Friday, August 6, 2010


My best friend and I often joke about goldfish. When one of us forgets something obvious, the other compares them to the fish that remembers only two seconds of life before forgetting again.
But it strikes me now, how terrifying the memory-span of a goldfish is. They spend their lives, trapped, swimming in a glass bowl, and never once realize that they aren't going anywhere. They can move in circles, and not notice or care. It seems almost ridiculous to humans that anything could forget so quickly, but to the goldfish, it would never register, because they could never hold onto a thought long enough to realize just how meaningless and pathetic their lives are.
So what if we're the same way? What if I'm that way? Perhaps our memories are just as comparatively short, and our lives, equally meaningless. As we can think with no greater brilliance then our own memory capacity and intelligence as a species allows, we can imagine nothing better then what we already are. So just as a goldfish cannot see that it is perpetually trapped, forever running over the same ground in a meaningless attempt to go somewhere that doesn't exist, are we not trapped in a fish bowl of our own?
For most of us, our fish bowl, our cage, is no larger than our own town or city. We have nowhere to go, and no way to get anywhere. Some people have a bigger cage: a country, or the whole planet. But even when you can fly to any country on metal wings, you are still not free. If other human beings are anything like me, than surely, you must feel the trap, sense the uselessness of our efforts, and the horror of our own limitations.
I don't want a cage, but I will always have one. And if I must have a cage, and a limit, then I want my cage to be as wide as the universe. I want to be able to go everywhere, and never be obstructed, whether by glass, or the impossible distance and immensity of space-time that we cannot yet (and possibly never will) traverse. I don't want to forget everything, and never even see the bars of my prison. I want my cage to expand, until it holds all that we know, and perhaps a little more.

Sunday, June 27, 2010

The G20 meetings in Toronto have resulted in unnecessary violence from both protesters and police officers. There have been riots, illegal searches, and general chaos. However, this video proves that there are still a few original people in this world. :)

Sunday, June 6, 2010

Monday, May 24, 2010

Saturday, May 1, 2010

The Fake Girl

The fake girl
Smiles at everyone,
And attracts strange stares,
As a reward for her boisterous antics.

The fake girl
Laughs at stupid jokes,
And clumsily carves a happy face,
Into the tender skin on her wrists.

The fake girl
Is the clown that no one laughs with:
Just at.

The fake girl
Doesn't mind being a source of entertainment.
She'll gladly sell her soul,
To keep everyone happy.
She dances in dizzy circles,
And trips over her own feet.
She grins with hollow eyes,
And wishes that she knew why,
She wanted so badly to die.

The fake girl
Is a mask.
Something cheaply made:
An artificial flavor,
That can never truly substitute for sugar.
She is the rug that you throw on the floor,
To hide the dust and stains beneath.

The fake girl
Is about to fall to pieces.
Inside, the mutant screams.
It claws at the insides of pretty plastic flesh,
And tears at the corners of the fake smile.
It puts its claws through the faux sparkly eyes,
And rips out through the brain.
Foolish creature:
It wore the mask too long.
Never will this androgynous, shapeless, heartless monster
Be accepted.
If it wanted to be seen,
It should have never hidden in the first place.
A life of real pain,
Is better than a make-believe existence.

The fake girl
Isn't so fake anymore.
She may not be much,
But she's the only thing left.
She's all you ever wanted anyway.
Isn't she.

(Note: the lack of a question mark at the end is intentional. It isn't a question: it's a statement.)

Tuesday, April 27, 2010

City of Steel

This is the city of steel,
Where we close our hearts
And pray that no one sees us.

This is the city of steel,
Where the homeless beggars,
Make up the dominant population.

This is the city of steel,
Where broken dreams are hammered down,
And turned into the foundations of the nation.

In this place,
There are no soft edges,
Or foolish illusions of happiness.
This is a dying world,
Where even the blue skies,
Have a hard, metallic edge to them.

Hush, hush, little baby.
Be silent,
And learn to cry only in your mind.
Don't try to escape the bars of your little metal cradel,
Because it's just the same on the outside.

Hide, child,
Behind a cold stare,
And a mask of apathy and indifference.
Don't try to smile:
The ones that smile never last for long.

