The Light of 2016 (non-fiction)

      For many of us, this past year was a difficult one. It seemed like from the beginning of the year, people who moved us so deeply began to pass at a rate that seemed faster than ever before. There was the American election as well, one that seemed to be far more vicious and anxiety inducing than anything many of us have ever seen before. There was so much pain and hate just here in North America, not to mention Aleppo or anything else that happened this year like Brexit.

      There's so much to be said about these things, so much that could be said, and I've tried time and time again to be able to post something addressing them, but they are always inadequate. Instead I focused my writing mostly on heartbreak and loneliness, things I know so deeply from years of experience, and things so intensely personal that it's almost impossible to be wrong about them. 

      And on those fronts especially, this past year has been hard on me. When it began, I was still getting over my previous relationship, which can be a very long process for me, usually riddled with all sorts of self-delusions tied to new affections. Then the summer came and I found myself returning to my childhood home with the plan to never return as a student back to Bishop's University. 

      But the problem with returning, one that I had dealt with in my many visits, was that I was detached from life there. I barely spoke to anyone I had considered my friends in my days of living there, and just the change from Bishop's life to life there was a shock enough on its own. So I felt terribly alone. I felt like I belonged there, like it was home, but that home had become nothing but a graveyard, where I could walk through and see the memories etched into stone, their substance buried below. And in that graveyard, I started to lose my mind.

      But there is always hope. This was also the year when I joined a chapel choir and started regularly attending services at the campus chapel. They welcomed me with open arms and would in time teach me what it means to be a loving person. I also performed a song at a show with only a piano accompaniment for the first time since high school. I became involved with the Gender Equity center at Bishop's, among other things. 

      And this summer was the summer when I worked as a gardener for the Canadian Wildlife Federation, something that helped me cling to sanity a little longer. For all the people I met there, from the interns to the full-time staff, I am deeply grateful I got the chance to meet them. I joined a book club, and attended many write-ins for NaNoWriMo in November. 

      Speaking of Nanowrimo, I completed it three times again this year, in April, July, and November, and although there were some points where I was really not happy with my story, I got through it and am now maybe 25,000 words away from completing the first draft of the "Escape from Dreamscape" trilogy.

      And besides that, I ended up being very wrong about my future at Bishop's, as now I am poised to return in January doing the graduate level micro-program in Climate Change that they are starting up. I'm excited to learn what I can so I can do what I can to combat the problem.

      Anyways, I wanted to write this as I usually do write a post on the 24th about the yearly anniversary of this blog, but I didn't want to simply recap it as usual. It's so easy to dwell on the bad things in life, and I am guilty of this. I have lingered so much on all the times I didn't love enough, all the times I didn't listen enough, all the times I failed others and myself. But it's hard to move forward when all you can see is darkness. But with just a bit of light, it's a lot easier. And, strangely enough, often you can be that light if there's nothing else there. 

      So let's learn to say goodbye to living in the darkness and let ourselves ignite with light for the coming year. Take care. Until next time,

-Zero

Across a crowded room (poem)

I wanted to sit somewhere else,

even just across from this spot,

so I would have my back turned to you,

instead of a direct view of you across.

I want to turn my back on us,

instead of watching our story play out

in the empty crowded space between us,

in the moments our eyes meet and look away.

I want to forget our history,

our love intertwined with song,

our duet, our musical interludes,

our screams harmonized with hate.

I want to be anywhere else,

instead of here missing you.

-Zero

Winter feels like home (poem)

I

Winter feels like home,

the biting cold,

the snow pelting my face,

the early nights and late mornings,

the quiet of the cold,

the isolation of the wind.

II

Maybe winter feels like home

because I'm at home in heartbreak,

in those cold blistering nights alone

spent wandering the city,

revisiting the places we had been,

finding solace in the empty streets

because the one person I want to see

won't even look at me,

so I'd rather just be invisible.

-Zero

A Quiet Hum (poem)

I wanted a new story,

but instead I got a quiet hum,

that moment when you finish a book

that had gripped you so entirely

and immediately reach for the next,

only to look at the promise of its cover,

and put it down with the rest.

-Zero

A Place for the End (poem)

The nurse leads me by the hand,

supports my weak slow steps,

and guides me to my guest room,

a bed and a bathroom.

Years glued to screens and sheets

stuck thick glasses over my once-good eyes,

and all that time bent over a notebook

left my back sore and hunched.

The room is nondescript,

white walls, pale bed sheets,

its walls bare and unoccupied,

everything in order and cold.

I was a ladies' man,

flirting was second nature,

but for all the loves I've had,

now I am alone.

