Category: Poetry/Reflections


How Did We Get Here?

I want to know when we grew up.
 
Do any of you remember being eight years old? I don’t know who’s reading
this, so I’ll say that it could be anywhere from eight to twenty years since
you’ve been eight years old, but please try to remember.
 
I think that was my favourite time. We never had problems then like we do
now.
 
We didn’t think about girls then. Alcohol was for grown-ups, and smoking
was disgusting.
 
Maybe I missed out on a memo or missed a train or something, but everything
completely passed me by. I was trying to enjoy my childhood while everyone else
around me was growing up. I was being a kid while everyone else was being a
teenager.
 
It’s crazy. These people, people whom I’ve known for three or five or ten
years, are talking casually about their latest drug filled escapades. How am I
supposed to handle it? I used to talk to these people about nothing and
everything that ever mattered. Plans for next recess, trading lunches, hockey,
video games… dreams.
 
It was amazing back then. Have you ever lain down on a grassy hill with your friends
and looked up at the clouds? You point to the heavens and try to identify the
shapes of the various clouds, but eventually the conversation tapers off and you
find yourselves just lying down silently. But nothing needs to be said. It’s
such a profound experience that it transcends the human need for communication.
There’s nothing to be said that isn’t already said by the sound of rustling
leaves, by the feeling of the damp grass soaking into your pants, by the gentle
breeze flowing through your hair, by the simple fact that you’re sharing such an
amazing experience with your best friends in the whole world.
 
But the years have passed by, and I’ve found myself with fewer and fewer
grass laying friends. Slowly, those grass laying friends have transformed into
grass smoking friends. Those sips of fresh air that used to satisfy us have been
replaced by sips of vodka. We’d much rather have a girl lying underneath us than
grass.
 
They would, anyhow. As for myself, I can’t stand any of it.
 
It hurts that so many of my friends have decided to grow up. It is
exceedingly difficult to relate to them any longer. As I have written a few
times on this space over the years, the first law of nature is thus: Adapt,
or become extinct.
 
The choice is usually easy. But what happens when nature pressures you to
adapt to a form which you detest?
 
 
 
 
 
 
When did we grow up? Who decided that this was the best way for us to go?
 
How in the hell did we get here?
 

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I’m Sorry

It is strange how problems long forgotten can re-enter your life at the most inopportune moment.

Here I am, leading an enemy army towards my home. I am surrounded by people who hate me. The only thing keeping me sane is the thought that perhaps soon I shall return to my friends. The last thing I need is another problem to deal with.

But today I found crumpled up in my bag a piece of paper. A short poem was written on it. It had no title or date, but it was certainly my work, and I vaguely remember writing it. I recall wanting to try out a different style, and having Kid sitting two feet away from me as I wrote. Anyhow, here it is (In 2-D, in fact):

Losers in life find themselves
Entrenched in their own personal hell. You’re
Two feet away. "Everything’s well", you say, but I know it’s not.

My mind is plagued by that one memory.
Everything is razed by that one story.

Onwards! Life waits for no man,
Unless you’ll wait too; I know that you can.
Talk a minute, walk a mile

Open up and pop a smile,
For anything is possible if you stop and take a stand.

Maybe someday
You won’t be so lazy,

But ’til that day comes you’ll be driving me crazy.
Running around, rumors abound, they’re true: I’d do
Anything for you, to get us back to blue.
Illicit, even, if you’d just be explicit. The
Nightmares have stopped, but I’m still horrified.

And after reading this I am reminded of what I did to Kid. I had never really forgotten, but the pain had been far off in the background until now. It has been over a year now, but somehow I can still feel the effects. The nightmares do still occur, albeit they are far rarer than they used to be. Just thinking about him wounds me somewhere deep inside.

I swear upon all that I hold dear that if I survive this ordeal I will find some way to apologize to him. Will he talk to me? Unlikely. But there has to be some way to let him know how I feel.

 

A Promise

Every once in a while, I contemplate the idea of getting revenge on everyone and everything who has gotten in my way.
 
The question always remains: Who would be the targets?
 
I can hardly get revenge on the human genetic code, or the faceless being who designed said code.
 
Nor can I take my anger out on a long disposed of government.
 
My parents? Their mistakes are just that: Mistakes. They were not aware of the significance of their actions, and thus there is no need for revenge on them.
 
 
 
And then the answer hits. I must get revenge on all those who have abandoned me over the years. Some whom I called my closest friends, and some more distant. But all are now enemies. Different forms of revenge seem fitting for each of these foes. Some should have their faces bashed in with a blunt object. Others deserve a slow mental torture that keeps them awake at night, for fear that nightmares will consume their dreams.
 
