My life; in boxes.

So here I am at 1 am. Tomorrow is my last day in St. John's. I'm about to embark on a great journey and leave alot of people/things (and cats) that I love behind. This is the first place I really considered my home since I graduated high school. This is the first place in six years that I lived in for more than four months. I settled in in this house, it really feels like home. For the first time I felt like I was home.

That being said, I was really sick of moving. I moved eight times in one year before I moved in here. When I was younger I never wanted to settle down. But here I am at the age of twenty four wanting nothing more in my life. I'm sick of saying goodbye, really really sick of it. I'm sick of "getting on my feet" time after time. I'm sick of adjusting. I want a nice home. A nice boy to live in that nice home with. A nice cat to raise and call my own. And a set of friends that I can keep.

It's hard to leave the first place you've considered home. That includes my house, my roommates, the pets, my friends, the city, the pavement under my feet when I walk, the backstep where I smoke all my cigarettes and contemplate, even the fucking ceaseless rain. That includes the bad times and the hate and the backyard barbeques with a thousand beer. It includes the holes in the back step and the slant to the floor. It includes surprise visits from best friends, people (and dogs) crashing on our couches, catching the same shows every week with my roommate. It includes people who forgive me, people who don't judge me, and people who have my back time and time again.

So here I am at 1 am with my life slowly being put into boxes (and actually most of it in bags to throw or give away) and here I am wondering why the fuck I have to go. And who I can convince to come with me when I leave. Because yes. Like I've heard, you make new friends. But the ones I have now mean the world to me and I really don't want to say goodbye to that. I mean who else is going to not only come to my bacon leaving party, but make tons of tasty bacon treats? Who is going to deal with my lewd and brunt attitude? And love me for it.

Alas, the packing must continue. I have alot of faces to say goodbye to tomorrow. Sad.

I should be asleep, I have to work tomorrow. But alas, contrary to what How I Met your Mother says all good things happen after 2 am. It is when people are most introspective.

Once upon a time I was torn between the dichotomy of the Dionysian and Apollonian. Dionysus is of course the god of intoxication, ecstasy, partying. The god of pure sensual pleasure. Apollo in Greek mythology is the god of the Sun, music and poetry. They are the sons of Zeus. In philosphy they represent the ultimate dichotomy. Sensual pleasures versus intelligence. With the Dionysian you forget yourself and become one with your senses and the earth like a wild animal. With the Apollonian you are conceptual, you enjoy higher pleasures, you are learned. In all of philosophy and all of time there has been this dichotomy. And in all of my life I have felt it.

My art has dealt with this alot. This is something I felt alot in art school in particular. My life has been a fight between the two, whether my art would focus on pure expression on canvas or intricately thought out concepts. I could never seem to balance both, and it was a focus of mine to attempt it. And part of attempting it was dealing with the issue itself. I once had a professor that told me she could see this in me, and felt that once I found the perfect balance my art would take off and it would be a very exciting moment.

My life has been like this as well. Trying to decide whether to drink or to read and make art. To overeat or overthink. To run off and be a bohemian who has no care in the world or to go to end up one of those people with their nose up in art galleries talking about symbolism. I love both. I've always been trying to balance.

Now here I am. After I finished my degree I found it harder to identify with the Apollonian in me. Particularly when most of my friends are beginning to do the same. Suddenly all I care about is smoking cigarettes and eating delicious food. And I make it a joke how obsessed I am with these things. It is a running joke that I would wrap anything in bacon and eat it, and that I'm an alcoholic, and I cannot live without a cigarette. But joking is how I deal with the sad fact that the Dionysian is taking over, and not even in the best way. But a weak way. A way of coping out of the Apollonian more than anything.

I think part of my moving to Ontario is trying to recapture the Apollonian in me. To have time to make art and read. To meet people who are intellectual that I can have stimulating conversations with (not that I don't or can't with my friends here, but I feel why would I try to converse about intelligent things when I can crack jokes about how much I love bacon). I guess this is part of this growing up thing I promised myself to do when I decided to move away. It's time.

Alas, as an expression of my Dionysian side, that I am trying to control, here is a comic expressing my love of cigarettes (an ultimate stupid sensual addiction that I can't seem to kick). I was nominated in The Scopes comic contest for this. I drew it myself. Enjoy.

My friends in watercolor.

Here's a little bit about my life I spose. I live in St. John's, Newfoundland but I'm about to peace out and move to Ontario forever. My friends out here are pretty chill (most of the time). Here is a drawing I made for my friend Patrick for his birthday, this will exemplify what my friends are like.These are my friends:

So we have burnouts, smokers, alcoholics, bacon lovers, coffee lovers, cat lovers, musicians, gamers, artists etc. etc. I loves them all I do (I love people alot is one thing about me) even if I have phases where I could choke half of them. But when it really comes down to it I'm going to miss my b'ys alot. They're the only people who get me.

So this isn't a very introspective post, moreso to give you an idea of what my friends are like in art form and to give you an idea of what my art is like.

Alternative to the book of my life.

Recently I've been thinking alot about writing a book about my life. This is because so many people have been telling me I should. Not that my life is particularly intense, but there's been a stream of exciting events over the last five years. After reading the Tao of Pooh (check it out, fantastic book) my friends and I picked out which of us would be which Winnie the Pooh characters. My friend always trying to be clever and witty was Rabbit. My friend trying to be wise and intellectual was Owl. My nervous friend was Piglet and my friend who was very go with the flow and laid back was Winnie the Pooh. It came to me and none of us could figure out who I would be. I contained strong characteristics of each, excluding maybe Piglet. At least it was figured out. I was Christopher Robin. Why? Because everything everyone wanted to do has done or has thought about doing I've done it and could inform them on how it's done and what it's like. That's me. I've tried a little bit of everything. Good and bad. Mostly bad.

So why am I not writing a book about my life? First off, here is how the book was going to start:

                I always say that when I tell my life story it has to be while smoking cigarettes over either a cup of coffee or a beer, depending on the company and the time of day. But instead this is over text, which to me takes away all of the physical expressions and cues and the laughter or sadness shared between two people. So despite that, I hope you are sitting here reading this while smoking a cigarette or drinking a cup of coffee or a beer (wine, tea and spiced rum are also acceptable).

I began writing and I realized something. The story of my life could not be told in one solid piece of text alone. It is best told in a conversation, as I often do, with one or many of my friends. Some of my friends have heard it multiple times on repeat. And the best I can do to really capture that is a blog. The thoughts on the day relating to things on my mind, it's the closest thing to conversation I can get to text without having a respondent. So here I am. Expressing my life. In text. To you. I hope you enjoy. 

So I guess the next question you ask is: Why is my life so interesting anyways? I guess you'll have to wait and see. It has alot to do with promiscuity, drugs, vices, complete and total lack of morals (and sometimes the denial of that fact) and a hell of a lot of love. Because if there's one fact of my life is that I love people easily, and hard. Friends included. 

So I hope you read this over your morning coffee. I'll be writing it over my morning coffee. Or right now a stiff drink at 2 am after all my friends have gone to bed. 

Oh by the way I like to think of myself as (somewhat) of an artist. I do have a Visual Arts degree. So on occaision I will splice in some drawings and comics for your viewing pleasure.