Monday, November 23, 2009

Living with magic may be challenging, but there is no greater satisfaction than knowing you are living in accordance with your highest values.

"It's taken a lot of determination, but I've finally given up on ambition."

I give thanks every day to intuition, silence, and courage. Thank the lord that I write my little passions and paint my little glamours from this big daddy of a brown leather chair, on a trunk filled with old journals, instead of in a stream of post-secondary cluster-fuck, with minds that are searching for what I already know; purpose.

I can't judge what the stones look like on anther's path, I can only know that I like how the stones on my path feel against my feet.

Perhaps I can modify the infamous Gonzo quote"I wouldn't recommend sex, drugs or insanity for everyone, but they've always worked for me." to
"I wouldn't recommend dropping out of college, meditation and buying a van to everyone, but it certainly worked for me."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
A thanks to all of you who follow this pitiable little blog,floating around in the horrifying swirl of genius that social media creates.

Did you know? EVERYONE is a genius. Everyone! Perhaps that's what we'll look back on the "2000's" like:
"Yes, there was some political upheavel, invasions and conquering, like with any good era, but most amazingly, judging by the amount of broadcasted opinion, we are lead to believe that in fact, there was an incredible surge of brilliance."

Oh dear.

As far as life goes, it's hard to believe it continues to be this rich.

Battling the addictions, depravities and pesky thoughts that follow us around in this mortal realm, delighting in the amazing gifts that keep ending up on my doorstep this evening, and learning about the nature of myself, my spirt-our spirit, and the levels and spaces in between.

Wednesday, November 4, 2009

The college dropout and: the dream life!

I have to crouch down to keep from being thrown to the back of the truck, through it's loosely locked doors, and into an death all too perfect and fitting, albeit untimely.

As I am interviewing a city councillor in hours, I sit on my scarf, and try to keep my mouth clean and my pants cleaner.

In this country, we say "folks" not "bitches."

We're careening through Vancouver's streets, up into glass towers to steal furniture from the media with the money, and bring it back, behind hastings, in a purple and orange alley, wedge our U Haul in and block the cars and rats from going past.

Once we get back into the alley, and wade past the dripping tarps and deflated baloons that fill the doorway, I tug down the gridded wood of the utiltiy elevator, and rise jerkily through oily wood and darkness to the second floor, where we grunt and throw solid oak bookshelves around like mere books.

The floor is painted, the ceilings high, the place is expansive. All my artificial memories of Warhols factoy and New York artist warehouse days come flooding through. I bite my tounge to keep from running around screaming.

This, is community media.

These are my people.

This, is my dream life.