Dark Hamartia: 2012

Sunday, December 30, 2012

Oldies?

I'm feeling nostalgic. I miss wanting a platonic love with boys that would have never wanted me (not a self pity party, I was 10 and they were young adults, it's not cute if it involves babysitting).

SO, I decided to bombard you with music that brings me all the way back to tween loving posters and sing-alongs from camp days and all that gooey feel good stuff.

Well, Justin Timberlake was always cute. And the barbies just sweetened the deal for me :)

Is he dead? I haven't hear a (decent) Jesse McCartney song in a while. I mean, I think he's grown but I don't know if that's a good thing. We've gone from Beautiful Soul to...this!!

I was already destined to a teenagehood or (tweenagehood) of turmoil...

This list could never be complete without this song. Just saying :)

Tuesday, December 25, 2012

Xmas is Overrated

I know, I know. How COULD I?? The happiest period of the year, when you can get away of literally EVERYTHING that annoys you to death -- school, work, friends...you can even let you pet die "by accident (I don't recommend it though).

So why am I having anti Xmas feelings??

Well, for starters, this is my first year as a divorcee's kid. So, you know, while all the families are ice skating and drinking hot chocolate like in the commercials, I was dealing with a very drab atmosphere at the dinner table for Christmas Eve, little brothers complaining about a supper they didn't help prepare and all. Then, my Mom felt sick, and I ended up doing my hair and watching The Nutcracker and Sleeping Beauty (ballet versions, duh) with the poor Mommy.

Then, I drowned my murderous mood from such a sucky time in front of several episodes of Gilmore Girls, before being ousted to my bed around 1:20 AM.

The next day, I was to sing in the choir at church (you can guess how I feel about that, right?) and boy did I feel jolly. After my brothers were picked up by my father, my Mom and I waited for friends to bring us to their place for an informal Christmas bash, from where I'm writing to you right night.

By Christmas wasn't excellent in many ways, but at least I was in god company and I felt OK.

At least there was a flicker of some Holiday cheer.

I guess it wasn't all that bad, come to think of it. But still, Christmas is kind of overrated. How many snow-mans can you have? How many blinding lights? Why can't we send that money to people wh can't celebrate this festive time because they're trying to survive?? (JUST SAYING!!!)

Anyhow, Christmas was over 18 minutes ago...

I guess I can be my bitchy self again now!!

Thursday, December 20, 2012

Hamlet's Sleep

Mere succession of unfortunate events
Occasionally highlighted
By intermissions of sunshine
Or white lies to stay relevant.

Why forget the pain
Clear indication
That our lungs fill
With poisoned air

That our being
Grows weary of
Our abuse

That we approach
Our inexorable
end.

Forget these things
With the false certainty
That better things are to come

Pushing our minds
To the brink of insanity
To the edge of an infinity
Of sadness.

Why do we search
Our own hurting?
Why entertain the ghosts
Crowding our hellish nightmares?
Why leave a legacy of dreams
That amount to nothing
and will soon the specks
in History's dust?

I would much rather
be a privileged member
Of Hamlet's macabre sleep

A dissolving essence

in eternal

slumber.

Saturday, December 15, 2012

thoughts

From black to white, from hot to cold
From tears to laughter and to smiles.
My feelings age, they get too old,
Replaced, by fierce young minds,
Live through depression and elation.
The line between the two is thin.
One silly song, a conversion,
Can throw you, yes, once more again
Into a new whirlpool of thoughts,
Open old files you have closed,
Relive the battles you have fought,
Resume relationships long paused.
And then one day you realize
You have been thinking way too much
For all that time.

Wednesday, December 12, 2012

Calvin Harris Infatuation

Yes, sometimes I indulge in "garbage" radio music that isn't actually all that bad. I mean, musicians have to make a living too you know! So me tuning into shows with no soul on the lookout for salvageable music is in fact an act of charity and good will. Yes, get me a Nobel Peace Prize right now!

Obvious choice: Feel So Close

(Sadly, I don't believe the lyrics consist of more than a dozen lines...You know the saying: Less is More! The first time I heard this man, it sounded more like this)

Calvin Harris ft. Kelis

(From The Electro Man himself and the woman who brought you Milkshakes...)

