Category Archives: Media

The Power And Impossibilium

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I dreamt about you last night.

It was the first time in a long while that my unconscious mind has wandered down this road. My conscious mind, aware of time and distance, has been battered by the ravages of war. It still longs for things that can never be.

But while I sleep, an alternate universe is woven like a web that glimmers with a fresh morning dew. And in it, I relive your beauty. 

My gaze falls upon your raven hair and its perfect sheen. I can feel your warmth through our clothes as we sit pressed against one another in an overcrowded car. Your scent penetrates the nostrils of my unconscious self with a delicacy that my conscious mind is no longer able to recall. Your smile delights me and your throaty laugh hints towards a deep, untamed passion. My lips are even allowed a subtle moment to brush your bare shoulder, unnoticed by everyone except you and I. 

Here, in this place created by my memory and my imagination, we are unchanged by the events of our conscious lives. Our past is alive, our present is altered and our future is immaterial. It is the moment and I am cleansed by its purity.

Inevitably, I wake to the realization that it is merely a dream, a reflection of the raw power you hold within my heart. I am moved to tears by the beauty of it and also by its impossibility.

Nature Boy

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I’ve been inspired by ladyn0ttingham over at Blackbird Rising who has thrown up a few photos of her most recent adventure into the natures. I now feel compelled to post a few nature shots of my own from my camping trip out in David Thompson country. 


I took them with my iPhone and didn’t even bother to try and edit them. Cuz I’m lazy like that. 

Deep Thinks On The Over-Plan

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Not every post here has to be a novel nor does it have to be Pulitzer-winning material. I need to remind myself of this… and frequently, it would seem. I start writing things and delete them because they aren’t thought out well or my writing is scatter-brained. 

It’s a chronic problem that I have, it’s my way of procrastinating. Instead of just doing it and letting the chips fall where they may, I analyze it and then over-analyze it until I’ve wasted sufficient time that the moment has passed. This problem doesn’t only apply to writing, I do it with a lot of things… come to think of it, I do it in many areas of my life where I’m afraid to take a step into a large or difficult task. I plan and analyze and often don’t get around to executing the plan and accomplishing that which I originally wanted to do. 

Why is this? Introspection on this matter leads me to wonder if it’s because I’m generally afraid to fail. 

Now, I think that a lot of people might just stop there when they’re getting introspective. But that ain’t me, as I’m telling you… I’m an over-analyzer. (And a procrastinator, don’t forget.) So I ask myself, ‘why am I afraid to fail or even produce something that is not good?’ [note that I never use the term ‘good’ because I feel that it’s over-used and ambiguous so to do it here is me trying to make progress] What is it about producing something in any form that is sub-standard that turns me off? 

Is it evidence that I am sub-standard? Is it proof that I am deeply flawed? Will people think of me differently by seeing the crappy fruits of my labor?

My feeling… my realization is that I have to accept that, regardless of what I do, my efforts are always going to be less than perfect in my own eyes and probably in the eyes of those around me. However, I am always doing and producing things that people see whether I am aware of it or not. I am always being judged and need to become comfortable with that. It’s my own imperfection that needs to drive me to be better and stronger rather than hinder or prevent me from moving forward and growing. 

Like that Featured Image up there… I took that photo on my iPhone and then edited it on my iPhone. It’s probably utter shite but it’s my utter shite. I’m just putting it out there and let it be what it is. 

Not perfect. Probably crap. But it’s mine. And I love it. 

Writing? Ain’t Nobody Got Time For That!

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It kind of feels like the traditional blog is dying out there on the Internet. With all of the social media formats out there… you are almost wasting your time by stringing together anything longer than 140 characters because most likely it’s not going to get read. 

I’m on a bunch of these social media sites; Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, SnapChat, Vine… just to name most the popular ones… and it feels like the attention span for content is getting shorter and shorter. Most likely, I’ve already lost half of you that might have started reading this post. 

It’s all become a popularity contest for who can get the most likes the fastest. Content? Fuck the content. Fuck the thought and fuck the integrity. Just give it a like. Maybe it will go viral and I’ll become Internet-famous. 

I fall into the trap too. Coming up with things to write about or sitting down to type my thoughts and feelings out can really be a lot of effort. And I don’t do it often enough. But when it comes down to writing a post here, it’s not about getting popular. It’s not about getting recognized. It’s not about going viral. It’s about getting my thoughts and feelings out and real. It’s about the process… the journey… and not the result or the destination. In the end, I’m writing for me and not for you. 

‘The Sound Of Silence’ by Disturbed

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Hello darkness, my old friend
I’ve come to talk with you again
Because a vision softly creeping
Left its seeds while I was sleeping
And the vision that was planted in my brain
Still remains…
Within the sound of silence

In restless dreams I walked alone
Narrow streets of cobblestone
‘Neath the halo of a streetlamp
I turned my collar to the cold and damp
When my eyes were stabbed by the flash of a neon light
That split the night…
And touched the sound of silence

And in the naked light I saw
Ten thousand people, maybe more
People talking without speaking
People hearing without listening
People writing songs that voices never shared
No one dared…
Disturb the sound of silence

“Fools” said I, “You do not know
Silence like a cancer grows
Hear my words that I might teach you
Take my arms that I might reach you”
But my words like silent raindrops fell
And echoed in the wells of silence

And the people bowed and prayed
To the neon god they made
And the sign flashed out its warning
In the words that it was forming
And the sign said “The words of the prophets
Are written on the subway walls
And tenement halls
And whispered in the sounds of silence”