finding inspiration

Recently I've been working on some poetry that has seemingly arrived out of nowhere, landing on the tips of my tongue and fingers. I am no poet-extraordinaire, but it has been refreshing to explore this approach to creative writing again. There have been times when I have forced myself to attempt poetry, and it's been so contrived and banal that I would never imagine letting eyes see the short pages of journal space it occupies - yet it is an attempt, and I find solace in that notion.

Some recent poetry has been influenced by moments when the ear catches something that sends it on a journey. The sound of a singer that brings up connotations that connect to memories that connect to a general aesthetic wrapped around said sound/voice/accent. The sound of a foreign language that invites the "what-if" dreams of immersion in another culture, and what one's story would look like in another life. The sound of the divine incarnating these sounds, and joining them at once to each other as a portrait of humanness, and courting that portrait with the intent of marrying the human to the divine. It may sound all abstract and aery-faery, but it is a dance of theology that I have sorely missed for a long time.

These poems that I am writing are pregnant with desire - desire for a kingdom that embraces, renews, and recreates human desire. This is as unabashed as my writing has been. It is new, and it is fascinating.

cabin fever

Thursday: The first couple of coughs at night

Friday: Coughs, sore throat, run through a pack of halls in three hours, crash when I get home.

Saturday: Bed-ridden (missing the pub night celebration for my friend Greg who just got engaged). To say I had the symptoms of utter misery would be an understatement

Sunday: Bed-ridden with a few brief forays to the living room to watch TV. I am caught up on FlashForward (a decent show, but it has nothing on LOST).

Monday: Finally realize that my symptoms match the dreaded piggy flu. Spend part of the day watching TV (I hate it). The other part trying to sleep it off. The house is empty and the extrovert in me wants to hang out with someone

Tuesday: House is empty, I'm more alert but get a ton of cold sweats. Sleep a bit, but otherwise am stir-crazy and wanting to hang out with someone.

Wednesday: House is empty, feel alert and back to normal self (minus the cough - which I'm told will be around for a while). The extrovert in me is going insane. I want to hang out with people, but fear I'm a liability. I can't phone or email someone asking them to come over. Self-quarantine sucks.

Seven days (the lifespan of this possible illness) and I'm ready to return to the real world. Ontario Health says I shouldn't be contagious anymore. I feel physically fine now, but man is my mental/social well being at a loss.

Why You Should Listen To The Swell Season

This wasn't even the best song of the night. But bloody brilliant it still is.

Now this... this was the best part of the concert. Standing ovation mid-concert.

And another one for you...

The Strictest of Joys

I'm closing out the final hours of the weekend listening to the new Swell Season EP "Strict Joy" in preparation for the concert Tuesday night. It's aptly titled to say the least. It's a really enjoyable listen, and probably the best break up album I've heard. Too bad I'm not in the mood for a break up album. This guy wants a heart-laid-out-on-the-guitar-strings-and-piano-keys album full of simple joys like enjoying love, or at least the hard earned joys that come with working love out. Man this is one of the best albums I don't want to listen to right now.

And this is not what I really want to be posting about at this juncture. I had a great weekend at a camp reunion - with the best costume I've ever created - and am still thinking about everything I learned/heard/experienced there. Funny, I feel like one of the best ways to describe the weekend is "strict joy," but that delves into a greater story that will no doubt be explored on here and involves, of all things, international intrigue.

Peace,

a few more hours

a few more hours - one of the reasons i write poetry, short stories, and the odd song. upper-case songwriting in a lower-case teenage-angst-kind-of-way. once fronted by one andrew foote, and accompanied by a few friends (one brandon dodds here), afmh was borne of brantford, ontario, creativity, a shared north park collegiate experience, and penchant for big-world observations on small-town happenings. afmh's one and only release is hard to find, but a gem to those who have a copy, and the epitome of high school lo-fi. davey von stone's first public perfomance, a duet cover of travis' "the humpty dumpty love song" at the age of eighteen, would have never come to fruition had it not been for the spearheading of foote. that was over seven years ago, and to this day i still think afmh's "on about" is one of the best songs i have ever heard.

who says you need to make a buck on creative output? output for output's sake is what an eighteen year old afmh might have said.

"i wanna buy you an electric guitar / we could both be rockstars"

oh how i love finding old music that brings me right back to the creatively fertile days of high school.