Calvin Harris ft. Florence Welch

(This Woman is awesome. Listen to this.)

The moral of this story is... music is good, if you decide it's worth listening too. Not of some self-titled music guru (aka ME) decides it for you. Enjoy!

12 Is A Lucky Number

Twelve. A beautiful number. Maybe one day, when I won't have other thing to do, I'll write an ode to this so very very special number. I mean the January 12th was my Mom's Birthday. It was also the day a huge earthquake almost killed most of our family living in Haiti's capital, Port-Au-Prince. Just a little history on the number.

But don't let me be a downer.

After all, I got a lot of things from my "True Love" during Twelve days, which I'm really thankful about. So I won't take all the fun out of 12.

Because on this day, the 12th of December 2012, at 12:12:12, my life changed forever, while I was in the 12th grade.

Yeah no. I was in gym class and we all cheered like maniacs as if all the festivities were really worth anything. If aliens had landed at that moment, our irrationality would have made them run for dear life.

Several 12:12:12 pictures, such as these, have surfaced on Facebook

to which I reply bluntly :

Jokes

Some of the funnier things to come out of my always interesting, never disappointing History classes:

Before History Class...

(Students attempting to sing)

"Na je nun ta sa ro un in gan jo gin yo ja

Ko pi han ja ne yo yu rul a neun pum gyo gi nun yo ja

Ba mi o myon shim ja ngi tu go wo ji nun yo ja

Gu ron ban jon i nun yo ja

Na nun sa na ye

Na je nun no man kum ta sa ro un gu ron sa na ye

Ko pi shik gi do jo ne one shot te ri nun sa na ye

Ba mi o myon shim ja ngi to jyo bo ri nun sa na ye

Gu ron sa na ye

A rum de wo sa rang su ro wo

Gu re no hey gu re ba ro no hey

A reum de wo sa rang su ro wo

Gu re no hey gu re ba ro no hey

Ji gum bu to gal de ka ji ga bol ka

Oppan Gangnam Style

Gangnam Style

Op op op op oppan Gangnam Style

Gangnam Style

Op op op op oppan Gangnam Style!!!!!!"

Teacher: You don't even speak that language!!

Student: I do when I'm drunk!! :)

Life & Stuff: I Hurt

Here's the thing: I've been able to accept the fact that my crazy moods swings are kind of part of my personality. Like, if you took all those intense feelings that explode inside of my chest every two seconds, I would lose a piece of who I am. I would have no inspiration for poetry or composing music or compulsive researching on unimportant subjects. I wouldn't be "me" anymore.

Now, I know these "intense feelings" (especially with the majority of them being negative, soul-eating and depression inducing) shouldn't affect my relationship with others. But they do. I know that logically I shouldn't misdirect the anger, the bitterness, the fear, the pain, all of it, but I do, and I know it's wrong. So I've been making efforts and most of the time, when I'm having a "grey cloud" moment, I isolate myself or have FUCK OFF tattooed on my face. I just thought that after knowing me for so long, people had just come to the realization that it was a part of me too.

So it hurts that one of my friends, N., has somewhat distanced himself from me. I mean, it was bound to happen, with are very different styles in managing emotion: I feel too much whereas he seems to disregard feelings altogether. I guess that what I'm trying to say is that I miss our friendship.

And I'm not trying to put up a pity party for myself (Ok, maybe just a little :P). I do hurt. Today alone, my back hurt, my vagina hurt (well what, yes I had my period, jeez), my head hurt (my under-sleeping habits are just bad -- I'm sure we can all agree 3 hours a night isn't enough for anyone) and my heart was empty, but that's besides the point. I hurt, just like every other human being most certainly does, and I want to get better. I don't want to be "normal", I want to be "happy" and "at peace with myself". "Normal" would imply that my non-existing eating habits are acceptable, that my "issues" with my non conforming, non European grade of hair are acceptable, that my very deeply felt self-loathing is acceptable. Which is not the case. So I want to be able to wake up in the morning and not feel like sticking knives in my stomach or wish to get hit by a bus. I don't want to do this :

I want to live and feel alive. I want this:

Musical Inspiration

I've just gotten back into the whole "Music is the only objective of my boring as a donkey's ass teenage life" phase again. I've been kind of composing, picked up a guitar for the first time in over a year and singing a lot (no, Christmas carols, I'll have time for that later!!).