Our city is a place of pain,
Where we can walk by the same desolate building,
A thousand times,
But never see it.
In this place, beauty is the shine of polished glass,
And the way the light refracts off the gunmetal.

This is the city of steel,
But even steel can break

Well, on that happy note...:P Review? *Puppy eyes.*

Saturday, April 24, 2010

The Archie Revelation

Dear, lovely followers (not that I have many...),
Today, my dad, knowing of my involvement in the gay movement, sent me a fascinating article. What was that you said? "Wait?" Oh: you must be wondering about my last comment. "Since when," you ask "Is this annoying, hyperactive teenager involved in the gay movement?" A little history, then.
I started high school last September. For the first few weeks, I stumbled through the halls in a daze, much like any other semi-unpopular grade nine student. I looked in awe and fear at the seniors, and clung to my small group of nerdy friends. Then, about a month into the first semester, I met James.
James was probably the most hyperactive male I had ever met. I recall wondering if he was mentally disabled the first time I met him, because he acted like no boy I had ever met. However, I quickly grew to like him tremendously, and we struck up a friendship. In my mind, I soon labeled him as the happiest person I had ever met, and I could always count on him to cheer me up. Always, at least, until the day he spent the entire lunch period near tears because his boyfriend had dumped him. I was shocked. Up until that point, I'd heard James mention hot guys, but I'd always assumed that he was just joking.
With James to lead me, I timidly entered my first GLBTQ meeting, Colouring Outside the Lines. I was frightened of being seen going there; frightened of the other students attending; frightened of what I was beginning to know, despite my best attempts not to--that I was not straight as I have so vehemently stated in the past. After about two months of going to the GLBTQ, I finally admitted the truth to myself: every idiot who had ever insulted me had been correct: I was bisexual. I'm not sure yet where this will take me: until I came out, I had never allowed myself to like girls, but now, I find them more attractive then boys or men. Perhaps I am bi, perhaps a lesbian. Regardless, the moment I came out, I became deeply involved in the gay rights movement.
Alright! That's the back story! Now, onward with the plot!
Today, I opened my gmail, and, low and behold, I found an exciting article that my dad had sent me. It was published in The Hamilton Spectator, and was simply the announcement that, for the first time ever, Archie comics would have a gay character. Kevin Keller (the character) will not only be the first gay character in the Archie comics, but will also remain as a prominent feature. This is a big step for a series that I previously thought of as enjoyable, but simultaneously shallow and sexist. For a long time, Archie has been stuck in the past, but now, it will begin to lead the future.
Well, that's all for now. This is the article: I hope that you enjoy reading it, and I look forward to the coming of Kevin Keller to Riverdale!
Rock on!

Wednesday, March 3, 2010

Road to Hell

You ask me who I am.
What I am.
Where I come from.
Why I'm here.
I doubt you really want to know.
I could tell you,
I am a refraction of light
Gleaming in the dust,
On a black and yellow pathway.
I could say,
I am the story that haunts you.
I am your past,
Reflected in a river of blood.
I am a child,
In a generation that will continue your journey,
When you fall to your own monsters.
I killed them.
The blood is on my hands,
Along with a million pus-filled boils.
Would you care for a taste of medicine?
I'm sure it will kill you swiftly.
You look cold:
Would you like a blanket to warm you as you die?
What am I?
I am the deeds you wish you could forget.
I am a shadow in the night;
A ghost, fleeting through the woods you carelessly trample.
You must wonder why I'm here.
It was so long ago.
Can't I just let the past be the past?
I am walking down the path you created.
My bare feet blister,
As the path becomes a road to hell.
We're not so different, you and I:
We both love the earth so much;
Why don't we make it our own.
A perfect world,
So beautiful, with it's blood drained out.
The dead are beautiful,
Aren't they?
The corpse of our world will feed us,
With gold.
Taste it,
Delicious, isn't it?
Now try the flesh of the savages.
I'm sure it will be equally satisfactory.
We'll have to kill them all;
They don't like us taking their land,
And giving them our wonderful tools.
What fools.
Ignore them;
They've already lost.
Have you ever smelled a flower?
I think I see one.
Never mind;
It's just a weed.
Still, it's pretty, isn't it?
So white.
So pure.
Hard to believe,
That it's capable of so much damage.
Come now,
Let's fight another war.
We have guns,
And guns will always win.
Technology is so wonderful;
With it, you can break,
Even a handful of arrows.
The broken arrows are better anyway.
The whole ones were too strong,
Too proud.
The fallen warriors
Are better.
They can contribute to society now;
Build our skyscrapers,
And work in our
Important roles...
Because in every society,
Someone has to be worthless.
We must never forgive anyone,
For being different.