Yet…
 
 
When I really think about this all, it is fair that I should take my anger out on these people? Yes, they hurt me, but perhaps I did worse things to them. I gave them reason to torment me and oppose me. Some of them I manipulated to my will, and others I simply discarded because they had become a hindrance. Good people, all.
 
They have done no wrong. It has been me all along, and to be frank, I’m fed up with all of it.
 
I don’t understand it. I sit in class like anyone else, and I would be willing to bet a billion dollars that I put more effort into life than the person sitting to my right, left, in front, and behind me all combined. Let no one accuse me of not trying or not caring. I plan out how I will greet my friends minutes or hours before I see them, for fear that I should say something wrong. I think before I speak. I take the long way to every class in order to pass by friends in the hallway and give them a friendly nod. The amount of effort I put into life is absurd, really.
 
Yet somehow, I am failing. This isn’t like failing a math test, because you can always try again the next time a test rolls around. I am failing at life. There are no second chances here. This knowledge that I am failing is bad enough (for there are others who are unaware of their failures, and, pathetic as they are, I have some envy for them), but combine it with the fact that I am failing in part due to my own mistakes, and the pain is multiplied.
 
And then to my left I see another, and he is succeeding. He puts very little effort into life, and yet he has the type of power that I crave. And why? Because he is beautiful. I have no pictures to share with you, so you will simply have to take my word for it. He uses his power sparingly. Sparingly enough that one would be led to believe that he is unaware that he possesses it. Yet, if he wanted, he could take control of many thousands of people, simply by flashing his trademark smile, and perhaps flicking that blond hair that many deem perfect.
 
I do not understand how the world can be allowed to function like this. I have been nothing if not relentless in my approach, and yet I still fail. Does Fate mock me? Am I destined to be a peasant? If so, I have no greater wish than to die a quick, painless death at this instant. Living life as a peasant is something that I refuse to do.
 
 
 
 
I have learned very little thus far in life. I have many questions, and few answers. One of the few things that I know for certain is that whatever I am doing now is not working. I must change my approach if I am to have any hope for success. Adapt, or become extinct, they say. And, if I am my own enemy, then there is all the more reason to destroy that which is me.
 
 
 
 
 

Imprisonment

Some people have said "You know, I can’t wait to grow up. Sure, there’s more responsibility, but the increased freedom makes it worth it."
 
These people are wrong. The freedom they envision in the future is a mere illusion.
 
For your entire life, you will be a prisoner. The form of your imprisonment will change, but you are always imprisoned.
 
At the very beginning of your life, you are literally imprisoned inside your mother’s womb. Freedom is practically non-existent.
 
A little bit later on, you will be shackled to your parents. They will not let you out of your sight, and so again, freedom is very limited.
 
Once you reach a certain age usually somewhere between 10 and 12 years old, you are imprisoned inside a cage. You can go anywhere you would like in the cage, and do anything you’d like to, as long as you remain within the cage.
 
Then you reach adulthood, and your imprisonment begins with only a single ball and chain. You can go anywhere in the world as long as you have the strength to move the ball and chain. As your life continues, however, you become more and more shackled down. A second ball is added when you get a job, another when you get married, more for each child you have, and so forth.
 
 
 
The best stage is the cage stage. The only thing hampering your freedom is your parents/others limiting what you can do. As long as you stay within those limits, you’re free. If you play your cards right, your cage will grow larger over time. If you build up their trust, you will be allowed to leave the cage entirely every once in a while without any major consequences. The cage is beautiful, and if anyone comes up to you holding a ball and chain and says "It’s time to go.", you put up a hissy fit and a half. You whine, you scream, and you bitch, but whatever you do, you don’t follow the person out of the cage, because you can never go back.
 
 

My Blue Balloon

Scandalize! We must reprise our roles as kings, golden rings, violent things will try to stop us, creatures from the black lagoon, crimson room, autumn bloom. Lovely flower in the sea. Friend fear not, ’tis only me. Return from the dead, I’ve said, "It’s all in your head". But you’ve fed your sense of dread and suddenly nothing is possible. Like so many years ago. I had them both, I swore an oath. Protect and defend, but never pretend. "You are not who you used to be." She said to me, I disagree. I do what I want, not what you say. "I simply cannot live this way. You’ll die alone, cold and grey." And he said "I’m not your friend, this is the end, I can’t stand no more, you’re better off dead." Now he’s gone and so is she. I’ve started to fade, now just a shade, a shadow, a spectre, former protector of two defectors. Alert! We’re sinking! We must convert, revert to our former state. Change or curve the course of fate. Too late, you say? Then just you wait. Compromise? How I despise that word, and yet, to save our lives I have no choice but to devise. I must or I’m dust. Repent, prevent that doom from the black lagoon, crimson room, you’ll be my bloom, my blue balloon.
 