I smile sweetly as I remember them,

of the nights we shared

wrapped up in each other,

whispering our plans for forever.

I watched them fall in love,

I watched them get married,

and I watched them have children,

while I watched myself grow old.

I remove my glasses and lie down,

the bed welcoming and unfamiliar.

I close my eyes for the last time,

and think of how lovely this place is.

-Zero

Cleopatra (poem)

I lost the love of my life.

It's a soothing thought at least,

to believe that it's over,

that that's my part in the story.

It removes the uncertainty,

so I no longer can wonder

if I'll ever love again.

No, this is certain.

I've already memorized my lines,

learned how to stare wistfully

off in the distance as if she was there,

made a playlist titled “one love”.

I've learned to keep pictures with me,

and return to places we'd been

to try and relive those precious moments,

write her name time and time again in my journal.

But I've fooled myself too many times

to fall for this sweet lie of mine.

As much as I want to believe,

it all feels empty.

-Zero

Inspired by "Cleopatra" by the Lumineers

How I do it (poem)

She asks me how I do it,

and I try to explain

how my mind is dangerously fictional,

wrapped in constant stories,

so much I get lost in them.

I try to explain that writing

is the only good use of them,

how since I can't escape,

I might as well tell them,

hoping that changing the characters saves me.

So rejoice that you are not so bad

that you write love stories

where they will never happen,

taking the slightest thing to mean so much,

when so often it is meaningless.

-Zero

I walk along the train tracks (poem)

I walk along the train tracks

after the first snowfall,

the white specks barely covering

the leaves blown by the passing train,

now held down, frozen in place,

on the rocks on the left and right,

to watch the train chug along.

-Zero

The Finale (part 2)

      My eyes open to the endearing crowd watching me from all around, their faces barely visible in the shadows. I try to move, to thank them for coming, but I'm bound to a chair, gagged just as Trisha had been.

      I hear footsteps on the wooden stage, approaching me with a confident saunter. I turn my head to face the source of the sound, my captor, to my right. But the face I see grinning maliciously back at me is my own.

      The figure claps slowly as he approaches. “Did you have your fun torturing her?” he asks without letting his smile drop. “Here in the theatre of your mind you've put on the show of your dreams, but now the dream ends and the nightmare begins.”

      He pulls the hunting knife out from behind his back, twisting it so it reflects the light onto my eyes. His intentions are made clear immediately, as if they really were my own. I try to break free, but I'm bound tighter than Trisha was. 

      My shadow chuckles at me and shakes his head as he steps around me, the knife gently brushing against my now frozen body. “Awe, what's wrong? Are you scared of what you've brought on yourself?”

      Another chuckle. Another shake of his head. 

      “All this time you thought you were exacting your revenge on her for what she did to you.” The tip of the blade twists into my right shoulder. But you were to blame all along. You beat her, yelled at her, and forbid her from talking with her friends. You tore her apart until her only hope for survival was to run.”

      He thrusts the blade deep into my shoulder. My blood pours from the wound as he pulls the knife back out, the serrated edges tug on the soft flesh as it comes out. I grunt in pain, unable to do anything else. 

      He puts a hand on my other shoulder and points at the audience with the knife.

      “In the end, we all must face our demons.” He tells me.

      The lights slowly raise on the audience, illuminating their faces. A thousand identical faces stare at us. And their faces are mine... But their eyes are gouged out, the hollow crevasses oozing black blood. Their mouths are sewn shut. Where their ears should be, only blood scabs remain.

      “See no evil. Speak no evil. Hear no evil.” He says as he pulls away and steps out in front of me. He spins around and motions to the crowd behind him. “These are the fragments of your humanity and this is what they've done to themselves to cope with what you've done. For every time you hit her, one of them gouged out their eyes. For every time you screamed at her, one of them slices their ears off. And for every time you begged for forgiveness and promised to change, but didn't, one of them sewn their mouth shut. They did this until there were none left.”

      He lunges forward and brushes the knife against my face. He slips it underneath the rag gagging me. “Now what do you say?” He pulls away, slicing the gag as he goes. 

      “I'm sorry!” I blurt out with all too familiar tears. “I can change! I promise! Just give me another chance!” 

      My shadow chuckles again and turns away from me. “You sit before the jury of your own soul! Don't be so foolish to think we'll believe your lies.” He spins around and twists the blade in his hand. “We are the voices in your head that cried for you to stop every time you raised your fist or your voice. We are your conscience. We are your guilt. You have condemned yourself to this fate. You cannot weasel your way out of this.” 