I wrote this poem to remark upon the injustices that were done upon first natives in Canada, and anywhere were colonialism affected the people who originally inhabited a place. I wrote this poem for a contest sponsored by the Canadian government. The topic was SUPPOSED to be about how other cultures shaped the Canada we know today, but I was writing this at 12:15 AM, and I got rather pissy...This is the product! :P

Friday, February 26, 2010

Anime Club!!

Today has been the happiest day in a long time: today, we had our FIRST EVER OFFICIAL ANIME CLUB MEETING!!!!!!! Being an idealistic pessimist, I never expected it to work out. I never thought things could get better for us, or that we'd ever be more then nerds, stranded at the edges of society. I'm happy to say that I was wrong: today, we met in my school, in room 207, and spent the entire lunch hour planning our first manga. The teacher who finally took us in is also in charge of the schools newspaper, and is thrilled by the amount of enthusiasm we have for manga and anime. She has promised us space in the paper for a manga strip, which will be a humor based comic about our long and arduous journey into the world of club-hood. Basically, we will write a satirical piece, where we will constantly insult the teachers who turned us down. We are all designing our own characters, based upon us. We have decided to split the work of illustrating the manga evenly, with everyone drawing their own character, and taking turns on the backgrounds.
While we are a club now, I had nothing to do with this happening. Everything we have, we owe to our president, Christina. Christina never seemed to be a leader; she was always shy, and afraid to speak out. Because of her manner and disposition, I never expected her to make anything happen. I was wrong. While I was writing dramatic letters, she was talking to people, and perusing the art teachers for their testimonials. Because of her, we have the thing we most desperately wanted, and I want to thank her here, even though she shall never read this. Thank you Christina: you did what I couldn't, and I'll always be grateful to you.

Saturday, February 20, 2010


Dear members of the school board:
My name is ******* ***, and I am a member of the Anime Club. At this moment, I am sure that you are scratching your head. You don't know what club I'm talking about, do you? The club I am referring to, dear friends, is the one which you denied a club status earlier this week. We are the group you rejected. We are nonexistent in your eyes. To you, we are nothing.
Because you do not know about us, I shall have to explain what has happened up until today, and I will have to do it here.
Just before the Christmas holidays, I joyfully walked to the meeting room of the Anime Club with my friends, only to be told that we were no longer allowed to meet there. My friends and I went to the office, where you told us that we could not be a club without a teacher advisor. You suggested that we ask one of the art teachers to facilitate us.
We did as you told us, and went directly to the art department. As we had already spoken to two of the three teachers, we approached the only one left--Mr Shipman. When we found him, I explained our predicament; how we couldn't meet without a teacher to oversee us, and how the office had recommended that we speak to an art teacher. He didn't even allow me to finish speaking. He laughed uproariously, and then said the following (paraphrased): "No way. I don't like anime; it's the stupidest thing ever, and the worst thing an art student can get into. It's a waste of time." With due respect to Mr Shipman, I think that his reaction was cruel and hurtful. Without foundation, he called something that we dearly love stupid. He is entitled to his opinion, but he never even attempted to give a reasonable and coherent explanation for it.
Obviously, Mr Shipman was uninterested in our group, and we could do nothing to change his mind. We left, and proceeded to contact another teacher, Mr Bear.
Mr Bear agreed to let us use his room to meet. However, he told us that he would not officially be our teacher advisor, because he had no interest in anime. We accepted this, and the Thursday of the second week after the Christmas break, we met there for the first time. It was a wonderful and positive environment--A chance for people with a shared passion to meet each other, and express their feelings to people who would understand them. There was never a second meeting.
Because many of us were not free on Thursday, we decided to reschedule to Friday. On Friday, I was told by our president that we were not allowed to meet as a club anymore. From what I have been told, I gather that the school will not let us meet without an official advisor, and will not allow us to have one until we can bring in notes from the teachers in the art department, saying that they refused to take us in.
Naturally, we still meet. I will not tell you where, because you would likely try to stop us. We are a group of friends, and we feel just as strongly about manga and anime hiding in the corners of the school as we would as an official group, but we still want to be recognized as a group, and given a meeting place.
While we may do exactly the same things we would do as a club, independently, until you give us status, we are not a club. We can never work with the school to organize trips; we cannot recruit new members by posting signs; we cannot be recognized as more then nerds who are not even deserving of a table in the cafeteria. I believe this to be unjust.
By telling us that we must have a teacher advisor, you insinuate that we are not capable of taking care of ourselves. However, you expect us to work out our problems with the art department, and it's teachers, on our own. This is an contradiction, and a double message, because if you do not believe us to be old enough to work independently, we should not have to bring notes from the people who scorned us.
As our superiors, you have the right to deny us the right to be a club. But as human beings, I am asking you to respect us, and acknowledge the love we feel for anime. I am not asking you to love anime. I know that if you dislike it, nothing I say can make you see differently. I don't care what you think about our unofficial club; but you don't have to see eye to eye with me, I am simply requesting that you either give us an advisor, or allow us to meet without one.
We may not be as important as Colour Outside the Lines, or Students Bridging Boarders, but we are still people with a common love. You would never have dreamed of denying a human rights club--like those listed above--a meeting place and a status. In your eyes, we are undoubtedly just a bunch of pathetic teenagers with no ambition; perhaps you are correct, and what we love is as unimportant as most of the world would say it is, but it is still WHAT WE LOVE. We are not Neo Nazi's: we are not hurting anyone, or insulting their ideals; we just want to meet, and be official in your eyes.
I am a member of the Anime Club, and I am acting alone. I cannot speak for the others in this letter, but I hope that you will reconsider your position and give us a fair chance. If you wish to speak to me, you may page me over the intercom, and we will sit down and speak as equals.
Yours sincerely,
-******* ***