When Lines Unravel

And here’s a new poem. I’ll call it "When Lines Unravel" for now, but if any of you have a better title for me, I’ll gladly change it. Anyhow, here you go.

 

When Lines Unravel

 

 

Off to the races, we’re out in the street,

Looking for places, places to meet.

Don’t know where we’re going, but the answer’s out there.

It’s dark and it’s cold but it’s us and I swear:

 

Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

Wait outside in pouring rain.

Sit and listen, sit and wait.

Sit forever, tempting fate.

 

Change the world, just a smile,

Save the world, worth my while.

“If only you would talk to me.”

I was blind but now I see.

 

Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

Wait outside in pouring rain.

Sit and listen, sit and wait.

Sit forever, tempting fate.

 

Should years burn through my eyes

I’d cry.

Should rain fall on this page,

I’d die.

Should light fail to shine through the sky,

Then why

Must I try

Here and now my end is nigh.

 

Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

Wait outside in pouring rain.

Sit and listen, sit and wait.

Sit forever, tempting fate.

 

If then at the end of time,

When lines unravel as do rhymes,

One word of mine should leave a dent,

Then not in vain is my life spent.

 

Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

Wait forever for the Train.

The world is mine, my path is straight.

It’s my race now, forgetting fate.

-Cyanize 01/29/08

 

 

It’s crazy the things that people expect you to do in life. Picking a career, for example. Very few sixteen year olds know what they want to do with their lives. Heck, some twenty-six year olds don’t know what they want to do with their lives. Why let it concern you?

 

You want to avoid it? Today, go out there and find a girl, or a guy, who you can marry and be with forever. Make a lot of friends. Be blue with them.

 

That’s it. You’re safe. Blue Heaven. That’s ace eh?

 

This poem is about a boy or girl around that age who has the option to be blue, and has all these great things around him, but something leads him to making bad choices and sacrificing his youth for glory. Don’t be like this kid, okay guys?

 

 

While looking through my French book a while ago, I found this story. It’s horrifying, to be honest, but it’s a good story nonetheless. Obviously it’s in French, so I’ll translate it for you here as best as I can:
 
 
 
Anthony had a good childhood. He and other wooden blocks of his age would spend entire days transforming themselves into palaces, planes, buses, schools, horses, among endless other options. He had plenty of imagination and many great ideas. He was able to do anything he wanted. It was said of him: "He has tons of potential." and "He’ll go far in the world." Therefore, Anthony continued his creative development and never questioned the meaning of his existence in the world.
 
Eventually the day came when Anthony was told that it was time to put his childhood behind him and fit in with the rest of the red square blocks in the Big Box. Anthony did not understand how he could be placed inside the Box. He had not finished exploring the richness of life outside the Box. Therefore, he thought, his place in life couldn’t be inside the Box. Besides, he wasn’t a square like all the blocks in the Big Box, but a triangle. And he was green as well.
 
Anthony explained his discontent. He explained that as a green triangle, he had different aspirations that those of the red squares. He spoke of life free of the constraints of the Big Box. He spoke of nature, of trees, of peace, of youth, of brotherhood, of birth, of eternity, and of hope. They responded by telling Anthony that life was better in the Box, and that all green triangles before him had resisted the Big Box, but that they had always entered eventually and all of them were living happily inside the Box. Anthony cried that he wasn’t red, that he would never be red, and that he didn’t know how to be red, nor how to become red. With strong smiles they told him that anything was possible. Finally, Anthony gave in to their insistance. His tint began changing from green to red. Finally, the green disappeared altogether.
 
Anthony went to place himself along with the other blocks of the Big Box, but he was not allowed to enter. He was told that he was still a triangle and that there was no place for triangles inside the Big Box, that all the spots were made for squares. Anthony insisted with conviction. He spoke of compromise, of originality, of individuality, of liberty, and of passion. They responded with words of norms, of symmetry, of systems, of reason, of institutions, of order, and of control. Each new word chiseled Anthony’s body, sculpting him into a perfectly formed square. Finally, he placed himself among the other red squares inside the Big Box.
 
Anthony was a great success in the Box. He created new, more efficient systems of keeping order within the Big Box. He smiled gently, remembering the potential he had shown during his childhood. Others assured him that he had chosen the right path in his life.
 
