A Mantra

he's on the phone as i type. fiddling with his guitar. i'm hunched over cradling the phone between my left shoulder and ear. i tried speaker phone but its harder to hear the movement on the line and he's on speaker phone as well so the quality is less than spectacular.
i shouldn't have poured an entire cup of tea. i'll never finish it. its unrealistic. i eat fast. i digest fast. i focus on eating when i eat. i drink slow. drinks are special. food sits there. your aware that it is now apart of you or rather than your absorbing its beneficial nuances. liquids, are ghosts. your aware of its presence and warmth (or chill) as it reacts on your pallet and down towards the core. but it is without body. it is substance without matter. although science tells us otherwise, the only place we feel the drink is when it punches you later in the bladder. you don't know what you've gained from it until the doctor checks your blood later. Be it good or bad. I enjoy the moment. I enjoy the pace. I become aware of what's around me when i drink. It's eased tempo allows me to take the time to enjoy whatever is in front of me and not beyond me. Things i'd miss if i was eating, because eating is a race to satisfy.
i live fast. i react fast. i am fast in wit and fast in processing.
i exist slow. i love slow. i grow slow.
quite honestly
i'd rather drink.

Take away for today: www.cr8apes.com
DJ mixes posted. Fun for parties. Or alone time.

Suck on THIS Entrepreneurship '09!

There's a lot of immaturity in trying to be mature.



There's an abandoned farm about a 10 minute bike from my house. It's stationed on an old, swervy, no side-walk road across from my high school. By abandoned I intend to mean owned by land relaters hoping to make a new suburban jungle and is visited by one of the later owners family members occasionally. To make sure no one is throwing parties on the property. I've only been there twice but I feel like it's mine. Mine and my friends. It's quiet and precious. And while it's lonely abused atmosphere may make a a good haunted facade, it feels safe. I don't feel like there are dead bodies, lingering spirits or bad imprints. I feel like I need to explore. Do crazy shit. A place to have your first kiss and get felt up. I want to read mark zusack there. play baseball. run through the generous property. It's the cliche of the childhood theme "nothing lasts". I know it will be gone eventually, and i won't be devastated but i will cry. I don't know why yet but i will genuinely be moved by some currently-incomprehensible emotion. It's the loss of a life long dream. The need I've always craved for adventure and danger and discovery.
I feel like the freedom we gain there has a price. Something will happen and we'll pay for being too happy. Happiness is a sin. We lose sight of the immediately pertaining issues and reality when we drown in bliss for those moments. So very few of them. It's where we only speak about dreams, about others, about ourselves like no one can hear us. It's all very selfish and immature, but one can't go on living awaiting the day when the mechanics a line and you're sudden an adult. common sense no longer beneath you. There's a lot of immaturity in trying to be mature. We deny ourselves of experience and learning. The powerful surge of adrenaline in the face of danger. We suppress inspiration if our common sense calls it impossible, unattainable and incomprehensible. What the hell have we created when our children are forgetting to be children? Fear adventure because they may be scolded for improperly using their time? Ignore adventure because it's useless? Life might as well be abandoned. If the worry comes from one's physical and emotional health being at stake then they might as well be dead. We're always under an attack. And it's that prodding that makes us say "EN GARDE!". Forces us to be courageous and innovative. confident and imaginative. It's the fun that we have and the risks we take as kids that dictate the open-minded adults we become. I've seen the people who don't. My business teacher. Bad posture, doesn't look people in the eye, his attempts at hiding his lack of self-confidence makes him look self-absorbed. Clearly watched CBC news and played pong, masturbated to Lisa from weird science and ate white bread and butter sandwiches.

