t u r i s a s

I've been listening to Turisas new album on repeat since its release several weeks ago; it's good metal for me, folksy and sultry and fun.

•
 
In wintertime, Josh and I saw the band in concert here in the city.

I was nervous beforehand.
I wore a flowered skirt and muddy colours: pea green, umber, black. I had fresh black hair and doc martens on and I wondered, fleetingly, if I looked too mean for the mainstream (contrary to the teenage me, who had perpetually scowled and used black to keep others at a distance). When we arrived, I peered cautiously around at the other girls in ripped jeans and band ts and safety pins and realized that I was a cupcake. It was an interesting moment; good things.

I was surprised by how much I'd enjoyed the show: the loud pounding drums and electricity of being bumped into by strangers. I had warmed up to the scene.

When the encore began, I was standing alone near the front corner of the stage; they were playing my favourite song, the one I'd been waiting for all night (ra,ra).

Suddenly, there was a hand on my shoulder from behind;  I was clasped by a piggy boy in a denim vest as he wrenched me out of his way and rushed the stage. He flung his pink arms around an amp as I felt awkwardness drip over me. The sight of his curtain of blonde hair thrashing as he tilted his head back to be hit full in the face by sound sickened me. I would have gladly moved, if he had only asked. 

There's no room for etiquette in places like that, I later learned. There's no room for people like me, polite and empathetic.

•

I'd rather look mean and be kind, than look nice and be terrible inside.

w o r d s

s l e e p

After reading The Outlaws of Sherwood at a young age, I became enamoured with the notion of sleeping outdoors and secret homes underneath the trees.  Robin and Marin in the woods in the dark, sharing pure, stolen moments amidst pervasive melancholy and dread: that's romance.

Forests are for lovers.

h a i l

Another summer has risen up and quietly faded; when I think of my experience, my personal ability to say that I've seen twenty-four summers pass, I feel strange. The number seems so small, too small to be able to say that I know how a summer is and what to expect from one. Saying, I've eaten at a restaurant twenty-four times, or that I've read a book just as many times is different; those are numbers that I can willfully expand, infinitely build upon. But summer...whose passing I wait for with bated breath, and who only recently I've grown to tolerate, even appreciate...

You can only collect so many summers before they're gone.

t r i o

Relics from an old, old time.

Long ago, my younger cousin and I spent an afternoon drawing caricatures while her sister and friend watched the original Pet Cemetery in the next room. Even though I was the eldest of us, I chickened out of watching right around the introduction of Zelda, the evil sister with meningitis; I excused myself, hid in my cousin's bedroom and together we whipped up page after page of drawings. She had a stack of templates which we traced over (while I attempted to erase the horrific things that I had just witnessed from my mind). Here are a few which I found this past week in a folder of old art: the golden trio, Ron, Hermione and Harry.

*

Love you Jes & Shelbey.

p o i n t s . a n d . d a s h e s

a r r o w s

Ladies in armour, battle ready. I'm fascinated by the shapes and concepts of protection and bravery, of courage and strength.

*

Ink on paper. 

p i n

Buttons are awesome for many reasons: they're small and shiny, let you show off your interests and quirks, they jazz up an outfit or bag and they're super accessible.

*

Two handsome heroes: Kirk and Peter.

 

n o t h i n g

 Blood by The Middle East - recently on repeat.

This song breaks my heart in a good way.

*

I need to, try to, remind myself to step away from worrying about things that I can't physically affect. If there's nothing that I can do about it at that moment, any energy expended in relation to it is wasted; channel thoughts and choices into positive directions, not against metaphorical brick walls.

*

In times of personal crisis, I've been attempting to remember past situations which causes me severe stress or anxiety; I visualize the all-consuming nature of those problems at the time and then compare it to their lack of relativity to my current life. Remember: today's disaster is tomorrow's non-issue.

l a k e . s i d e

This past weekend, I was fortunate to spend some time in St. Catherines; Josh and I snuck away and went for a quick walk along the shore, and while it wasn't technically a sea, it was lovely being by the water. It was a gorgeous day, all blazing sunshine and soft breeze and in a perfect, quiet moment,  I felt a million times removed from ordinary life.

n i g h t . d r i v e