It's only fair that you get a taste of good music too, once in a while. Yes, I'm going to spoil you would my crazy good taste in music :)

Givers: Ceiling of Plankton

Young the Giant : Cough Syrup

Marina and the Diamonds : How To Be A HeartBreaker

(Yes to over-sexualization of men!! -- it's about time too... :P)

Tuesday, November 13, 2012

Dreams and Things

Dear Diary,

I don't like it when people tell me things are going to be OK. Things aren't OK. Just because they think so doesn't mean it'll actually happen. It's only wishful thinking.

People shouldn't give you dreams so that you can see them disintegrate as time goes by. It's not giving hope to push forward. It's torture. It's inhuman. It's sadist.

And people can tell you that you're allowed to wish for anything you want, or go anywhere you want, and then when you get super excited for something, tell you your dreams are all wrong and that you need to go back to the drawing board of your life.
It's not fair.

'Cause life is always fair right?

Thought so.

Sunday, November 11, 2012

The Bus Chronicles: Ron Weasley

I met Ron Weasley on the bus Friday. He had graying hair. What am I saying...his hair was as white as printing paper. I was astounded: where had his signature ginger mane gone? Anyhow, he seemed entranced by his computer tablet protected by a deteriorating red velvet cover. He wore average brown men shoes, beige corduroy pants and a pale, slime green winter coat. He had a comical expression on his face, a face Steve Carell or Steve Martin would wear. (Maybe he should change his name to Steve?) He was however, not in a laughing mood; actually, his demeanor was quite serious. Whatever was going on the tablet's screen was of capital importance, since his eyes were glued and he ignored the coming and going of strangers on the bus, and the slow humming of a dying engine. His virtual world was so magical, I'm surprised he didn't miss his stop. Maybe he did. As I left one of my favorite fictive friends from childhood on the 36A, I wondered if, as I had grown too mature and haughty for such ridiculous stories as Harry Potter, if Ron Weasley, the best friend and awkward side-kick, had ever grown up to reach his full potential and rid himself of the shadow of his much more important (Harry did slay Voldemort -- "He-WHO-SHALL- NOT-BE-NAMED!! *gasp*) best friend. Or maybe, the electric pulses his brain was analyzing faster than he could realize was his only escape from a world where he'd always be the Beta, the Second in command, the first of the losers. Mister #2.

Hands

I've always wondered what it would be like to be loved by rugged hands. Hands that had worked under sunshine and rain showers, with love for the job during the good times and doubling energy and care during the bad. They would belong to someone as confident as they were on the field. They would know of hard times yet still understand the mechanics of tenderness.
Hands with short nails, thicker skin and who often get dirty.
Hands with hardened palms, but whose fingertips still know the ecstasy of touch.

Monday, October 29, 2012

The Bus Chronicles: Daniel

My weekend was pretty good, starting with a nice surprise party that left my friend H pissing his pants (he was really surprised), and a Church concert thing (urgh) because my Mom is kind of devout, and some Bishop was going to be there too. And then I had to rush, late as I was, to my friend's directing debut in a play. (I was only able to catch the last 15 minutes. The theatre, a school auditorium, is tiny and everyone heard the fucking door open as I tip-toed my way to a backseat.)

As you can probably imagine, I was annoyed, tired and mostly annoyed as I tried to find my way back to the nearest subway station. I hopped on a streetcar and read a book I had brought along and next thing I know this announcement comes on:

PLEASE EXIT THE STREETCAR AT THE NEXT STOP.

THIS STREETCAR WILL BE SHORT TURNING SOON.

And in my mind, I've murdered the driver a few times. Why couldn't he just finish the job and GET ME TO THE STATION?!!? So, I'm left stranded on a street corner, in cold weather a Saturday night with the only other passenger left. So I did, what people normally do in such situations. I started talking to the guy.

Turns out he had just dropped off his Girlfriend at home (awwwww --- tooo bad -___- ) and was on his way home too. Then I learned he was a fouth year student, majoring in Biochemistry and Neurosciences at the University of Toronto. WHAT?!?!

