New Light

At 25,000 feet the roads and paths and streams look like fishbones.  Spindly and enveloped in the stark white and black of a dark winter evening, I follow the spine and trace each bone.  They lead to rivers and lakes and to the rectangular blocks and winking lights of small towns.  I usually don't fly this low.  I'm used to the wide expanse of blue sky and space.  But at this height, the patterns and shapes seem endless and the golden glow of urban life shines.

Deep Cuts

Memory Comes When Memory's Old

I change my mind constantly.  Born on the cusp, pulled in too many directions, my mind and body and heart waver between people and places.    I write in the morning, my room letting in filtered autumn sunlight, and I think of all the things that could happen.   But I don't know what I want to happen. 

Later in the day.  My thoughts and actions become disjointed, and the clarity of an early sunny morning gives way to the muddled grey of afternoon.  Homemade blanket spread over my legs, the taste of winter on my tongue, all I want is to be warm.

The colours and smells of fall always bring me back to two separate times in my life.  The first, my second year of university.  I finally felt the attention of boys and the world was so open and new and fresh.  I can remember early mornings on the O-Train, walking to class, Morrissey crooning in my ears.  I was young and discovering so much music and art and literature for the first time.   And coffee.  I loved coffee. 

The second fall was my last year of journalism school.  I was in love, obsessed and passionate, flitting back and forth between msn chat, Myspace, my cell phone, and the piles of writing and research I needed to complete.  Graduation was near, but I was preoccupied.  He lived far away and every time I heard his voice, a shock of excitement rang through my body.  That fall I experienced heartache, panic, the death of a loved one, and the disintegration of two close friendships.  But I had love and possibility coursing through me and every setback was tainted not by extreme sadness or depression; instead, I felt that while life takes away so much, it gives and gives, and its up to us to accept this.

Late fall and early winter 2010 is now one of these times in my life.  Light snowfalls and inky nights.  The sound of my boots on the sidewalk, Fever Ray, brick, smoke, worry, and desire.  Terrifying and exciting.  Unnerving and unsettling. 

This fall I want to see as a turning point.  Change is forthcoming and there's no need to fear it.  It brings with it new people and places, smells and sounds and thoughts.  All I can do is welcome it.

When It Touched My Hand, I Felt My Mind Open Up Like A Valley

The last time I visited the AGO was in January of this year.  A mid-week day off, in the midst of a serious emotional upheaval, looking at art seemed ideal.  A way to immerse myself in something that someone else had created.  I could focus on the curves and shapes, the purples and greens and bright canary yellows.  For the first time in a long while I didn't think about my own life.  I wanted to sink into a Waterhouse painting and let the scent of roses and cedar permeate my skin and hair.

A lazy walk through the gallery and we found ourselves surrounded by Picasso, Chagall, Miro.  He milled about and I found myself rooted in front of an explanation of Surrealism.  According to the writer, at the core of human existence lay the base "irrational" urges to love, to desire, and to destroy.  At the time, this resonated within me, and I scribbled it down in my journal, feeling thoughts of my own life creep back into my mind.  The urge to do any of these things is irrational because we do so without properly thinking through the consequences. We unconsciously destroy aspects of our lives that are strong and seemingly concrete.  Desire runs rampant and it takes hold of you, shakes you to the very foundations you rely on to stand. 

The Surrealists sought to transform the manner in which people saw the world and life and love.  They wanted no control, no outside logic or reason.  No political or social confines.  To delve deep into your own head and feel out your innermost thoughts and ideas and feelings, void of constraints or inhibitions.  A feat which I find near impossible.

The last part of the poster that I remember is one sentence: "We must change life."

But how?

This Side of Brightness

For a little while, things become really clear.  I know what I want (kind of), who I want to be, and what I need to do to get there.  I get up early, run under a fading moon, down unknown streets, names I've heard in passing.  I think about the fast-approaching day and how I can see my breath.  The past year washes over me and I can tell it's quickly getting colder and I'm not sure anything I do will make a difference.

Roll Over Beethoven

Retro, rockabilly.  Winged liner, red lips and nails, high-waist.  Waiting. 

I'm pretty sure I was meant for another era.  Born 30 years too late. 

River's Edge

Maybe I'll wake up from this.  Find myself in waist-high weeds, wild flowers, black-eyed susies.  Ducking down between the trees in my old backyard, hiding from everyone, content by myself.