhapsodic feelings.

So I wept
For those beguiled by the illusionary sanctuary of foreverness,
Those enchanted by deceit
And enraptured with falsities.
And I wept
For those enlightened to the impermanent nature of reality,
Aware of our future of ash and dust,
To whom the meaningless of existence
Has become crystalline
And all too real.
And I wept
For those epitomes
Of love and perfection
Whom have never existed
Outside of my own desires.
And I wept
For those imperfect people
To whom I’m continually drawn,
Whom I selfishly idealise
And perfect in my mind,
Whom break my heart
Every time,
Because perfection is a fantasy,
It destroys all
As it inevitably unravels.
And I wept
For my fear
Of inescapable endings
And heartbreak
And loss.
And I wept
For my fellow slaves to the imposing will of depression,
And those that despite their awareness
Of the impermanent and meaningless nature of existence,
Still fight those rhapsodic feelings
Derived of emotions we perceive as negative,
Like fear, and despair, and love.

But it means nothing to ash and dust.

The Beauty And The Light 

The Beauty And The Light 

As the last tears of Spring fell silently upon a Bavarian city, we took to discovering in one another both pleasures unknown and long forgotten. Lost amidst a sea of perfect strangers given to the earthly pleasures of the mortal flesh, we fell in love thinking it was merely lust and you awoke something pagan within me, something ancient, something older than time, something that outlives ash and dust, some familiar beauty long-suppressed. And I found God within your soul and I looked upon it, reality unfolded before my eyes, everything that has ever been or ever will be, and it all seemed so utterly insignificant before you. I took your hand and I never wanted to let it go, though I knew I must. And I whispered words of love for only you to hear, and we closed our eyes and drifted into a dream from which we hoped to never wake. And I promised you my faith, for you were synonymous with my reality, with the stars that shone down on the most heavenly of nights, and your love became my religion, for you offered me my salvation. And winter seemed so long ago, there in the summer as I watched the sunflower blossom.

We tried to swim that ocean between us, but were lost among the salt water, and the shipwrecks of the deep. We searched the darkest depths of that ocean, holding onto the hopes of finding a lost treasure buried deep in the ocean bed.
I thought we’d made it, but on the shore I found Autumn had come, and the leaves were falling to the ground, and all that was once green and beautiful in the world was slowly dying before me and had faded to a memory, becoming nothing more than a half-remembered dream.
And dreams are remembered as nightmares, and nightmares as dreams, and the soul grows weary with a life lived out in eternity, and one day my mind will drift into the unknown, and I’ll forget your name, your face, your smell, your taste, your soul, and the vision of God it contained. But it’ll be okay, because I’ll know that I’ll close my eyes and we’ll be there again. And those last tears of Spring will fall silently upon a Bavarian city, and we’ll smile, and we’ll dance, and we’ll discover in one another those pleasures we forgot long ago. Amidst a sea of perfect strangers, my soul will call out to yours, recognising the reality our minds have since forgotten, and it will all begin again. And I’ll forever be drawn, towards the beauty and the light.

Banff

Banff

We can’t control our fate, whether it’s set or not. We’re slaves to our emotions, our passions, our whims, our desires, to the present and to our past. We float through life like it doesn’t matter, sometimes it works out the way we’d like and sometimes it doesn’t. But despite this I still have an internal struggle between accepting my fate and controlling it. I constantly dream of and overthink scenarios that I’m so convinced are going to happen, but reality never ends up reflecting it because my fate-bound soul never seeks that which my self-aware mind desires.I’ve been torn recently. Torn between wanting to leave Banff, to find a job I enjoy in a city I could love, and staying, embracing my current temporary joy, my freedom, my youth and my uncertain future. I’m torn between the desire to save my sanity and the desire to accept my fate, whatever that may be.
I think I’m going to end up in Banff a lot longer than I’d originally intended, but I’m okay with it. When I arrived in Canada I thought I’d work in Banff through the summer just to save enough money to move to Vancouver in the fall. I had my whole two years planned out, to the smallest detail, but I’d say I was just going to see what happened, because that was part of it. Then I got to Banff and I forgot my plans entirely.

I’m trying to accept my fate more. I want to indulge in the present and worry about the future when I’m in it. You have to in Banff, things change so quickly that you can’t try and plan a month ahead let alone two years. Friendships grow and die in the blink of an eye. Something can be everything to you one day and a memory the next. Your world changes as fast as the weather.

