Love

My fiance is an amazing cook. I could take photos of her doing this all day, every day.

My love

When I can't write well, I start writing cheesy love poems.. and they all make me think about you.

You love the words that i spin.
I will break your heart once,
and ryhme of it again.
I can pen nothings up to your chin,
and i can push your soul in a cart.
I know you like a book,
and if knowledge is measured in love,
with you i am so damn smart.

Swagger and beak

is that what's important in your cave under the sun?
dwarf-ass motherfucker counting the arguements he's won
the leaps you lept, all to keeping scores
and the dirt that you swept, they were all whores
the hate you sweat, i politely hand back to you
with all the shit i get
on the bottom of my shoe

muah

- Charles A

On my way to China...

I'm headed to China as I type.

I'm going to miss my personal space. My freedom of time. Staying asleep until the crack of noon after staying up all night until sunrise to watch the fucking sky.

My bed is important.. I always miss it. I'll miss waking up next to someone I love in my bed. Being woke up by someone I love in bed. My window. The sun coming in in the morning.

Peace out.

- Charles A

Fuck love, it's time to get sexy

fuck your body and show me your mind
common ground is hard to find
when the only place i'm behind
is your ass

swallow your tongue and show me your tits?
is that your answer--
to the pieces that just wont fit?

fuck that and make me love you harder
because i am so much smarter
than i am horny.

Happy Father's Day, Mofo

you're like a nail on a chalkboard
you're a hole in my head
backwards motions unable to move forward
you are a brick wall up ahead

you are the scream in my sleep,
and the smirk in my smile
i pray the lord my soul to keep,
if i could get my hands on you for a while

you're the stomp in my feet
and your back is in every crack
you are in every gasping breath
of every anxiety attack

i sat under your tree
the one that never grew to offer me shade
and the lemons that gave me hell
i've made them into lemonade

i'm stoned, it's time for a parenting lesson

third grade. i come in from school and she was sitting on her little red proper chair with arms and thick fabric. she was holding it, the paper i'd failed, the paper i'd hidden from her in fear of this very situation. she had it in her hand and was giving me what felt like deaths glare. from where i was standing, i felt an instant hallway go up around us. straight shot to her face. i felt like nothing else existed but me, my mistake, and that crazy ass woman.

she had the most demeaning way of speaking to me. like i was a stupid animal and she was going to throw rocks at me or some shit. she'd scrunch her lips and squint her eyes, and roll her head around as she spoke. "do you know what this is?", she'd ask me questions for her own satisfaction of hearing the fear in my voice. it made me sick. i hated her. i knew at even a young age, why the fuck she would ask obvious questions. she fucking loved to hear me quiver under her aggressive power. she'd take control of anyone she possibly could.

she told me to go in my room. i knew what was going to happen, she knew i knew. i could feel the holes in my back as she watched me quickly tip-toe off, in fear that one creak in the floor could set her off even more. she had really "gotten back" at me, and she lived off it like water.

the next thing i remember, is her walking into my room with that same look on her face. that look of absolute... arrogant ignorance that beating me was going to show me the light. doing this hurt me a lot more than it hurt her. she'd wanted me to know that, it's not even something that needs to be said when you see her eyes. scaring me as she took the belt and ran it over her fingers, looking at me crying begging her not to do it. shuffling to the other end of the bed where she couldn't get me. this is what she had been waiting for all afternoon.

she would just start throwing that belt around. it felt like she had two. it felt like her arms were flying one hundred miles per hour and she was never going to stop. as i type this up, everything rushes back. i feel like i've probably repressed it, because when i think about it i feel as if i'm back there.

the belt landing on it's side and leaving those distinct c's over me. the sound of it cracking. how she would kick me when i was down. the feeling of her holding me down by my back and my arms and legs flailing. screaming. thinking back on it, my own screams are the loudest things i've ever heard. i'd turn over, she'd take it and hit my arms i'd held over my face. the feeling of the hatred in her hand penetrated down through me into my veins when i'd slip away, and she'd grab me and slam me back to where she could hit me some more.