Occasionally, Anthony recalled his resistance of the Big Box, and shuddered. With embarrassment, he thought of the deformed shape and colour which he had wanted to perserve. But, he remembered that he was now a red square, that he would always be a red square, and that he would protect his square shape and red colour for the rest of his life. Proud and happy, he smiled with joy.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
This has gotta be the most terrifying story I’ve ever heard. It’s like… anti-ace. Guys, do me a favour. Don’t be like Anthony.  If someone tells you that you need to change, that it’s time for you to change, tell ’em to fuck off, or something. No one can tell you to change, or when to change.
 
What should have Anthony have done? See, he was a green triangle. That’s already a problem. His best bet woulda been for him to change into a blue triangle first, before doing anything else. Once he was blue, that’s it. He’s home free, see?
 
It just goes to show you. Anything blue tends to stay blue. If you’re not blue, become blue. That’s the last time you’ll ever have to change.
 
 

Sell Out With Me Tonight

You compromise your morals and your integrity for personal gain, and you get labeled as a "sellout". Why?
 
 
I don’t see the problem here. It’s a necessary part of life. 
 
 
Look, you have ideas, right? Great big beautiful ideas. You love them. And maybe the world loves some of them too. But they won’t love all of them. There’s your problem.
 
If the world doesn’t like some of your ideas, or your morals, or your thoughts, you need to get rid of those ones immediately, because the world has to like you. If you give up your morals and ideas, sure, you might be labeled as a sellout, but the world will love you.
 
Everyone who is anyone has had to sell out at some point. Any band who’s signed a record deal has had to make their music appeal more to the mainstream. Any author who’s been published has had to change some of his or her ideas against his or her better judgement so that more people will enjoy his or her book. Any actor has had to keep some of his or her more radical ideas in his or her head, so that they won’t be labeled "bad actors". Comedians who want to advance their careers, artists who want to be paid for their work, screenwriters, playwrights, directors, animators… they’ve all sold out at some point. It’s not a bad thing; its made them rich and powerful.
 
It’s never a question of "should I sell out?". It’s a question of "When will I sell out?".
 
You know who doesn’t sell out? Peasants, that’s who.
 
Plumbers, electricians, doctors, lawyers, accountants, architects, construction workers, and a few billion others. All peasants. All of them. They never sold out though, so I guess that’s a point in their favour.
 
Look, you have a choice in life:
 
You could choose not to sell out, and be a peasant. You could get married and live an ordinary life. It’s not necessary for the world to love you if you’re a peasant.
 
 
Or you could sell out, and be a hero.
 
 
 
The choice is obvious. It’s just a matter of finding out how to sell out.
 

Use it Well

Power is a wonderful thing, it really is. Everyone has it, but most people don’t have a lot of it. How do you get a lot of power? By any means necessary. There are four types of people in the world:
 
 
Those who have neither the right face nor the drive.
 
Those who have the right face, but not the drive.
 
Those who have the drive, but not the right face.
 
Those who have the face and the drive.
 
 
 
I pity the first group. Not only has genetics screwed them over, but they’ve lost their drive to go somewhere as well.
 
I’m pissed off at the second group. Blond hair, blue eyes, living in the middle of the big city… and they’re doing nothing. With that face in that place they should be taking the world by storm. But they aren’t. Why? I’ll never know.
 
I’m part of the third group. We’ve been screwed by genetics, and so even though we badly want to make a name for ourselves, we can’t. The world doesn’t like us.
 
The fourth group is who you should be jealous of. They’ve got the right face, and they’re smart enough to know what to do with it. See Jesse Mccartney, the brothers Sprouse, the lead singer of about a hundred or so bands in creation, about a hundred or so actresses and some actors as well. The world loves them, and if they work hard they can get power. These people are given power without having to corrupt themselves for it. Once they have the power, whether they go corrupt or not is another issue, but at the beginning they’re all nice guys and girls.
 
 
 
Look, I’m only going to say this once. Use what you’re given, and use it well. If you’ve got the face, realize that you could be spectacular if you just try a little bit. Don’t waste that beautiful face of yours. If you’ve got the drive, you’ve been gifted with the intelligence to know that power is a good thing. Unfortunately, the world won’t easily yield power to someone with your face. You’ve got to bust your ass big time, and in most cases you’ve got to be willing to go corrupt. Don’t go corrupt unless you have to, but always be willing, just in case. If you’ve got both the face and the drive, why are you still reading this? Get out there. The world is yours.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

The Low Road

Edge here, with a brief little piece.
 
Robert Frost once wrote:
 
"Two roads diverged in a wood, and I,
I took the one less travelled by,
And that has made all the difference."
 
 
A little history on myself here:
 
I haven’t always been what I am today. I am what I am now because somewhere along the line I realized what a mistake I was making.
 