We’re all searching for something in Banff. Me, I’m searching from for a story to tell, for people to inspire me, for something or someone to write about. I’m a writer, or I’d like to think of myself as one, and one day I want to write something of some worth, something more than a blog. I’ve found what I was searching for here a thousand times over, and I’m sure I’ll find more before I leave. Ultimately we are all searching for an escape. An escape from addiction, from normality, from routine, from the everyday trials and tribulations of adult life. Fortunately this town has that in abundance.
You stand on your balcony, looking deep into the clearest night sky, you gaze upon the remnants of once mighty stars which burnt out and died a millennia ago, and you realise you insignificance in this universe, but also that even gods have their time, all things fade, there is no future.

Life here is like a dream. I know it’s superficial and impermanent, so therefore ultimately meaningless. Nothing here is genuine because we all know that sooner or later it’ll end, we’ll pack our bags and wave goodbye to this town forever and life will move on like it always has.

But despite knowing all this, it still feels so real, so rich, so important, so holy… It feels as though it is everything, as if the limits of the universe extend only to the borders of my own world, my own perception of the moment at hand.

It’s summer love, a taste of everything we could ever desire, but a taste we know we could never savour.
Time flys quick in Banff. Things come and go in a heartbeat. So much so that you fail to realise how little has changed out there, in the real world, the one that’s real to them, the ones that fail to see how big reality can really be. This is our world, sometimes it reflects the one we flee, sometimes the one we search for, always the one we see. It’s a world of coke, booze, work, late nights, early mornings, sex, and romances that should not happen and would not happen anywhere else. It’s a world of experimentation, indulgence, fear, love, passion, broken dreams and unexpected adventures. But no matter what, it’s always the world we choose.
I wouldn’t want to spend my summer anywhere else. I couldn’t.

Sex

Apparently my last post was pretty nonsensical, so let’s forget about that one. I gave up smoking weed shortly before coming to Canada, but I’ve just taken it back up. Whenever I’m high I can write out entire novels in my mind, but by the time I can be bothered to pick up a pen or start typing, I’ve forgotten entirely what I was going to write about, let alone the actual words I intended to use.

I’ve just got home. I spent last night with a woman. Not just a woman but the woman that I’ve been spending a considerable amount of time with recently, the only woman in that way.
I walked up Banff Ave after leaving hers, I went to McDonald’s for a few double cheeseburgers, I noticed something on my walk back. I feel as though in Banff everyone looks at one another differently, every time someone looks at another person they’re weighing up whether or not they’d fuck them. You can see it on their faces.
I feel like that’s the case wherever you go, but it seems to be more obvious here in Banff. I do it all the time. Basically every woman I lay my eyes on, my first thought is would I fuck them, the answer is usually yes, sometimes it’s not just I would but I actively want to, sometimes I need to, as if it’s a matter of life and death.
It’s natural, we all do it, especially men. It’s a primitive, instinctive desire to pass on our genetic material and increase the chances of our species and our bloodlines survival. Polygamy is not natural. More often than not it’s necessary for a relationship to work, so we force it upon ourselves for the sake of love, but at a base level our instincts go against it.
This girl, who I’ve fallen for as of late, she’s the only one I want to be with at present, yet I still have these thoughts about every woman I pass, because women are beautiful and I desire all of them, but I’d never act upon these thoughts. I suppress them because what would come naturally would bring me misery, sometimes we have to fight for happiness.

Sex is a complicated subject. Everyone desires it. In fact, we all spend a considerable amount of our lives perusing it, or at the very least thinking about it. We also all have of fetishes, I’m not sure I’ve spelt that write, but you get what I mean. I’m a big believer in indulging in them, and I think an important part of a relationship is to allow our partners to indulge in them, to an extent. Obviously if it’s somethings you know will make you unbearably uncomfortable, then your partner should understand that and drop it.
My ex once stuck a finger up my arse. Sorry if that’s too blunt. I didn’t mean to blurt it out like that, but I can’t think of a more subtle way to put it. She asked me first, and I figured that if that was what she desired then who am I to deny her such a small thing. I’ll probably never allow another woman to do it, as it instantly killed the mood, extinguishing my sex drive quicker than he thought of Hilary Clinton’s dried up corporatist cunt.