So we had a nice conversation about math, and physics, and how you need to persevere if you want to make it. Also, not to feel bad if you decide this load of math, physics, chemistry and other unpleasant scientific studies just isn't for you.

Finally, he warned me against the thing that hurts the most during your first year in post-secondary education: if you thought you were smart before, get ready to have your ass served to you on a silver platter by an Asian that can do EVERYTHING better than you.

Great, just great... hahah

P.S. : Though I am portraying a stereotype, I would like to remind you that it is a positive one. Being smart is a good thing. Now, read that again, and try to convince yourself there is such a thing as a "positive stereotype". That's a dangerous way of thinking. That's like saying "positive racism" or "positive rape" (==> Mitt Romney, anyone?)

The Fifth Member

While helping my Mom with her homework (I know, that sounds weird, right? My English is better than hers -- but you didn't hear it from me :P) I rediscovered an old favorite band, composed of 3 kids who don't even average 20 years in age.

They mostly spread the word of their music through their Facebook page, or word to mouth. Word to ear? Never mind.

Anyhow, it's been a while since I listened, and now I've realized they have new songs and I'm OVER THE MOOON!! Of course Britain does it better than everyone else... I mean, they're probably younger than Justin Bieber, but their sound is ten times older and better developed. As a young adult very much interested in the Arst, especially music, it warms my heart to see youngsters play and not go for the Teletubbies look.

Enjoy!

Here's their myspace: http://www.myspace.com/fifthmembermusic

Their second EP coming out soon!!

The Bus Chronicles: Wise Photographer

He sits in the corner
Closest to the opening
Towards the stars

It's cold: his layers prove it
Jean dress shirt, plaid sweater, tweed jacket

What a hipster
This wise photographer

Red colored pants
Nice blue shoes
Personality of many hues

A camera around his neck
A Dollarama bag filled with wires
That interwove with his deeper desires
Of future glory
And wise story

On a downtown bus
On a cold Sunday night

Saturday, October 27, 2012

Art

No, I'm not going to do a dissertation on art. I'm going to see the Yasmina Reza play called "Art".

Last scheduled presentation tonight at Gabrielle Roy.

It's in French with English subtitles and the director is a good friend.

Hopefully I'm there on time!!

http://www.torontoartsonline.org/Events/Theatre/2012/ART-by-Yasmina-Reza-directed-by-Jean-Nicolas-Masson

Diamonds

I thought I had it all.

That I had found what I was looking for.

I guess I was wrong.

Your piercing diamonds I want no more.

Thursday, October 25, 2012

Tears of a clown

Tears running down his powdered cheek

A wet trail on his snowy face

But it dont matter hes a freak

This is no time for this or place

But hey nobody cares, laughing

At his desperate not funny jokes

He just wants that smoke to puff on

Hands shaking tongue dry , but hes broke

Cant pay for malboro no more

Life beat him down and made him quit

And he gives in, falls on the floor

They think its yet another trick

The tears of a clown are worthless

Unnoticed, they are stepped on, crushed.

Sunday, October 21, 2012

Read this book lately.

Highly recommend it.

If you're not in a "I feel like being serious today" mood,

you never saw this post.

Nail Polish

Back in June I babysat these two kids for a friend of mine who was going on a trip (Milan? Chicago? Can't remember) and needed a replacement. I had nothing else to do with my free time and needed the extra money.

Turns out my experience and knowledge of kids aged 7 to 11 wasn't actually needed because the family had invited this other family who were on some mini world tour or something.

Anyhow, what really got to me was that, the father of that family (let's call him Mark for the purpose of this post) was so cool. I mean, I've met cool dads before and they always jump out at me, seem out of the ordinary because let's say that my experience with fatherly figures hasn't been the prettiest.

Anyhow, at some point before lunch, Mark pulls out this child-sized professional looking nail polish kit, calls his daughter and in no time has a nail polish studio up and running in the kitchen. My mind does a 180 and I'm like...wait WHAT?!?!?!

And the guy wasn't even butchering his daughters hands. Mark made some awesome designs including flags (France, USA, Canada, Argentina, Brasil, Germany...--- one on each finger!!) and stripes and polka-dots and yeah...