      “I swear I'll really change this time! I can be better!” I plead as he steps towards me, knife in hand. “Please... don't...” 

      My shadow spins around at my feet to face the audience, the thousand mutilated versions of myself. 

      “What say you to this wretch's pleas and promises? Shall I cut his bonds and let him return to the real world?” He calls out to the audience.

      Their sewn mouths rip open, blood spurting forward, followed shortly after by agonizing screams. They pierce my ears and fill me with the desire to rip my ears off in hopes of ending the sound. 

      My shadow lifts a hand and suddenly there's silence. He steps towards me and leans in. “That's the sound of every time Trisha yelled for you to stop, cried out for help, or screamed out in fear.” He whispers in my ear before pulling back again. “There was once a time when you could have changed things, but it is too late now. This is the end.” 

      He spins around to face the crowd. From his mouth come the words I had planned for after Trisha:

      “Ladies and gentlemen, this concludes our show! It would appear our protagonist here could not stave off the inevitable, judgment! Thank you for coming! I sincerely appreciate your participation in our show! Now let the curtain close and let us leave our protagonist to his fate!” 

      The thousand mutilated images of me clap furiously as the curtain comes down between my shadow and I. He looks back. As the curtain closes on me, shrouding me in eternal darkness, all I see is his grin, my grin, in knowing justice has been done.

-Zero

Dearly Departed (poem)

I dreamt about you last night.

In it, I picked you up, held you, kissed you.

I awoke in tears.

It's been over a year now,

and I still think of you, miss you.

I'm still sorry I wasn't there for you.

Our chapter is the masterpiece

I could never write, but if I could

I would rewrite it just to relive it.

I made my home in you,

in your unamused sarcastic glances,

in the warmth of your body on mine.

But you're gone now,

home has become half void,

and I don't know how to mend it.

So I close my eyes in the calm of night,

hoping yours is the face I see in my dreams,

so I can pretend you're not quite gone.

-Zero

Reality is the Void (poem)

Chasing dreams and illusions,

fantasy futures and hopes,

leads one into madness,

where reality is foreign.

So, in pursuit of sanity,

you shed those sweet illusions,

only to be left alone,

only to be left alone in the void.

Nothing was real,

nothing but isolation,

so the freeing truth

became the noose's knot.

-Zero

Astoria (poem)

(inspired by Marianas Trench's album "Astoria")

I gave into sickness,

into my own madness,

where you're always here,

as this love story goes.

Can you find forgiveness

for my weakness,

for letting the story rule,

and losing myself to it?

Can you forgive a dear old friend,

so my heart can mend,

recover from all the times it has broken,

and all the times it has broken another's?

So this story can end,

so this fiction can end,

so I can let love rest,

and give up on ever after.

I'll always adore you,

but this is overdue,

and I wish this was easy,

but this is goodbye.

-Zero

The Finale (part 1)

        Trisha used to always say that everyone's in the limelight at some point. She'd say how all the world's a stage, and at some point, every actor has a spotlight shine down on them.

        Maybe this was her way of keeping positive after years of being nothing but a background character. Everyone would notice if the coffee wasn't poured, but if you asked them to identify who did it, you'd see they'd have better luck playing Russian Roulette.

        I've decided to give Trisha what she's always wanted, what she's spent so much time working towards. It will be one great show, starring her, and it will be an unforgettable experience for any and all who witness it. So let's get the show started. Welcome to the finale.

        The curtains part, but the stage is shrouded in darkness. Only the faint outline of a person on a chair can be made out. Muffled sounds quietly make their way through the auditorium. The stage lights come on, illuminating the lone figure seated in the chair. 

        It's Trisha, but it's hard to tell. Thick ropes bind her around the stomach to the sturdy wooden chair. Her thick legs are tied together by her ankles, her once pale legs now one mass of blue, black, and red. Her long curled freshly dyed black hair hangs over her lowered, muffled head, strands stuck to her face from her tears, leaving black marks in their place. She's wearing a loose dandelion dress with thin straps, one falling off her shoulder onto her exposed arm, both of which painted white but the outlines of the scars are still visible.

She looks up at her endearing audience, her boring brown eyes wet with tears and terror. Silver shining duct tape covers the mouth she can never keep shut on her own. Those in the front rows can make out, just faintly, her thick lips attempting to move underneath. 

        I step out from backstage dressed in black with a smiling skull mask on my face. I walk past Trisha and face the audience, holding my arms out to them.

        “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the show of a lifetime! The woman seated behind me is called Trisha, and she is our protagonist tonight! Her goal, you ask? To fight off the inevitable, Death! Will she succeed? We will see! Enjoy!” I bow and step back into the shadows.

