Monthly Archives: September 2008

Checkout Purgatory

The checkout clerks (girls mostly) at my grocery store have a strange habit of not acknowledging the next customer until the current one has paid. So there’s often a point where the current customer has passed the cash register to put their groceries in a cart, and they’re just waiting for their credit card to go through.

I end up standing right in front of the clerk, who won’t say anything, even though you know they see you out of their peripheral vision. They only say hello as soon as the previous customer has been rung through. Like they’re computers who can’t handle more than one task per person at a time.

It’s quite awkward.

Believing In Her Beauty

The torso of my beautiful muse

I tell her she’s beautiful. Over and over again. As often as I can.

But she shakes her head, and says I only think so because I love her.

The front of my beautiful muse

It’s true. But would I love her any less if she didn’t have those soft, innocent eyes? If she didn’t wear her hair up, or down, or curly, or straight, or different every time I saw her? If her body didn’t curve so distractingly when she lets herself fall into me?

The body of my beautiful muse

It makes me wonder if anyone sees the same thing that I do.

How much of it is her beauty, and how much of it is the beauty I see in her?

To me, her beauty is obvious, not subtle in any way.

The legs of my beautiful muse

So I tell her, over and over again.

Sometimes I think she’ll start to believe me if I say it enough.

Your Interest In My Love

I’ve always enjoyed reading about people who are in love, but most of all when that love is unrequited. Vivid pictures painted in details about a saucy diastema, the observed ritual of walking by a certain table every day to get a cup of water for paint, an unsolicited brush against a hip. Stories about awkwardness, weakness, burning desire.

Perhaps it’s because I can relate to these experiences, or because they make me feel like I’m less alone in my own clumsy dealings with the opposite sex. Even though there are countless stories written about unrequited love, there aren’t enough. For the few of us who are “oppressed by the figures of beauty”, as Leonard Cohen calls it, nothing makes us feel better. All we can do is silently commiserate with the words of those who share themselves in this way.

When I look through my old entries, it seems like most of them are about love or a torch I carry in one way or another, and how this affects me.

And sometimes I wonder if this is the reason why people come here to read my words.

Good Times For A Change

Before you start reading, play this song. It’s a Deftones cover of The Smiths’ song Please Please Please Let Me Get What I Want. There have been a few other artists who have done covers too, including Muse, but only Chino has the kind of raw emotion in his voice that matches Morrisey.

This song was written for right now.

Orchid bouquet

I’ve moved mainly to video. Getting a little tired of the still photograph medium. I had my first commission this weekend at the NAC, recording a jazz trio concert in exchange for a few tickets for my friends.

If you couldn’t tell, I’ve been obsessed with colour tones and vignetting lately. Making my photos look like old memories. Maybe this is a way for me to go back; reverting to past experiences, drawing inward as an introvert, regressing to a different time, when all I had was innocence but that was enough.

Me in a tie

I’ve been strangely serene. Sleeping well. When things get complicated I’ve been less stoic, and more light-hearted.

Dolly eating chicken

Maybe it’s the house being clean. Maybe I’m satisfied with the the new decorations. Maybe it was the last weekend, getting caught up on errands and tasks, finally feeling like my head is above water.

Maybe it’s the weather. The rain. The wind. The warmth of the sun. The temperature drop. The way I can leave my window open at night.

Civic logo in rain

Maybe it’s feeling socially fulfilled. Seeing friends, laughing hard, trips out of town, trips on my own.

Star fingers

Maybe it’s the nights spent holding her, caressing every inch of her skin. Maybe it’s the way she held me too.

Chopped vegetables

Maybe it’s the acceptance. A way I’ve let go where I’ve found myself finally free, and living. Something I always think I’ve been able to do, only to realize a day later that I didn’t before, but I have now, honestly.

School bus

Maybe it’s all the movies I’ve been watching in the time between, seeing myself in every character, every situation. Going back to high school, being back at university.

Potting plant

I’m not sure what it is, but I know this feeling won’t last forever. It never has. It’s the flux between storm and serenity that moves me.

Been writing this entry over the last week.

In a couple days, this blog turns six.

Maybe I just had a few good weeks.