Take away for today: If you can get your hands on it before it leaves the shelves
UK's LOVE magazine sent Starworks’ Greg, their Senior Fashion Editor Francesca Burns, photographer Bruce Weber and designer Alexander Wang around the globe to find extraordinary talent and personalities under 21. Great read. Awesome articles. Cover's no names, to notable bloggers such a julia frakes and tavi, to more celebrity status performers.
http://www.thelovemagazine.co.uk/

Never give, Undone

Wow
I haven't written in a couple of months. Though I don't feel guilty.
I've been a busy fucker.
I'm struggling to get over vocal fatigue. I'm slowly teaching myself to rest. Which is difficult. I'm not truly happy until I have my hands full. I panic when I'm unoccupied, when I have time to relax. Not necessarily time to myself, I have time to waste. But time to sit down, watch re-runs, do nothing. I like crafts, but only when I'm bored. I like biking, but only when I'm bored.
Things to satisfy my stigma to swell the vacancy the that exists in my day.
I will push my body. I want to be physically and intellectually swollen. I want to have discovered something colourful. Within myself or outside. Exhaust all protein.
My subconscious and my libido work in a kinship. I lust for most things. People, food, adventure. I lust for self-understanding, and self-admiration.
I'm far to critical of myself. But perhaps that's the only way one can grow. One should always dislike something about what they've done. One should search for the flaws in their work. That is when we begin to seek improvement. We become more involved in what we do. We lust for critical respect. People who pride their work will never become more than what they are. Those is see the imperfections in the makeup will always grow, be humble, and continue to impress others.
Self doubt will flower excellence.

take away for today: http://www.flickr.com/photos/scotchsofa/page1/
someone who knows how to have fun. doesn't take herself too seriously. grows with every moment of her life.
sees a mistake as a masterpiece.
we need more people like this lady.

Circle in the Square

writing is a lot like drifting
to be truly poetic is to drift out of mind and write without conscious care.
drifting is a lot like winning.
been in so deep. so inescapable. so you give up the fight when all they want is just that. skin leverage.
when what you're worried for has ended you gain peace. when what they are united for has ended, they lose sight of why they enjoyed the others company to begin with. in hindsight they may note the persons distasteful qualities, and in return noting the same mirrored in themselves.
so drifting seems a way to outsmart. to belong senselessly to a strict meditation that belongs to a lifestyle and a character that exists just beyond the machines living room space, its banquets, its movement and its circles. To exist as the rectangle that encompasses the circle, at some points nearer to the circumferences, at some points untouchable is a fine way to mind ones own self. It's the distance I enjoy, but the homecoming I distance myself for.
Maybe I drift to test love. But I suppose I do it mostly to run into people tenting around the perimeter of the rectangle. When searching for isolation, it's nice to find camaraderie.

take away for today: www.margaretdurow.com, http://www.flickr.com/photos/margaretdurow/page1/
beautiful. like a voyeur ghost.

Favours

An old short story I found. I think i wrote it last year. It made me laughing finding it again.
Enjoy.
-S.Jones


Marla bit into her turkey burger.
She was watching her weight.
She asked for light mayo and no onions, because onions clung to your breath and your fingers. Your toung and your fingers were always in a gambling position to be asked to do favours. Marla wanted to do favours. She had a shopping list in her front pocket. She poked it and watched the stiff fabric pop like a bottle cap. Shopping for grocery's were not a favour. She was not doing herself a favour. She was doing her wife a favor.
Marla, loved Rachel. Rachel was in a constant passionate heat for Marla. Marla felt a need to wade submissive towards Rachel's blistering horomones. For all she knew she was gender split and fucking impregnated her. Which wouldn't be bad. Just really weird. Like there are things you can laugh about and be happy dispite the situation, definately not one of them. Her walls were probabaly rough with callas from a lack of arousal before Rachel lit a candle stick and inserted the waxy base. Rachel had an obsession with fire. Marla first made love to Rachel infront of a fire place. Earlier on she thought this cliche, she now realized she was feeding Rachel's fetish. Which made her happy.
She was once asked in a 'would you rather game' if you would rather never have someone please you or never be able to please someone else.
She was unable to muster a honest answer. or a wholesome answer. but the question itself was debatable. an answer she felt more opinionated to say.
really, Marla was unhappy.
Marla was bisexual. Marla wanted to try something new.
Marla wanted to do favours.
Inexpensive. 10 minutes or less. Simple and efficient.
Like the burger drive through.
Marla was done her burger. She moved onto her fries.
She balanced one between the pouch of her lips and her finger tip.
She slid it in. Swallowed it. Whole.
Marla looked out her window. Kevin was putting out the flower and garden sales area in the parking lot of Rona. Kevin watered his flowers and and took photos of his cats in seasonal costumes. Kevin carried a costco card, a debit card, an emergency diabetes card, and a pepsi card in his wallet.
Kevin needed a favour.

