Showing posts with label moleskine. Show all posts
Showing posts with label moleskine. Show all posts

Sunday, June 1, 2008

i carry your heart with me


i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go,my dear;and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)
i fear
no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)

Monday, April 21, 2008

sam sparro


The fish swam
Out of the ocean
And grew legs
And they started walking
And the apes climbed down
From the trees
And grew tall
And they started talking

And the stars
Fell out of the sky
And my tears
Rolled into the ocean
Now I'm looking
For a reason why
You even set my world
Into motion

'Cause if you're not
Really here
Then the stars
Don't even matter
Now I'm filled
To the top with fear
But it's all
Just a bunch of matter
'Cause if you're not
Really here
Then i don't want
To be either
I wanna be next to you
Black and gold
Black and gold
Black and gold

I looked up
Into the grey sky
And see a thousand eyes
Staring back
And all around
These golden beacons
I see nothing but black

I feel a way of something
Beyond them
I don't see
What I can feel
If vision
Is the only validation
Then most of my life
Isn't real

'Cause if you're not
Really here
Then the stars
Don't even matter
Now I'm filled
To the top with fear
But it's all
Just a bunch of matter
'Cause if you're not
Really here
Then I don't want
To be either
I wanna be next to you
Black and gold
Black and gold
Black and gold

Sunday, October 21, 2007

Welcome Wagon

These last several weeks I have taken to the cafe's of Peterborough with an interest I usually reserve for books and comfy chairs of warm breezes. I am by far one of the staunchest supporters of this city. It's got big city appeal and small town charm. We've grown slowly and steadily without the aid of major highways or factory employment. In April I moved into the heart of downtown Peterborough and haven't looked back since.
Personally, I live on Hunter St. West, though the specification of East vs. West isn't necessitated by the length of the street so much as the historical Hunter Street bridge, towering over the Ottonabee River. This neighbourhood and part of downtown has recently been revived as the gourmet and bohemian district of Peterborough, fed by the eclectic stores as much as the youthful presences of both Trent University students and Sir Sanford Fleming College students. When Eaton's suffered and left the downtown core, the historical downtown suffered as urban sprawl and strip mall society threatened to overtake the city.
But I lucked out with a small bachelor apartment on Hunter. By block alone is an eclectic array of establishments and anti-establishments. From gourmet thin-crust wood-oven pizza at 'The Night Kitchen" to a Import bead Boutique. Karma's Cafe for Mongolian or Tibetan food to a Graphic Design Firm. There is a traditional Jerk Shack (Island Cream), and several gourmet restaurants (Gertis', Cervantes’s, Parkhill on Hunter, La Hacienda, and Taste of Europe). We have alternative pubs (The Rusty Snail, and the only) as well as Clancy's and The Red Dog, 2 of the oldest traditional pubs in the region.
There are still more cool places, all within a 2 minute stroll to the left or right of my front door! There' s The Gordon Best Theatre, Black Honey and there amazing organic fresh deserts and pastries, a lawyers office, 2 banks, and an independent toy store. I'm still leaving out the boutique spa, yoga studio, catering company, the barbershop I live above, the African specialty salon, holistic perfumery and the appliance store, satellite radio outlet, convenience store and a Running-Club. I'm really amazing just tallying it all up. This is Hunter St. between George and Aylmer Sts. There are a few I have forgotten and there is actually 2 storefronts that are closed because the landlords are renovating them while they are up for lease. Don't even get me started on what you can find within a 2 block radius of me! Needless to say, I love my apartment and I love my neighbourhood.
This random tangent aside, I was talking about cafe's. I get my organic tea or juice fix and 6 establishments within a block of my apartment. None of which are a Timmy's or a Starbucks. There is the emo/indie youth oriented cafe "The Spill", general public place "Haasleton's", gourmet roasting house "Dreams of Beans" where the fabled Desiree works. Plus catering company and cafe "A Moveable Feast", the afore mentioned "Black Honey" across the street from me, and the newly opened "Natas" where my friends Dahn and Meagh prepare quality, high-end espresso. There are more places, but for me, to be a true cafe destination you have to have an espresso machine and offer more than 4 kinds of tea. Otherwise you don't qualify. Sorry, in some ways even I am prejudice.
When the farmer's market is downtown, Dreams is roasting, and the Quaker plant is doing there thing, downtown Peterborough smells like Sunday breakfast as the church bells ring out each service from all corners of the oldest parts of town. I can hardly explain to you the joys I feel sitting in a cafe, reading the paper, writing in my moleskine, or here on my laptop as people come and go around me. So many walks of life, variances in ages, but everyone has there story, and sometimes I get pulled in...
Okay, I am now resigning myself to the fact that this post is descending into incoherency. Sometimes I just get so amped up about my town, my friends, and my life that I can’t quite articulate the way that I feel. I think that what I’m basically trying to convey is that, if you haven’t already figured out, I am a social being. I thrive on stimuli. From growing up in the established, old suburban neighbourhoods or this city, to moving to the country 20mins outside of it, to living in the pre-war south-end and back to the north-end of town, I have finally found my place. It’s here, where the action is. I have a fantastic apartment in a fantastic area. There are countless shows to go to, parks to play in, stores to explore and galleries to browse. I live in a neighbourhood that is my age, that shares my values, and that is constantly challenging me to challenge it. What more can I ask for?
(**Photo: by Desiree Fawn**)