We do have to suppress our desires sometimes though, particularly when we are in a relationship built on love, because often a fetish is not based on love, it’s based on primordial lust, and while a little of each work well, in extreme amounts they clash.
I’m in the early stages of a relationship at the moment, but I still have innumerable sexual desires. I just do my best to suppress them. I’m trying out something new, something I want more than anything else, and those other desires don’t correlate. But that doesn’t mean that I don’t walk down the street, see a red headed girl with a bull ring piercing in her nose, curling her hair and instinctively want her. Because we can’t help what we want, we can only help whether or not we act on it.
I’m turned on by all manner of things. All women turn me on. They dot even have to be sexy, there’s a difference between a person being sexy and being able to turn you on. Some women, and they’re often the ones I desire the most, I find to be the most awkward of creatures, the anxious way they move, their inability to hold a conversation, and I want them, not because they are in anyway close to what one might describe as a sex symbol, or an object of sexual desire, but because they plain and simply turn me on.

I get that I probably come across as incredibly misogynistic, but I don’t intend it that way. I’ve never fucked a woman I haven’t loved, although I’ve probably never met a woman I haven’t loved, or at least thought I loved for a brief moment, but in that moment it’s the realist thing I’ve ever experienced. That’s my biggest problem, there is something to be desired in every single member of that marvellous gender and I want every single one of them. King Solomon had something stupid like 600 wives, I’m not sure if I envy or pity him. 600 wives would be fine with me, provided I had the chance to fall completely in love with every one of them, but it seems somewhat impossible, at least to maintain that feeling. If I were him, I’d have just married a new woman every night, and got divorced every morning. Imagine that, falling asleep every night knowing that the woman beside you was the one, the one you loved, the one you would spend the rest of your life with, and getting to repeat that feeling every night but with someone new, someone fresh, never allowing love to sour, stamping it out before you could see there flaws.

Off the back of Byron or Keats

I feel as though I’ve begun to neglect my blog. I’ve not intended it, I’ve just been busy, or sidetracked. I couldn’t have been too busy as I can’t really think what I’ve done as of late, so I must have been sidetracked. Other things have occupied my mind. I’ve been writing a lot though, or at least thinking about writing. I’ve been planning an epic. I’ve always liked epic poetry, and I feel like here needs to be some grate prose epic for the modern age. I want it to tell Nietzsche’s story of Zarathustra, with the first part describing his journey up the mountain, the second describing his ten years spent on the mountain learning what he learnt and of the death of God, and the third about his decision to come back down the mountain and share his discoveries with man.
I’ve not put much of it onto paper yet, but I’ve just borrowed Thus Spoke Zarathustra from the library for a little, inspiration.
Another thing my mind is far more concerned about than it is about my blog is a woman. I fear I may have fallen for her, not in the way I’d fall for someone in passing, but well and truly fallen for her, and that throws up so many concerns within my mind. I’m just trying to figure out the best course of action without over thinking about it, but I end up overthinking whether or not I’m overthinking.
I won’t go into too much detail, but I know she’ll read this, and I know she’ll ask me, and I know I’ll avoid giving a definitive answer.
Or maybe I won’t post this.

I’m pretty high as I write this, and I’m trying to figure out what I’m trying to say, I think I’m trying to recap, but it’s difficult to figure out what’s important or what people care about. Also, I’m trying to try out a more spontaneous prose. I’m interested in automatic writing. I love Yeats, that’s what sparked my interest. But I’m going off whatever small amounts of topic I had.

There was a night the other day, that I want to write about, I feel I should devote a whole post to it. Or a poem. But it was unique, basically the power went out all night, so we sat around candlelight doing coke of he back of a poetry book. A shitty poetry book I should add, we weren’t doing it off the back of Byron or Keats, it was one of those shitty modern “Instagram poets”.

I wouldn’t mind writing a post solely on things I detest. As a walked back from the mall last night, (I’d had a curry from this Sri Lankan place in the food court, this eggplant curry, I’m addicted,) I walked past these backpackers sat on the sidewalk with a sign that said something to the effect of; “travellers, please help”, and I wanted to slap the hippy pieces of shit all over Banff. I despise these middle class backpacking hippy traveler types. I know like, I’m kind of backpacking too, and I have been backpacking in the past, but there’s these certain types of people you always find in hostels, the ones that dress in what they think are traditional South East Asian pants, but are actually just pyjamas with oriental patterns. They also seem to have a fetish for banjos, or just aimlessly walking round a mall playing a guitar.
Maybe I’m too quick to judge them.

I think that’s it for this post. I digress too much.