"Imagine living with the compulsive need to scrawl away constantly, scribbling on notebooks, napkins, walls, even skin." Globe and Mail writer CHANTAL MARTINEAU explores hypergraphia, what has driven so many to create. This hits almost a little too close to home. Why does everything have to be a disease these days?

I am in an unusually optimistic mood today.

Today is the first day of reading break. Last night three friends and I smoked joints, picked up take-out Greek food and played gin rummy (my best game of crib ever was last night: 210 points!) and hangman into the semi-wee hours of the night. I got to spend a lot of time talking incessently with someone who I wish I were closer to, as we seem to have an infinite number of thoughts and ideas held in common, but because of certain circumstances it isn't so, (yet). Last night was refreshing and the first time in a few weeks that I haven't felt guilty for smoking pot and just enjoying myself.

I couldn't shut up for a second last night and, as my mind reeled faster than the flapping wings of hummingbirds (like the wings of a hummingbird, my thoughts must move quickly in order to support my complex, fragile mind). I was spewing out thoughts like bullets and had everyone laughing so that their bodies were folding over andthe twinkles in their eyes were as bright as sparks. I can't decide what they were laughing at, and I am quite insecure about it. Is it my tendency to follow every thought down any road? My obscure ideas and strange conclusions? my inability to hold back narratives? Or is it that I am the laughing-stock of everyone I know? I know, I'm a wee bit paranoid. Maybe it was just the drugs.

This morning Lindsay and I woke up at 7:30 to a windy, partly sunny skies kind of day- a blustery, warm one. We walked to James Bay. We had a long, long, leisurely breakfast at Cuppa Joe's, with our usual entertaining server, tall-mystery-hat-guy. We had wonderful, complicated, dark, inspiring, humourous, lively, animated, all-over-the place typical marg-and-lindsay conversations (conversational bliss). We drank so much coffee that we, literally, bounced out into the sunshine.

We then discussed at great length all of the virtues of living in James Bay: cuppa joe's, character houses, great book shop slash coffee shop, small streets, small town feel, its right by the ocean, by the breakwater, by Beacon Hill Park, close to downtown and surrounded completely by ocean and park. From the main street, Menzies, there is a view of the awesomely majestic Parliment buildings (not techniquely parliment buildings, but Victoria is the capital of BC and they are quite impressive.) The view in the other direction is of the Pacific ocean and the Olympic mountains in Washington. The only place not close by is campus, which means a long walk to a bus downtown, two bus trips, or a long morning bike ride. But I must go to school (or, I should) and although it is not necessary for me to live in James Bay, I know that if I do live there I will find a way to make it to school and maybe will be happier to boot. Today, Lindsay and I decided that we will look for an apartment in James Bay for the summer and next year.

What made me most happy today was seeing Lindsay feel genuinely happy. Her smile has healing powers.

We bought a very rare, first edition, hardcover book, as a special gift for an undisclosed recipient, at the book shop. (We think that we may have to get a divorce when we "split" from both Victoria and each other (neither forever). We have already made two co-purchases (a rare book and a fabulous chair) and we haven't even moved in together yet.) We watched the clouds move over the mountains ("wow, today the mountains look just like dessert...I need a very large spoon"), discussed the virtues of Island life, and made plans to rent a car for a get-the-hell-out-of-the-city roadtrip up-island this friday. I spent the rest of the afternoon drinking tea at my favorite coffee shop and browsing books at Chapters.

Chapters thoroughly disturbs me. I won't go into great length, but will maybe just say: doesn't something seem incredibly off/wrong about a book store with an entire section devoted to why Starbucks is bad, which boasts Starbucks coffee at almost every single location? I had a gift certificate, which I spent indulgently on a dream interpretation book. (in James bay, along with the gift, I got a book on Nightmare therepy and a Nutritional Healing reference book.)

One other thing: I love the smell of fresh mail. It smells like ink, paper and fresh air. I only wish that yellow envelope today had been for me. Letter writing really is a lost art.

"how i long to be perfect when you look at me" Why do I Lie? Luscious Jackson

I don't want to be perfect in anyone's eyes. I don't want someone "perfect," either. Perfection isn't real, its an illusion. i want the real thing.