i rolled off the bed. i was on my butt on the floor looking up at her. she was so angry i'd actually gotten away from her. as if i shouldn't be fighting it. how do you not fight it? my foster father came in at that point. i liked him much more than her. but all i remember of him now, is how he grabbed me with the same scowl and shoved me face down into the bed where no one could hear me screaming as she continued. when they'd beat me i'd look towards the window. i knew the neighbors. i'd scream for help and wonder why the fuck they never heard me. or.. worse.. why they never said anything.

i remember the day after. i looked in the full-length mirror on the back of my white door and my pale skin glowed with lines of scabs. up the sides of my stomach, on my back, horribly down my whole body, except for the fronts of my thighs. my eyes were still red like i was stoned from all that crying. my throat hurt from screaming. looking myself back into my mirror eyes, i got choked up again.
i feel so awkward being so detailed about things like that in my childhood. it's not something one talks about. it's embarrassing and makes me feel belittled again, just to bring it up. but it links me to another memory..

in third grade - in the corner of our classroom as we sat on the floor working together - i asked a girl i'll always remember the face of, mackenzie bowers - blond hair, spaced out buck teeth, a beige shirt and a crooked smile - "what do your parents do when you don't do well on report cards?". i was more jealous than i've ever been when she said "they tell me to try harder next time".
try harder next time.

- P

You don't really know

As a person that has disturbing dreams every night, whether good or bad, his whole life - I had the most horrifying nightmare of my life last night. I always write down my dreams right after I have them. I wrote down the highlights on my blackberry once I calmed down. I needed to write it down in full length, so here I am. The end is the horrible part. Read on if you wish. And if you wanna interperate this, i'd love it!

The first thing I remember, is being in a kitchen. In a dark trailer-like place. My mother and dad were there. He walks in and is hinting around, I can't remember exact words. He sits a cake down, and my mom says, "October 55th..?..HAPPY BIRTHDAY!", like she forgot it. I remember thinking, "October 55th? His birthday is October 17th?" Anyway... she was talking about how she was sorry she forgot. That we had a cake so we would go out and get some more food then celebrate.

The next thing I know, I'm walking out the door and I feel drunk. I'm at the same farmhouse I was in a previous nightmare of mine about a week ago. My parents are standing in the yard next to each other, and I'm trying to get to them but i'm falling over and i'm so dizzy I just keep telling them i'm dizzy. My mom carries me (? Yeah, she couldn't carry me in real life, LOL) to a truck. An old, small, rusty-red truck. There are blankets stacked up to the top of the cab in the back. I say i'm okay. That I don't need to go that i'm feeling better, because i'm thinking the hospital will find drugs in my system. My mom takes me anyway.

She drops me off at a subway station, and there is a woman saying symtoms of something like an intercom naming off the stops on a bus. I don't have any of them. There are women all around me (YES, all of my dreams turn sexual SOMEHOW) and one hot one keeps looking at me. My friend Matt calls me, and tells me he is with my ex-adopted father. Suddenly, I am on a school bus with the hot girl and a few other people. My stop is the next one. The bus is headed towards my childhood home. And just like that, i'm off the bus with my things on a table. Outside. With the hot girl and two other people. My house feels so far away.

We are all shocked to be off the bus. I notice that the other people are old friends I had back in school. I look back, into a park, where a friend I haven't talked to in months was walking towards me. I pretended not to see her for a minute. I look down to see a hole in my shirt. I notice she is right behind me, so I turn around. We look at each other for about a minute, just smiling. I then jump on her and give her a hug.

That is the last part of this part of the dream that I remember fully. I do remember being in my house full of friends I rarely see for a second or two. And then..

I was laying in bed. My bed that I was sleeping in last night. I was in the same room, but it had a few differences. I was watching two young people. A young woman with a lavender shirt and brown hair, and a young guy. Thuggish. Wearing black.