I was seated there, dumbfounded at the idea that a father could have a super relationship with his three young daughters to the point he's pulling all the stops by doing their nails.

And it really got me thinking...

Maybe if my dad had been that cool, we'd still be talking.

Ashraff

Yesterday, on my never ending quest to knowing what I want to do with my future, I met a nice middle-aged man from Bangladesh named Arshraff. (And I'm so sooo sorry if I get the name wrong --which I most likely WILL get wrong).

He is a very nice street vendor in the Toronto area.

He seems really interested by the fact that most people in Canada, seeing it's a country of immigration, speak two or more languages.

I even received a nice history lesson about how Pakistan was separated from India by the British, and then Pakistan and Bangladesh split too.

And most of all, he has a sense of humor. A street vendor sense of humor, that is. Here's an excerpt of a conversation he had with my friend S.

Hello Sir.

Hi there.

Could I get a water bottle?

Sure.

How much is it?

How much do you want it to be?

(After a few seconds to ponder the issue)

Can I get it for free?

No.

I don't know why I wrote this. I just really thought Ashraff was cool. Oh, AND he said I was pretty :) (In a non creepy way though).

Saturday, October 20, 2012

Consolation

Stolen kisses in public washrooms
And wandering hands

You always come a day too soon

Before I can breathe

And hold on tight

To sanity

You are my consolation prize
Though you were never mine

Looks, awkward silences
Winter glow and summer dances
You're always in a hurry
To a place where I am not welcomed
And so I wander
To the pace of the streetlights
Flashing on my face

While I'm on the train
Head glued to the frosted window
Thinking, reliving, and remembering

That I was only your consolation prize
And that you were never mine.

Thursday, October 18, 2012

Argument

Big tears are running down your cheeks

Your voice is rising to a screech

You say it’s your entire fault

You’re hurt like wounds bathing in salt

You must have done everything wrong

You weren’t smart enough or strong

You should have argued more with me

You let me run happy and free

You should have taken a firm stand

But when will you just understand

That this is about me, not you.

Friday, October 12, 2012

Electric Lady

Electric Lady by redqueen featuring a black studded dress

Black studded dress
celebboutique.com

Aurélie Bidermann 18k jewelry
net-a-porter.com

Sergio Rufo Audrey
inprnt.com

The Bus Chronicles: Little Princess

You meet the most interesting people in public transportation... You'd be surprised the stuff that I come up with when I'm sleep deprived and I have nothing better to do but spy on the poor soul that just want to get to their destination...

I saw the cutest little princess on the bus today

A little sleeping beauty in her own right

Her skin was sandy beige, her hair mighty red

A little pink to brighten her eyes,

A bouquet of white roses as headband

Flashing fuchsia on her tiny nails

Little Pocahontas loafers with beaded eagles

that soar as high as her bubble gum dreams

A chunky ring, maybe the legacy of some forever lost dynasty

She slept so peacefully when she made her escape

Would that be a tear I see, my fair little lady?

Or just the broken remains of wonder faraway?

She walked away

She swayed away

She left and I had to remember

That the cold breeze of October

Is maybe what lead me to believe

A young woman, a stranger

Could be a little fairy princess

Or a baby sleeping beauty

Rainbow Veins

I have rainbow veins

they bleed purple blood

and make my face blue

when I sing a sad song.

they turn me dusty grey

when my loves die away

they make me evil black

when my heart starts to crack

they become bright silver

in a moonlit summer sky

they become lime green

when I finish to tie my tie

I smile sweet yellow

under a June fall of snow

I cry orange rainbows

when the bridge to reality

gives way to the flood of sorrows

that swim and stir up

my colorful blood

in my rainbow veins

http://phitus.deviantart.com/art/rainbow-blood-49979788

Thursday, October 4, 2012

Patrick Watson

I have a new obsession and it's Patrick Watson. Like my Italian teacher, I have a soft spot for pretty, airy and sometimes experimental music. During one of our musical conversation, two names came up: Andrew Bird and Patrick Watson. The former, I haven't really done my homework on...but the latter, I really didn't have too. Lighthouse got my 120% approval from day one. Oh, how I am giddy in presence of good Canadian music :) Enjoy!