I'm going to cut a hole in my chest.
I'm going to make an ink with the blood.
I'm going to write you a letter of love.
And I'll thank you for all that you've done.


I have a plan. I'm going to finish this year of art school and apply to the design program. I'm not sure I'll get in. I'm already buckling and it'll only get worse next year. But I'll try because this is what I want. New York. Europe. This is my way there.

1. I applied to an art centre in Banff. If I get in, I'll move there for the summer. I miss working with audio. If I get in there, and get into design, this is the best case scenario. Everything I want.

2. If I get to go to Banff but don't make it to design, then I'll keep working with audio and make it my priority.

2a. I want to go to Banff so bad. But I might not get in. If I don't get in, I have to get a job here in Calgary. And then in August I'll go to Europe and see everything I've been dying to see. Get back in time to start year two of design bachelor degree.

3. Then there is the worst case, whereupon I don't get accepted for Banff or design. This is where several back up plans come into play. I'm going to apply to the reserves, whether I'm accepted or not. In the event I'm not accepted I might go for full time in the Army.

3a. In the event the army thing doesn't work out, and I've failed to achieve any sort of purpose, I'm moving back to Vancouver. I'm going to get a job at the PNE for Fright Nights and make the boy I worked with there before fall in love with me.


I've backed up my back up plans as far as I think I can go. I'm less concerned about things like money now, and more about finding love or something. I don't know how or why it happened. My love for money is fading into a desire for something human. I'm sickened by it. It's too natural and unbecoming. I just want to be an animal. In a way, I truly am now. As I hunt for a mate and try to avoid the unrelenting jaws of the predator within myself. The world could never be as cruel or terrifying to me as the darkness of my own mind.

I feel an aching in my heart for something more than what I have.
Maybe more friends. A companion. A soul.
I feel nothing that I wanted.
But art keeps me here. I feel alive when I hear music.
Jazz, classical. Corny country songs and old school rap.
I can feel the pores of my skin open up to soak it in.
I can feel it inside when I think of what I love. The deep sea, the deep sky.
I've learned about the true meaning of platonic love in art history.
It's beautiful and we've been using it wrong for years.
I await him, Bacchus, to find my abandoned self on an all forgotten shoreline.
I'm going to be full again. I'm going to encounter those resplendent structures from the inside.
I will touch the walls underneath the hands of the architect.
And I will build myself into something new and strong.
I will live on for centuries and I will endure this storm.

Realizing that all of your life has culminated up to this point.
I am at the end of my rope.
This candle burned at both its ends. The wax then burned my tethered hand.
No time for what I want. I am bound to a behavior that I have chained myself to.
Learning to see art. To make it, but not feel it.
I try to feel but it hurts.
It aches to want them.
It's incessant and it yearns.
I'm trying to fill an empty space within myself.
But I'm throwing pebbles into a black hole.
I couldn't say what I needed to and now it's much too late.
The next one won't get away.
I will someday claw at the feet of a man who could bring me back to life.
I am twenty one, I am dead and I have nothing to barter with.
But I can sacrifice my old self to a higher power in a bottomless pit.
I will chant the name of the omnipotent beast and I will be made whole, and beautiful.
I will be queen, and I will reign.