They talked for a few minutes. I listened to every word, watching, but I don't remember all of what they said. The guy asks the girl for drug money. She says she's sorry, but she can't give him any. He says something in disapointment, holds his hand like he has a gun in it, and shoots himself up his stomach all the way to his head. There is no blood. There are no holes, there is no gun. It's like he's miming it. The girl is horrified like there is.

Then the girl does the same. Invisible gun, invisible gun shots. She looks over to see the guy stumbling, falling like he's dying. She starts to do the same. She falls against a mirrored closet door. She sees herself bloody, dead, white. She looks up to see him dead and zombie like over her.

All of these things that happened happened so slowly, like the reactions were so delayed. I was trying to scream but screams wouldn't come out. I was yelling for my girlfriend. I was beating on the wall and thrashing around and trying to make all the noise I could trying not to see it. I kept seeing that same image for a good two minutes or so before I felt her put her arms around me and told me she was there. I was calm completely. Awake. And I turned I sat up and turned around and she wasn't there.

I then freaked out, ran out of my room, grabbed my keys and left.

Haha.

Ugh...

Good morning, world.

Motherfucker i'm ILLLL

Yesterday... well, technically two days ago now - I went to pick my grandmother up from her nursing home to be with her on my birthday. She woo'd me into coming, and introduced me as "Her best looking, and most successful grandson". There was prune cobbler. Enough said. We drove all the way to Nova Scotia from Quebec to see my ancestors gravesites.

We came across a great uncle of mine's grave. His daughter was burried close to him. She pointed at her grave and said,

"This is his daughter. She was never.. a good person"

I asked, "Why is that?"

She said "Well, she was a whore."

She said it very matter-of-factly. When she turned around, my mouth dropped open and I think I had to pick it up off the ground.

Peoples views and reasons for hate always amuse me.

Peace,

Love,

and ACCEPTANCE to you all!

- Charles

Just like you

you will play
and never have fun
you compete,
but you have never won
just like you paint
and never make art
just like how you drone on
with no heart
you will study like hell
and you will never be smart
you will write and always ryhme
and you will color between the set lines
we can all be beautiful
but yours was never natural
and we are all loved
but yours was accidental

All work and no play

I'm sick of writing music

sense, sugar, and the space between me and everyone else
you've never even phathomed the feelings i've felt
when the lonely days catch up with you
and the silence sinks
and the noises all melt

these carvings in walls with knives
and the drops of blood in my bed
hard to get your head around it
so you medicate me instead

maybe you need to be cut open
and stuck with these parts that make me bad
find these doors that, for me, are left wide open
and have the best time you've ever had

until you fall through the windows
and scrape up the floors under your feet
these pills are just pillows
making sure scars don't show
soaking up the blood that i bleed

Bad

Sometimes i'll find myself in places where it crosses my mind that i'm just... bad. I do bad things. I'm a fucking nightmare. I'm that poster man of fuck up. I was that kid every parent worried their kid was with. I'll be in a park drinking whiskey mixed in with my slurpie and chain smoking and thinking back on the fight I had with my lady the night before casually when it just hits me, "Shit, I'm bad." This almost sounds like i'm saying it to be funny, but i'm not. Being bad sucks. I feel like i'm in the corner all the time, and no one is putting me there but myself.

I've come to find that being in the corner is my comfortable place. People looking at me that way is the way i've been looked at ever since I can remember. I can almost get away with saying and doing anything because, "That's just me". Maybe a defense mechanism of mine that, instead of dealing with real shit, burns it away. Sometimes, I feel bad, maybe that shows that i'm not too far gone and have a conscience - therefore am not THAT bad. But yet, I still do things sometimes that are even worse than those without consciences.

I don't know what's happened in the past few months, but i've completely lost myself. I blame someone else. Is that the truth or is the bad in me sinking deeper into denial?