I am looking at a print of a pen and ink on the wall of the computer lab. It is a red and blue design, beautiful in its whole, made up of hundreds of large dots. The dots are just so large so that you can't ignore that they are what makes up the image. As much as I would like to walk to the other side of the room and view the image as a blended whole, solid circles and white spaces becoming light red and blue wash colored patterns, I can't help but enjoy and appreciate seeing all of the parts work together. From far away, the image is whole and perfect. Up close, the dots are impossible to ignore. Also difficult to ignore is the fact that without every single dot, red or blue, the composition would not be whole.

What am i trying to say? All of our beauties, flaws, imperfections, charms, etc., are crucial to our whole composition, just as all of the parts of a picture are crucial to it's composition. Perfection can only be achieved when something is viewed from far away. Up close, the image falls apart, but all of the pieces become clear. Getting close, finding every flaw and detail, is the only way to know something, and someone. I think flaws are beautiful and extraordinary, especially when balanced so beautifully with all of the other elements of character, of personality, of self. As in painting, in art, balance is key to a beautiful composition.

On a Whim - Ron Sexsmith

at times I’m saddled by this nagging doubt
and the light so dim through this confusion
my heart goes travelling
on a whim

it’s a cold and rainy day
but it feels so right
to be out on a limb
it’s where I go when
my hopes unravelling
on a whim

and I find myself
in the middle of something
when I thought I was going
nowhere fast
this is how it all begins
must be the place
where my faith comes in
on a whim

at times I’m saddled by this nagging doubt
though the odds are so slim
I take my chances
my heart goes travelling
on a whim

I can’t expect my mind
to understand
something I see in him
I can’t explain why
my heart goes following
on a whim

at time I’m saddled
by this nagging doubt

I need to make some changes. pls pardon the mess.

I don't want to leave the house, again. I don't want to stay in the house either. I only want to be alone, completely undisturbed, somewhere serene and calm. I would go to the beach, if I felt I could face the sun. How has this come over me again? I thought that I had beat it away, like dust from a rug. But again, dust gathers. My mind is falling into shadow, again. The days are stretching out, again. I am lonely, again. Maybe it is just a bad couple of weeks...and it will pass...

I have a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach, again. I know that what I am missing is irretrievable, which pushes all hope into a lump deep down in my belly. Tap me on the shoulder and i'll cry. Tell me the world is going to end and i'll just stare blankly. I've been subverted, turned inside out, blood and muscle tumbling away... I dreamed of the end of the world again. Why does this keep happening?

A friend of mine said to me the other day that many people have given her reasons to keep living, and she said that I gave her the best one she has ever heard. I told her that, if anything, she must stay alive if only to find out what will happen. Where hope is lacking, curiosity can act as a substitute.

"Who's to say where the wind will take you/Who's to know what it is will break you/I don't know which way the wind will blow/Who's to know when the time has come around/Don't wanna see you cry/I know that this is not goodbye/In summer I can taste the salt in the sea/There's a kite blowing out of control on a breeze/I wonder what's gonna happen to you/You wonder what has happened to me" -U2 'kite'

The Walkmen: five upper class white guys from New York singing hard, heavily influenced, passionate rock.

I went downtown to Lucky last night to see The Walkmen and The Decemberists. I went by myself, which had its good and bad points. What was bad was that I felt a bit alcoholic drinking beer after beer by myself and I almost fell asleep a few times between sets because there was no one to keep me stimulated. The best thing about going alone was that I didn't have to have obligatory chats with anyone, I could stay as long as I wanted without worrying that someone wasn't having a good time and I could leave whenever I wanted without having to track someone down to let them know.

I was disappointed and for some reason surprised, being in a new city, to not see the usual bandies who go to these sorts of live shows at home. The cliquishness of the nerd-glam crowd drove me out of my mind, although I highly prefer that crowd to the Wassabi neohippies or the downtown bar stars usually found lurking in Victoria. I would have loved to have had a conversation with someone about the music, but it seemed that because my hair wasn't black or gelled, I wasn't wearing thick rimmed glasses or dressed like a raggady ann doll, no one had any interest in me.

I showed up at 10:30, having been held up by a bottle of wine, cigarettes and stargazing, which turned out to be just at the end of the first band's set and gave me just enough time to get a beer and park myself near the front. The Decemberists, a band from Portland Oregon, were pretty damn good. Their set was short, which was also good because I was tired and didn't want to miss The Walkmen. Between sets, nostalgic for a Haligonian crowd, I ordered myself a Keiths and parked myself mid-centre.