take away for today - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_miHFxG1yuQ&feature=channel_page
this is who they have sex too.
looks a bit like jesus. but jesus probably grooves better.

Be Afraid

I have a close friend. Who has healed more wounds for me than she will ever know. And has exposed me to myself, without fear. But sometimes I am afraid for her. She follows a wave which has an luxuriously peaceful high and then a tragic low. In her deepest hollows I suppose there isn't much to say. I would like to hear and sort out her matters for her, but I am not her mother, and I am not her conscience. To be at conflict with ones own psyche is a confrontation that must be met. Without exterior characters trying to build ones own character. One can only find peace when they are able to find realism in their own issues and second guess their own opinions. When you create a smarter, more intelligent self beyond bones and skin and blood.
I love her. I don't think I've ever loved anyone else more than her. She is striking and captivating and inspiring and truly unscathed by culture. She patriotic of her own domain. She is lost in an era years beyond the one she was born in. One with class and dignity and chivalry and experiment. She is a never ending cycle of occasion, with a persona that never settles in one suit for too long. She is challenging and mocking and curious. She is morning noon and night and the time in between does not exist because she doesn't have the time for it. She breaths sweet simple one line melodies. Absolutely the most impossibly lost person I've ever met. But in that lack of, she is perfect. To her I say, if you're cutting with a knife the gentlest gesture you can give beaten by the bat end. Whether you return the strike with a counter blow means a few fist full of apprehentions hugging your curves. Both ends have bitter endings, both ends are open ended. Will he decide to cut you or force you. Every white limbo has a corner, but the colour spills often just a few paces from where you began to feel watched. Running makes you more obvious and walking is an easier target. So is standing. So you're fucked. The best thing to do now is not exists, but unfortunately you are made of matter, and until you blow space between your atoms you'll continue to feel. Fear is the most unacknowledged emotion. Not that we ignore it, we are aware of it, but we can't just hate it. Because we hate too much of what's necessity already.
Fear will help you. Let it build a scent. Let something hunt you. Listen to its hunger. Listen to it's thoughtlessness. Find it before it comes out.
Be afraid.

Take away for today: http://www.myspace.com/wheatiemattiasich

Listen to Sugarcane.

Shaking Hands

I've fallen in love with illustration.
There's a massive, translucent line or lagoon at odds with the incision between what we see and can communicate with, circumference's us, and how we exhibit and frame the physical things response to our acknowledgment, it's own language, and the manifestation of that through a picture. When one analyzes the two, you begin to see within this lagoon, not an abrupt laceration of the two sitting abreast the other, but rather an inconceivable blur as one becomes the next. It is in the blur where the breathing earths metaphysical characteristics evolve into something more cinematic and charismatic. Using ones extremities to lasso a ghost or an aura within ones self or an object. To then invite that to the page. To portray it senselessly as it does not affect our senses. Miraculous.
An artist is never fully acknowledged for their work because one never fully understands the artists motives. How they felt and what they saw. What is often more frustrating is when perhaps the picture portrays an idea that conflicts the artists own personal message. But then, art will always continue to be different for everyone as we are all approached by art differently. As we are all judged by people differently. In the art community you must be willing to be judged for your work, because your work will judge you. Art will judge you.

take away for today: inventive and standard setting.
Russian Ark: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J--TDEHizVA
Vassilis Zidianakis: http://www.atopos.gr/rest/english/index.html