Once upon a time

Once upon a time, there was an island. People were simple and lived in love and picked bananas, and were happy. They worked a little, ate plenty to keep themselves alive, and spent time with their families.

One day, a business man came into town. He told them that cars would make their jobs much easier, and that they should catch up with the modern times. The people asked, "What are cars?", he explained to them.. and it sounded like a nice convenient idea. The people told him they'd like cars... and then the business man told them, that to have cars - they would also need roads. "Well, what are roads?" the people ask.. "Well, roads are what the cars will travel on" said the business man.

So the people made their roads, and drove their cars. To afford their cars, they brought in some restaraunts the business man helped them develop. They worked, and worked to afford their cars, their higher taxes on the roads, and after a while of eating the fast food... they began to feel unhealthy. They gained weight, felt sleepy. So the business man came back, telling them to build an oval track in their village to walk around a few times a day to stay healthy.

And then it all hits full circle and the people asked, "Is this progress?"

A good friend once told me..

A businessman was at a very small private beach in the Caribbean when a small boat with just one fisherman pulled his small wooden boat onto the sand. Inside the small boat were several large yellowfin tuna. The businessman complimented the fisherman on the quality of his fish and asked how long it took to catch them. The fisherman replied only a little while.

The businessman then asked why he didn't stay out longer and catch more fish? The fisherman said he had enough to support his family's immediate needs. The businessman then asked, but what do you do with the rest of your time? The fisherman said, "I sleep late, fish a little, play with my children, take a afternoon naps with my wife, stroll into the village each evening where I sip wine and play guitar with my local people; I have a very busy life."

The businessman proposed, "I am a Harvard MBA and I could help you. You should spend more time fishing and with the proceeds buy a bigger boat."

"For what?" replied the fisherman.

The businessman said, "With the proceeds from the bigger boat you could buy several boats; eventually you would have a fleet of fishing boats."

"Then what would I do with all the boats?" the fisherman questioned.

"Instead of selling your catch to a middleman, you would sell directly to the processor and eventually open your own cannery."

"Then what?" the fisherman asked.

"You would control the product, processing and distribution," the businessman answered with excitement of all the money to be made, "You would need to leave this small unknown beach and move to a large fishing port, then LA and eventually New York City where you would run your expanding enterprise."

The fisherman asked, "But, how long will this all take?"

To which the businessman replied, "15-20 years."

"But what then?"

The businessman laughed and said, "That's the best part! When the time is right you would announce an IPO and sell your company stock to the public and become very rich. You would make millions."

"Millions? Then what?," the confused shirtless fisherman asked.

The businessman said, "Then you would retire. Move to a small private beach where you would sleep late, fish a little, play with your kids, take a naps with your wife, stroll to the village in the evenings where you could sip wine and play your guitar with the local people."

The fisherman, still smiling, looked up and said,

"Isn't that what I'm doing right now?"

Peace love happiness and enlighment to you all

- Charles

Dear best-friends-girlfriend,

you can delete photos
you can re-construct words
you can control which parts of you show
cut your losses and hem your manners
just tailor a tailor made hoe

reap what you sew and eat what you are
reverse your being
fake won't carry you far

i'll believe it when i see it
i'll love it when i fuck it
girls like you are a drop in the bucket

I want to cover my walls in unicorns

Unicorns, yes. I love unicorns. I'm not sure why. They just speak to me and make me really happy when I look at them. How could you be a depressed unicorn? I want to be a unicorn... they're beautiful... and induce happiness. You may say unicorns aren't real. But I truly believe all of these things were real. At some time. Maybe even now. What makes you think that just because you ain't seen it, it don't exist, has never existed? Maybe in past lives on different planets, everything is serene and unicorny and fairy-like. I wish.



I should be sleeping. I took a shower intending on that putting me to sleep, but as I sat in bed, I wrote a whole song in my head about my mother. It hurt. Every little line I wrote is exactly how I feel, which is bittersweet. All of the most heartfelt songs or poems for me always turn out a little bit cheesy. But who has time for a thesaurus of less-cheesy words in a moment of true feeling?