        The stage goes dark once more and two spotlights focus their light on Trisha. My hand, nothing but a shadow, rips the tape from her mouth.

        “Let me go, you psycho!” She immediately cries out, her voice reaching every audience member with ease. 

        “Now, now, let's not start calling each other names, Trisha. You know I am so much more than that.” I reply as I run my hand over her head and through her hair. She tries to pull away, but can't. 

        “What do you want?” She questions as she examines the darkness beyond. 

        “To put on an excellent show for these lovely people, of course. Haven't you always wanted to be the main character in a play?” I answer, resting one hand on her shoulder and using the other to motion at the audience.

        She squirms beneath my grip in an attempt to get free.

        “Oh you silly thing.” I chuckle as I tighten my grip on her shoulder and pull a hunting knife from behind me.

        The audience gasps in anticipation as the blade hits the light. Trisha's eyes widen and suddenly she's very submissive. She freezes in place and stares at the serrated edge. 

        “Please... It doesn't have to be like this...” She pleads weakly as I brush the blade against her face. “I'll do whatever you want...”

        “Don't you understand?” I growl as I pull the skull mask from my face. I take her hair in my hand and pull her head back. “You've already made your choice!”

        The audience gasps in shock and waits anxiously for something to happen. I let go of her hair and walk to the front of the stage. I look out at the audience.

        “Hark! This wrench sayeth she is sorry. What say you?” I call out in mockery before holding up the knife and spinning around. “Oh Trisha, precious, precious, Trisha. You didn't want to hurt me? How adorable. You left me to rot and salvage what little of myself I could. You locked me in my home, then lit it on fire so you could watch me burn. Oh Trisha, I didn't want to hurt you, but now I have to.”

        “No... no, you don't. Please just let me go and we can pretend this never happened...” She pleads between broken sobs of fear. 

        “Oh, but I couldn't do that now...” I inform her as a crooked smile breaks my face. “Look at our endearing audience, Trisha. What sort of performers would we be if we didn't finish the show? Come on, Trish. You're in the spotlight like you've always dreamed of being. You should be thanking me.”

        “No... Please... Not like this...” She mutters as I step over to her and place the knife's serrated edge on her neck. I slide it gently across as I walk behind her. 

        I press the knife hard against her neck and lean in. “Don't worry, Trish. I'll end this quickly.”

        I feel the flesh of her neck park beneath the sharp blade. It tugs against the pull of the serrated edge. Blood drips down, redyeing her dandelion dress a fresh blood orange. Her gasps for air are drowned out by the echoing laughter of the audience. I pull back away from her and look at the beautiful mess I've made. I shut my eyes. 

(to be continued...)

On Trump and his rhetoric (non-fiction)

For a long time now, Donald Trump has been the talk of the internet, from support to criticisms and so on. He has had such a profound impact on North America that even in Canada we find ourselves locked in political debates about the upcoming United States presidential election. I have avoided writing on the subject because to a certain extent, it was not our place as Canadians to say who the Americans should elect. But as it progresses, it increasingly becomes a concern of ours, so much so that political differences can threaten our personal relationships. 

I'll be honest, Trump scares me, and not necessarily because of his policies. He scares me because he seems to embody so well issues in our society that many of us have been fighting, sexism, racism, and so on. He speaks terribly of women and of minorities and people of color, and the fact that he's one of the presidential candidates signifies something even scarier: that people are willing to openly support this behaviour and way of thought. He talks about stopping ISIL and making America great again, but his methods seem to be counter-productive. 

Regardless of his political policies, Trump has a severe cultural impact on North America, and possibly the world. The National board of Education has described something they call the Trump effect that is being found across the country (link to an article here and also here). It's a sad thing to read, as even the children are finding themselves filled with fear and anxiety, those of color worrying about their safety and whether they'll be deported. 

His rhetoric of hate has a similar effect on adults, even here in Canada. I cannot count the times a Muslim friend of mine has had to post in defense of his faith in the wake of ISIL attacks, while Trump (who had just proposed a ban on Muslims entering the country) simply said something that equated to "I told you so." White supremacist groups have voiced their support for Trump, saying that he will be an opportunity for them (article on it here). It might be worthy to note that the specific group named in that article is the American Nazi party. 

On top of that, Trump has gotten a lot of attention for his talk about building a border wall between the United States and Mexico (which, as suggested by this video, might do little to combat the problem of illegal immigration).  But the specifics of the wall building are irrelevant. His rhetoric surrounding it often involves blaming Mexicans (and other groups of people of color, or of another faith such as Muslims) for problems that the United States is facing (article with quote and video from Trump here). 