The Walkmen kicked serious ass. It was the best show I have seen in quite some time. The lead singer, Hamilton Leithauser, was belting it out so hard that i thought the veins in his neck might explode. It was fucking awesome. They played two of their sweetest songs "We've Been Had" and "The Rat," which made me feel all warma and poetic and happy. Unfortunately the sound was bit messed up and the arrogant, unable-to-crack-a-smile (although incredibly talented and stylish) Leithauser seemed pissed off and kept making condescending sounding remarks about Canada. The crowd sort of sucked considering how hard the band was rocking out, and the band was seriously fucking rocking considering how unenthusiastic the crowd was. I should have told them to try to make it to Halifax because people there would be moshing, crowd surfing and hollering like crazy to the same show.

I had to leave a bit early, but vowed to order a Walkmen album from Amazon (the merch guys had problems at the border and had no albums there). I bought a pin for $1, which pleased me because you can't get much for a dollar these days...


The Decemberists

I wrote a poem today and I think it is good. I am suddenly, for a moment, filled with an intensely sharp joy. This is what it is to be happy. I will post a draft soon.

Never have I wanted to forget a single detail of any dream I've had. Never, until this morning, because last night I dreamed of hell. I honestly woke up with the sickest feeling in the depths of my belly and the lasting impressions of the wasteland I visited singed into my mind.

I dreamed that the place I love more than anywhere in the world had become my own personal hell. My island paradise, untouched by the outside world, filled to the brim with love, pleasure and comfort was pulled apart by the hands of savages. Christian savages, monsters in the guise of charity, tore at my heart until all of my furies burst through my viens.

I've never felt so strong a vengence in all of my waking or dreaming life, because in this place and time what and who I loved more than anything, more than myself, more than life, were threatened and I was willing to do anything to save even a trace of it.

These circumstances were not arbitrary, but arose out of consequence. Someone very close and dear to me accidently and unknowingly opened the gates of this place to unleash hate and fiends so strong that they could simultaneously bring out and oppress every last shard of my moral courage. But, I could do nothing.

Joni Mitchell - All I Want

I am on a lonely road and i am traveling
Traveling, traveling, traveling
Looking for something, what can it be
Oh i hate you some, i hate you some
I love you some
Oh i love you when i forget about me
I want to be strong i want to laugh along
I want to belong to the living
Alive, alive, i want to get up and jive
I want to wreck my stockings in some juke box dive
Do you want - do you want - do you want
To dance with me baby
Do you want to take a chance
On maybe finding some sweet romance with me baby
Well, come on

All i really really want our love to do
Is to bring out the best in me and in you too
All i really really want our love to do
Is to bring out the best in me and in you
I want to talk to you, i want to shampoo you
I want to renew you again and again
Applause, applause - life is our cause
When i think of your kisses
My mind see-saws
Do you see - do you see - do you see
How you hurt me baby
So i hurt you too
Then we both get so blue

I am on a lonely road and i am traveling
Looking for the key to set me free
Oh the jealousy, the greed is the unraveling
It's the unraveling
And it undoes all the joy that could be
I want to have fun, i want to shine like the sun
I want to be the one that you want to see
I want to knit you a sweater
Want to write you a love letter
I want to make you feel better
I want to make you feel free
Hmm, hmm, hmm, hmm,
Want to make you feel free
I want to make you feel free

do you ever find yourself reaching for someone who isn't there? I don't mean someone far away or in the past, but someone who you don't actually know. On nights, like tonight, when I am feeling very low and very alone sometimes an image will form in my head of exactly the person who would be able to comfort me, the person who can understand me or allow me to be misunderstood. I realize that I do have friends who can be there for me in that way, but in these times I am not thinking of them. I am thinking of someone so specific, so clear that I can almost hear their voice, that they cannot possibly not be real. Then the crash comes when I realize that they don't exist, or at least I haven't met them-I am surprised every time. Where does this image come from? Tonight, I wonder, is this actually someone inside of me? if so, it explains why the voice has been there as long as I can remember. Is this voice coming from the depths of me to bring comfort? I don't know...but, I long for the voice to materialize into a body.