See, I took the High Road in life. I listened to my parents and stayed away from drugs, and parties, and women, and all the other so-called "corruptive" influences. I was a "good" kid. I was also a boring kid. Never went out, very few friends, et cetera.
 
Needless to say, I was in the lower class way back when. All the goody twoshoes’ were. I was king of the lower class because I was a heck of a lot smarter than any of the rest of them, but that’s not saying much. Being king of the lower class is like being king of dirt. It wasn’t great.
 
And then something led me to believe that I deserved better, I’m not sure what it was, exactly, but something pushed me. This all happened so long ago that I can’t remember exactly how I did it… but somehow I moved up a rank. I joined the middle class. Such a thing almost never happens, but I did it. I lost my best friend in the process, but I gained a whole bunch of new friends, including a new best friend, so it was worth it in the end. I also had to give up my kingly status for a more middle-of-the-pack one, but that was fine by me too.
 
During my time in the middle class, I grew to despise the upper class, as any good middle classmen should. I still stayed away from drugs, parties, and sex like most middle classmen, but I actually went out on evenings and weekends, and had more fun.
 
Along with the perks came some less than pleasant changes, although I considered them great at the time: Morals.
 
See, drinking, smoking, sex, partying, school teams, etc. are all the possessions of the upper class. As a middle classman, I was supposed to hate the upper class, and consequently I also became strongly opposed to drugs, sex, parties, and school teams, among other things. The upper class outnumbered the middle class 3:1 where I went to school, so truly I had taken the road less travelled.
 
I thought of this route as the High Road. It seemed to me that having morals was a great thing, and that anyone without morals was probably unworthy of life. They were scum to me, the upper class.
 
I changed schools as everyone does at a certain age, and found that in this new school the hierarchy was still very much intact, although the middle class to upper class ratio was nearly 1:5.
 
I spent the first year or so hating the upper class as was usual. Of course, with the upper class being so massive, it was impossible to hate them all. Instead I turned my hatred towards the school itself.
 
I didn’t concentrate too hard on making friends here in the first year, which was a big mistake.
 
Sometime around the midpoint of the second year, my views started to change. I started thinking differently about the school, and as such I started thinking differently about the upper class. I became jealous, I guess you could say.
 
Along with the envy came desire. I wanted to be like them. And, over time, I starting changing. My attitude towards life in general began changing. I became more confident and more ambitious, to name a few. I became accepting and even supportive of drugs, sex, school teams, and the like. In time, I became a lot like much of the upper class.
 
But I did not enter the upper class. Why not? Since I had opted not to make many friends, I had no friends in the upper class, and making new friends at the end of the second year becomes nearly impossible.
 
Thus was my state: I was a middle classman who acted like an upper classman.
 
In other words, I was rejected by both factions.
 
And, looking back, I realized how many opportunities I missed entirely. Back in the first year, I had MANY chances to join the upper class if I wanted to. At this point I saw that the enemy which had placed me into this state was myself. Any sane person would have accepted all of those chances gladly, but not me. I had chosen clinge to my morals.
 
It was too late for me, I realized. I had practically destroyed myself.
 
Yet I found this to be unacceptable. So, I looked for scapegoats. I blamed 3 things:
 
 
Genetics, for giving me very little natural skill in anything important.
 
Geography, for placing me in a suburb miles away from everything important.
 
My parents, for giving me those morals in the first place.
 
 
 
 
Morals… Morals, how I detest those morals. The moral High Road is what I took, thinking it to be the right path. I scoffed at those on the Low Road. Then I realized that the High Road leads nowhere, and those who I had laughed at before wouldn’t let me on the Low Road anymore.
 
Oh, when I think about how my life could have been if I had realized earlier…
 
Had I been born with the right face in the right place to the right people, I would have realized what took me two years longer to realize: That morals only hold you back from greater things. I didn’t see that until it was too late, and look at me now: Condemned by my former friends, and rejected by those whom I desperately seek friendship with. Now I am forced to try and restore myself to glory through any means necessary.
 
Frankly, I do not care what that means anymore. If I were presently asked to drink, or smoke, or engage in all kinds of adulterous affairs, I would in an instant if I would be guarenteed entry to the upper class in exchange. Even being a peasant in the upper class would be fine by me, because it’s better than what I have now.
 
Listen to me. Morals are absolutely useless to have if they’re holding you back from greater things (and quite often they will). Trust me on this one. I learned my lesson the hard way. Don’t give up all of your morals for no reason, but keep yourself in a mindset where you can drop them at a moment’s notice if need be.
 
 
 
 
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I,
I took the one less travelled by.
And that’s what fucked me over.