Thursday, October 4, 2007

moleskine

I have a moleskine notebook that goes with me everywhere. Or thereabouts. It gets the doodles, the lists, the random regurgitation of other peoples thought and opinions as viewed through my experiences. I was re-reading my most recent journal, and came across an entry I had completely forgotten. I think part of this blog will me remembrances like this. I had a dream several weeks ago that disturbed me. Made me sad to wake, but terrified me during it. It haunted me for days, but I had completely forgotten it until I came across it:


Sept 15th,
I had a dream a few nights ago. Still so vivid.
An angry holiday dinner.
I was supposed to make pumpkin pie, but I don't bake. I do the turkey, the gravy, the ham and any number of glazes. That is my role. I am the chef, but I do not bake.
Everyone is yelling at me.
They didn't care.
In the dream I am thinking, "I wish my dad was here." Which is weird. For starters, I never wished him to be anywhere. And he never did well in large, loud, family events. Not after he had quit drinking. But in some childish way, I wished my dad was there.
And then, in the kitchen, he was there.
They didn't care.
He was/ He is dead. Without words, we both knew he was only here/there to create this impossible pumpkin pie. And it was perfect. I don't like pumpkin pie. Apple is my thing. But out of tart shells, gravy and stuffing, my dad made the perfect pumpkin pie.
But he still wouldn't talk to me. I was crying. Sobbing silently in the kitchen during a thanksgiving meal. Something I usually did in the privacy of the basement bathroom. Something neither of my parents have seen me do since childhood. Something I have not done publicly since he died over seven years ago.
And they still didn't care.
I told him not to leave. By now, aware that this was a dream. Aware that time was running out. In the dream I knew it was only a matter of moments until my alarm clock would go off and ruin this. Wakefulness would ruin this horrible family meal that let me see, let me hear and smell my dad in ways I could never do with expressed effort when in need of comfort.
Then I woke up.
And forgot this dream for two days.
I remembered at Starbucks, a place I rarely go. And never know what to get, as I don't even like coffee. But I got a pumpkin spice latte. It tasted disgusting.
I didn't care.


This dream is weird. Not just for its content, its apparent meaning (and my lack of faith in the interpretation of dreams) but for the plain and simple fact that I do not dream. I just don't have dreams. I mean, I do have dreams, but very rarely. Maybe I will dream two or three times a year. If that.
But whenever I do dream, they are usually one of three or four recurring dreams. One, I am on a picnic in Burnham Park, and me and a faceless girl are chased by a gnome to a house where we reach safety and i wake up. Another, I am at a pool. Happy. Then I realize that I have no idea who owns the house I am at, or how I am supposed to go home. Embarrassment and dread fill me. I wake up. And all my dreams are semi-conscious. Because they are all recurring dreams, it only takes a few minutes for me to recognise the familiarity and to attempt to influence the outcome. Which makes it very fun when I have a sex dream. But that is a very rare happening. I can honestly say that I have only had three erotic dreams in my whole life. And they were all random variations on a theme.
This dream is new. It is the first New dream of my adult life. It scares me. But I want to have it again. And I am impatient to wait another four to eight months for the off chance it will be back in time for Easter.