Flightless Birds

I love you.
I hate you.
I need you.
Just go away.
God, I wish I weren't so contrary.
I would pull you in,
But I'm afraid of being pushed away.
I want you,
But who could ever love me?
Stupid little girl,
In too big clothes.
Am I as lost in this world,
As my thin body is lost,
In thick black fabric?
There is a veil between us.
Like a one way mirror:
I can see you,
But I am invisible.
A veil...
Or are you just ignoring me?
I wouldn't blame you.
I love you,
And I hate you.
If I had you,
I would probably destroy you.
Break you.
Crush your wings,
And make you like me.
Beautiful bird:
How this ugly duckling envies you.
If I could, I would tear you apart.
I would take your golden plumage,
And cover myself in your bloody feathers.
Please, stay at a distance.
Because a flightless bird like me,
Will only seek to hurt you.
Oh, but how I would love to have you.
Lock you in chains,
And put up walls around you.
Why not?
They did it to me.
Come to me,
And we'll kill each other.
And forget,
That the real enemies,
Are watching us,
And laughing
At our foolish war.
Two broken, flightless birds.
Perhaps, wingless though we are,
We can sing,
And fly on the cracked music,
Of our choking, broken voices.
You were a songbird once,
Weren't you?

Disturbing, isn't it? I know, you're shocked...TWO POSTS IN ONE DAY!!!! Really?! EVA?!?! Oh well...I had this up on deviant art, and I thought I'd just post it here...:P

The Brightest Star

In my own, masochistic way,
I envy your pain:
It has made you stronger,
Then I can ever be.
Your eyes,
So bright and clear:
I could burn them,
Stab them out,
And obliterate their light,
But they would still be brighter,
Then my own.
Your smile is sad,
But it is real.
Much as I try,
I can only muster,
A half grin.
Or a scowl.
Or a bitter tear.
Your tears are so gentle.
Soft, and lonely.
I can't even bring myself to cry.
While you sob,
I laugh hysterically,
At the pain that I don't know.
Your imperfections
Are so beautiful.
Your pains and joys,
So acute.
My feelings are never so sharp.
I don't know who or what I am.
I don't know what I think of you.
Or why.
All I know for sure,
Is the hatred I feel,
For the things I almost love.
I wish my life,
Were as brutal as yours.
You are almost dead;
Drowned in your agony.
But while you truly lived,
You were the brightest star in the sky.
And I am not a star at all.

