An ode to long hair

I once audited an English class at Dalhousie where the poet-teacher explained what an ode was. I don't really remember the definition, but who needs those anyway? Not on my blog.
---
Long hair, I miss thee
Why must you have been so cruelly cut away not by the greed, but by the need for
Recognition among those who so lovingly wanted thee to be someone shorter indeed

I miss your ends split among thieves, the girls who couldn't resist the urge to electrify
The ones who decrepify my fear of being too close, too near to the touch of another soul
And so why must I wait, so patiently and yet so carelessly, and yet...

You once represented my jealousy that I could perceive with too much clarity
I cut you off by the pressures of others who couldn't resist the urge to taunt me

We could have been together forever
You ruined it now
I hope you sleep and I know you've dreamt it
And when the memories bring back the emotional flood
Remember this:
This too, will pass.
---
Who knew my hair could have so much character?

An inventory of being right before insanity.

Unit 1 Lesson 5

Part A)

I am Gabriel.

I am 19 years old; never feel like I’m in the mould.

I live my life as simply as I can, but I can’t stay simple in this complex world.

I like computers; it’s a little too much sometimes, makes me feel like a robot.

I like a variety of foods, but the delicious scent of curry is what makes my mouth water.

My identity is in shambles, maybe that’s because my family is a little lost too.

I hope for better days to come ahead; fitting in with people just as lost as I am.

I try to listen to my own ideas, but too often they become clouded with others’.

I’m scared of losing myself in the big rat race.

As if I could ever find my way out of this maze; this life.

I’ve stopped watching TV, the shows can’t make me believe what I see.

Can’t handwrite too well, all topsy-turvy and mixed with crude capitals.

I don’t believe in God, but I do believe that the universe supports me.

Once I believed in free love, and grew my hair just like the hippies.

Cut my hair off, gave it to charity, made a cancer victim somewhere out there pretty happy.

Sometimes my brain gets ahead of me; can’t quite say out loud what I mean to say.

I’m sickened by the consumerist lifestyle; wish I could escape from this ailing society.

All these celebrities being praised for what they do.

When really I’m my own celebrity, consciously deciding what’s best for me and sometimes the people around me.

I avoid passing quick judgements about others, scared that they’ll do the same to me.

I might live off ramen noodles, but I try and stick to the fruits and veggies.

After all, being healthy is what life is all about.

If you can’t be healthy, you can’t function to your best ability in society.

At least that’s what my mother told me.

I am Gabriel, and this is 2010.

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I never finished my correspondence english course.

I thought it was stupid.

And it is.

Oh, and the 6th line from the bottom is almost wholly inaccurate for the sake of healthiness. Maybe it explains the title of this blog post.

Dear valentine

Dear blog,

What are you if not my valentine for the day? What am I to do, if not to propose to you that you be my valentine?

At the rocks at the Ravine this morning, I tried to find, but especially see something that might give me a meaning for today. It would have been nice to ask one of them to be my valentine, but the reciprocation wouldn't have been there, as they see so many people, teenager loiterers and dog walker extraordinaires; I don't think I could have stood out nearly as much as I think I should at a place like that.

Where am I to go to express my valentine's love on days where the formal worlds that I once used to go to are no longer there, too busy being taken up by new, uncanny visitors, some who, like me, tend to linger in places where they might find a glimmer of connection, a spark of faith in having people to share idea(l)s with.

Maybe commas and me should elope somewhere, they might give me better room to breathe.

Until then, won't someone adopt me and my hidden valentine? I can cook, clean (within limits), and entertain. Oh, and I'm pretty good at a variety of games, especially the video kind, and I like to learn about anything that has potential. Even philosophy. I couldn't be bothered to knit nor go alpine skiing, though.

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The truths of snow white sorrow

(((Edit: This is free writing, segment the second, but with a title)))

Dreams and the aspirations of things that float by/
I wish I had more craftily ideas of words to pick from I sometimes want to not go back in time but relive the moments of schooling in the past that I could have possibly excelled @/
had I been more trusting of the world that I find myself breathing in

And if my communicative writing style how does it happen that anticipating of beings in things in themselves continue to find ways to stop to not stop the flow of things; it's like trying to be something that isn't transcripted from my screened mind onto paper

I hate how giberjabberish is perceived as being flawed even by my self conscious perception of what is there to cee


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