So, I want... to dream of unicorns... with bongo music narrating my dancing in tall grass and flowers.

Just sayin'.


Goodnight folks

Nothing to lose? Lots to learn.

When I stretch my legs out onto the couch I feel like my feet are a mile away from my face. I've said it before but it never changes, I feel distant from my own body all the time.

I'm so scattered everywhere. I was talking to a new friend this morning in a cafe, and he said - "You know, I've never really met anyone that...talks..like you.. I've never met anyone that talks about the things you do. One minute you're..then you're.."

It made me stop and think. When I talk with people, I can not stick to one subject. I feel like quite an outcast among other people when I talk too much so I try to keep it simple, and for me, that is everywhere. But anyway, It made me think - I don't even know how to talk to a person and be "normal". How? What the hell would I talk about? People may not understand how I can be so different from them, but I don't understand how they can be so different from ME!

Whenever a friend gets told something that is supposed to be between them and that person, it tends to fall into my lap also. So if someone is telling a friend of mine something, they should probably consider that i'm also going to hear about it eventually. I find that really funny. I love it.

For the past.. maybe, year... I've been so, so visually inspired by everything. I go to people's tumblr accounts and look at what they are inspired by. Every move that is made could be turned to art by a video camera. Every look on every face is a part of life that I want to capture and put on film.

When people ask me where i'm from, I am never sure what to tell them. I was born raised and inspired by Montreal but my heart is everywhere and is influenced by all of the places i've been.

Peace, love, understanding, karma, and bullshit.

Front row

Every morning when I wake up I convince myself I have a mental alarm clock that will wake me in five minutes. It somehow works. I have to trick myself into setting my alarm clock ten or fifteen minutes early to wake up.

I'm deeply considering going pescetarian. I don't think i'm strong enough to handle it yet, though. I don't want to eat anything I wouldn't kill. But honestly - I don't know if I could kill a fish either. I can't kill anything. I can't walk in grass without thinking of the ants and worms beneath my feet. So, the question is - should I continue to eat animals though I feel so strongly that I am not above them - or should I stop eating them, while believing that killing and eating things for food is entirely natural?

When did food get some complicated? Were there vegetarian cavemen?

When I die, I want to come back as something naturally fat in the ocean. I don't know if I want to be a manatee or a walrus, or what. But who the fuck wouldn't wanna be this big, lazy creature that everyone oo's and AWWWW's over?



Today, i'm feeling like that. That picture. Fat, floatin' around, clearly not giving too much of a shit.

Today I had a defining moment of why my best friend is my best friend. We were riding in the car to get some sushi, listening to The Cranberries. Neither of us would complain. Neither of us have interest shames. It's a beautiful thing to be myself with him.

Days that I can bop around doing whatever I want are the only days to live for.

One small step into the blogspot galaxy

Already in my first line of officially blogging to the interwebs, spell check is correcting me. I don't have a graceful way with words. I wish I did. I wish I had the word for the things in my head. But who needs that - it's called google these days, right?

It's funny how once you start to write for new eyes the pressure is on and everything you type looks shallow and wrong. I used to write blogs. I am always writing poems. It's all beautiful till you gotta share. It's like seeing myself in the mirror in the morning. I feel just fine about myself. I'm a pretty damn good looking man, to me. But out in the world i'm just another piece of meat to pick at.

I spend all of my time thinking of ways to make anything more appealing to my senses. Any day that I can paint a wall, hang things from the ceiling, play piano or light a candle is good for my body and mind. Beauty is everything. Expression is everything. Beauty and expression is passion.

I'm still sitting here, wondering what exactly i'll blog about. There is no theme. Everything is inspiration and I will note every monumental thought I can before it falls out of my mental file and is gone forever.

Tour,
Hide,
Love,

Repeat