Hello, dear readers! :) Well, this poem was written with the character Envy, from Fullmetal Alchemist, in mind. Originally, it was supposed to be about him, but I ended up making it partially about me...I dunno...:P Anyway, you can find me on deviant art at if you want to read all my poems, and see some of my art! <3

Tuesday, February 16, 2010


We grin.
We talk of shallow, happy things.
Manga characters,
and movies we haven't seen.
So foolish.
So carefree.
You are my friend,
but I will never confide in you.
You are far too innocent;
if I allowed you to penetrate my mind,
you would run, screaming.
Then, yesterday in the hallway
You were different.
You were so quiet,
so withdrawn.
"What's wrong?"
Your tone caused me to stop and stare.
Was it you, behind that mask of angry defiance,
or was it myself?
I tried to confront you;
you walked away.
It was later,
that you finally cried.
I watched as another girl comforted you.
All I could do,
was pat your shoulder awkwardly.
When the tears abetted,
you hugged me.
I thought for a moment, then,
that everything had changed.
Perhaps we would talk about the things that mattered,
and share our pain together.
But the moment passed,
and the next day
we sat together.
So close.
So far.
"How are you?"
We sit,
close enough to touch,
and yet separated,
by an impenetrable wall.
We sit.
We grin.
And talk about shallow, happy things.
Without ever touching what truly matters.

I wrote this about an experience I shared with one of my friends at school. She is nice, and we have a lot of common interests, but we never delve beneath the surface. I wish I could say that it was her fault, but it's not; we're both to blame. The truth is, trust is the hardest thing to build, and it always takes me years to make true friends, no matter how wonderful all the people in my life are.

Monday, January 25, 2010

Comfortably Numb

There is no pain, you are receding
A distant ship, smoke on the horizon
You are only coming through in waves
Your lips move, but I can't hear what you're saying.
When I was a child, I caught a fleeting glimpse,
Out of the corner of my eye
I turned to look, but it was gone
I cannot put my finger on it now
The child has grown, the dream has gone.
I have become, comfortably numb.

-Pink Floyd. The Wall, disc 2. Comfortably Numb.

Today, I lay, stretched out upon my bed, listening to Pink Floyd. I was mostly just trying to gear down after my art exam, but I felt too sick to rest: I have a bad cold, and as a result, I'm having trouble breathing. People think that I'm healthier then I really am, because I always smile, and hold in my coughs. I don't like to show my weaknesses. Even as I try to explain how ill I feel, I hold back the hoarseness of my voice, and force myself to be as vibrant as I am when at my best. Sometimes, though, I feel as if I'm fading out. When I'm tired, and I wish I could die, I always see swirls of blue and green behind my eyelids. It annoys me, in a way, because it sounds like a cliche; blue and green swirls. But it's true. I don't know if I'm the only person who sees the swirls; perhaps everyone could if they looked for them. You have to look so hard; stare at the backs of your eyelids, and focus. Forget the world. Between our world and oblivion is peace. The swirling reminds me of Pink Floyd's music. The way the guitar soars, seeming to fly high above the music. The way the notes seem so lonely. More then anything, my half world recalls to me the song Comfortably Numb. In my opinion, it's the most beautiful song they've ever written. It gives me the sensation of floating away on my back in a gentle current. There is no world outside of my body; just the feeling of drifting, as a bird calls piercingly from somewhere high above. If the bird is the guitar, gliding and diving and climbing upon the air, then I am the piano; holding the rest of the music up, but never taking wing. If there is one thing I know, it is that I will never fly like the bird; I will drift along beneath it, like a leaf carried on the water. The bird will sing, and feel the wildness of the wind upon it's feathers, while I drift through time, unaffected by my own life. I am not the hero of my story, I'm just a bystander. This may sound sad, but to me, it's alright. I'm at peace with this fact about myself. Once--maybe it was yesterday?--I would have wanted to join the bird. I would have made wings from wax, and followed it. I wanted to be a star, once. Now, I know I won't be. I can't lead, and I can't follow. So I will write down the stories of others, and be content with who I am. Do not pity me. I have no wings, but in my own way, I will fly. Even in my darkest hour, I will continue to float. I feel no pain; I am comfortably numb.