But the truth is that many of those issues, from unemployment to drug abuse to economic crises, are made by Americans (and in Canada, made by Canadians). If we look at the 2008 economic crisis, we will see almost exclusively white men causing it. If we look at the structure of our society and the history of North America, we see that the people making the decisions as to how the countries will be formed and run have been almost exclusively white men. Blaming illegal aliens for issues like these is like blaming the unbelievably high poverty rate in the United States on the poor when there's a finite amount of money and most of it in the United States is concentrated in a slim amount of people (again, mostly white men), including Donald Trump himself. 

But even if we let that slide, what are we left with if we believe it? We start blaming others who are not like us for the issues in the society and, in turn, begin exhibiting xenophobia, and included in this is racism, sexism, and Islamophobia. North American society can no longer survive with these in place. Too many people know better now, and so, a rift would form, especially with the amount of people made out to be the enemy that are Americans. 

The reason I am writing this though is because this presidential campaign has spread and revived a great deal of hate and inspired a great deal of fear and anxiety. This includes even those who are against Trump, as frustrations at him and his followers sometimes turn into hate and outright aggression. But hate and fear are not the qualities our society needs. When we give into hate and fear, we destroy both ourselves and those we intend on destroying. It becomes easy for us to lose sight of what is truly important, what is truly worth fighting for, and instead lash out at others. 

And those of us who are not consumed by our fear and hate are left in a difficult position. It is times like these when it is so easy to lose faith and hope in humanity's goodness, in our own salvation. When we lose faith and hope, we give up on trying and accept the world as it appears to be, instead of daring to see it for what it could be and fighting to make that a reality. 

I have said this many times, albeit mostly to myself as a reminder, but we must strive to hold onto hope, to maintain faith, to be loving, and most of all, to have the courage it takes to act, to make a stand against injustice, and fight our own fears. We must have the love and the courage to be willing to sacrifice everything for the good of others. We can never be perfect, and we will fail from time to time, but we have to try...

Until next time,

-Zero

Clothed in Fallen Leaves (poem)

Clothed in fallen leaves,

cloaked in autumn darkness,

I stand on the river's rocky edge

as I did as a joyful child.

Like an assassin he approaches,

a bright florescent light splitting the dark sea,

but I keep my back to him,

his presence already making me sick.

“Why don't you turn to me, brother?

Afraid of what the light will reveal?

Let me be your new prophet,

my message hard but terrifyingly true.”

“Beware of false prophets,” I reply,

“wolves in sheep's clothing,

devils clothed in light,

know them by their fruit.”

“I am not here to destroy you,

just to show you the light,

so you can cast away these delusions

and accept the truth,” he claims.

I turn to face him,

his light pale and sickly,

artificial and cold,

as if the heat had been drained from it.

“See? Isn't it better?

I don't understand your constant defiance,

but I forgive you,” he says,

his arms outstretched to me.

“Tell me your prophesy then, brother.

I want to hear it,” I say,

feeling my life fading away,

being devoured by the wolf's jaws.

“You are a demon, a devil,

all that you touch will die,

so it is best to be alone,

and save others from yourself.”

He smiles as I step towards him

and wave my hand before his face.

His face ignites in orange-red flames, burns away,

revealing his true identity, me.

I turn and return to the river's shore.

“Your fruit consists of fear and doubt,

agony, misery, and hopelessness,

of helplessness against my demons.”

“You are a false prophet.”

-Zero

The Threat of Isolation (poem)

It's impending,

the darkness,

the silence,

the isolation.

Soon they come,

the whispers,

the voices,

the screams.

Can I save myself

from madness,

from sorrow,

from obsession?

I don't know...

-Zero

Drowning (poem)

I feel my heart-rate rising

as I wait for the fire alarm to stop.

It's nothing,

I know that.

Just some stray smoke,

some oversensitive system.

The people pour out,

a constant stream,

a babbling brook,

like the one at the park.

Just sit down,

close your eyes, breathe.

They swarm back in.

I follow,

sucked into the water.

Breathe,

keep your head up,

it's fine.

Just a coffee

and a bagel.

Easy order.

You got this.

Slow down,

breathe.

Don't spill it,

just stand,

wait.

Shouldn't be long.

Legs weak,

just a bit longer.

What sauce?

None,

give me it quick

while I stand.

Thanks,

now to retreat.

Table for four

alone.

Quiet,

empty.

Shaking,

can't breathe.

Underwater,

gasping for air,

can't move,

can't sit still,

can't breathe,

drowning.

-Zero