In 2002, Journals was released. It’s a collection of Kurt Cobain’s notes, letters, lists, and drawings. It could easily be argued that his music was his liberation, his way of finding nirvana. The collection shines a light on how Cobain thought. It’s an insight into who the man was behind the curtains, not behind the microphone. It helps you understand why he made the music that he did. I use Morning Pages.Continue reading “Finding Silence One Page at a Time – 20 Months of Morning Pages”
I woke up with vomit on the duvet. It was over my feet so I knew that it wasn’t mine because I haven’t done yoga in nearly ten years. Riel had curled up in between my legs, slightly higher up on the bed than where he had emptied his stomach. It was only a few minutes after the moist duvet had interrupted my sleep that I noticed Riel trying to take a shit. After about thirty seconds of effort, he shrieked and I knew that he was constipated.Continue reading “Letting Sh*t Go”
21:27 May 9, 2019
I’m waiting in a windowless room. It’s a small room with a single bed, which has been nicely made with a blue comforter and white fitted and flat sheets. There is one pillow on the bed, in a pillowcase that has been bleached white. I’m sitting on the only chair in the room; it’s a chair that you would find in any waiting room. The cushion is also blue. There is a small black space heater next to the chair. It’s the type that looks like a fan, circular with false blades on the screen.Continue reading “I Have Poor Sleep Hygiene”
Productive people fascinate me. You know, people who are prolific. The people who get a lot of things done amaze me. I admire their ability to set to a task and complete it, while also juggling new ideas and other commitments. Continue reading “Making Time”
It started back in November. I wanted a book on how to fold paper airplanes. I needed it soon because I was starting a unit on
I don’t know why I ever thought that it would be any different, but I had just, I don’t know, dreamed of being a good painter. I never saw myself as a Picasso or Rembrandt or Klimt. I didn’t even see myself as a Ross. I guess, I don’t know, I just saw myself as a painter.Continue reading “I am not a very good painter”
One of the ways that I most regularly express myself is through writing. Writing, I find, is safe. Writing affords me time. Writing gives me space.
But, I’m not a writer. I’m someone who writes. Continue reading “Self-Expression, Part 2”
It’s undeniable that some time has passed between us. What little we did talk during then has held us together like the imperceptible knots tying strings of thread, being joined to continue knitting a blanket. We wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for those knots, but they make little difference to what has brought us together again.
A good friend of mine recently sent me a photo of his daughter wandering along a beach in Portugal. He captioned the photo with: “There is something inspiring about the meandering footprints of a child contrasted with [the] linear path of adults.”
When did we stop wandering? Continue reading “Wandering”
Over the March Break, I went home to Calgary for a few days. The visit was too short to do much more than hang out with my family but was long enough to interrupt the things I wanted to do back home in Toronto. Of course, I made a trip to Reid’s and bought a pen. Continue reading “Cucumber Water”