The Sad Clown

My relationship with this blog has turned into an old friend that you still care for but has drifted away. I mean, I just celebrated my friends birthday and realized we've been friends for twenty some odd years now. But still, we don't see each other often. The need is not there. That's not necessarily a bad thing. It's the way with old friends that sometimes you don't see each other often-but when it counts they are there. And this blog expects nothing from me. I heave the guilt upon myself for not writing in it as often as I once did. But if you check the timeline, it's been almost eight years since I originally created this website. Over those eight years it's been an up and down relationship.

I still write, mostly in a notebook. Mostly in my head. I say "mostly in my head" because the poetry of life still flows through me. But doesn't necessarily find itself on paper. Life is busy. It elbows it's way into our creativity and forces us into ultimatums. I call it the "poetry of life" because it's a feeling within myself that can only be described if you can describe the complexities of life. Which I doubt anyone can. But those mysterious moments where I want to cry and then laugh because of the beauty of such an emotion..Am I rambling? Tears can be powerful modes of communication within ourselves. Probably that moment where the walls come down and we've stopped protecting our ego with blind defiance.

I remember as a child crying and ignoring any comfort of words. I wanted to cry. It was something that needed to be let into the air. As a human I have very little power in the grand scheme of things. This is especially vivid as a child requiring the assistance and love of those that may or may not give. But I wanted to scream and ignore the warmth. That was power. The power to scream into the sky and swing my fists at objects that wouldn't give way. Nowadays I don't have the luxury of feeling overwhelmed with emotion as much. So I appreciate the tears when they do come. Mostly smiling as they slowly release themselves from my hard head. This protective wall I've built up. To smile and cry is a rather confusing scenario for some.

It reminds me of a line from Jay Electronica. "Smile on my face, tears of a sad clown"

Release. Write. Release. Write. Write to release and be all right.

Let's get to some poetry. Because that's all I've ever been and all I'll ever be.

I hope you understand
That when tears run down my face while I write
It's not sad
It's good
It's what I wanted to say to release the day
And these currents be passion
A break in the emotionless tide of work and purchase
I take the waves and add dreams to chase
Good friends come and go
Toes curl around the sand
I write and feel so far away from the cash demand
I feel so alone in a beautiful way
Soon enough the right hand will force itself from the crowd
And it was so loud but dead quiet when we kissed
Guess we inspired those who have forgotten what they missed
Such is art.
With the power to silence and explode all at once
And you would scream so the photographs shook
And you would turn away so silently the walls spoke
Both times I would reach out just to feel your energy
You were hot to the touch
I'm crippled by my crutch
And all the past girls have me distancing myself
Not saying too much
You either feel me or not
Hoping you're reading eyes never had to tip toe in relationship rot
So you either feel me or not
But I've been feeling myself so it don't matter much
If you like me or not
Because nothing like poetry generated while isolated
Confessing my sins in the mirror
Cold eyes glared back
So no gaze can faze...

It's because I inspected myself
Ran my hands along new lines under my eyes
New lines make up new lies
Can't believe I tell em
Wondering who I am while I dissapear into the night air
I played a victim role when I never really cared
I collapsed in front of the crowd
And they all stood and stared
Later they said it was the pen that destroyed me
I carried it around too often
It took me to another life
Just trying to contain the rage
Old friends want to remember me
So they dust off an old page
Finding wisdom in words

 -Dev

Movie Night

Movie Night

Just Being Honest

Solo swing set

Toes dragging along the gravel

I stare straight ahead and tell myself the latest argument was heaven sent…

Meant to be because they say all couples argue to a certain degree

But the edge of our words is felt from deep within

And they escape my lips despite my attempts to re-arrange their impact.

Your love turned sour

A pointless battle you’re trying to win

No passion beyond each embrace or a kiss

I got caught up in a situation I told all my friends to avoid

I got caught up in a situation just trying to fill a void

I’m just being honest

It’s not always easy coming home to my apartment alone

So I get wild with the phone

Acting sleazy just to not be alone

Playing an act while we’re pressed up against the wall

I’m just being honest

My hands know a different kind of love than my heart

They pursue pleasure with no fear of the explosiveness of affection.

We create storms with cold eyes and warm bodies

Combined together, drunk off the wine and each other

The defiance of fate

When those two collide the night sky illuminates my apartment for a moment

And if you look closely you can see us holding onto each other

I’m just being honest

I’ve never tasted a mixture so sweet as love yet so bitter when deserted

-Dev

 

The Bookshelf Of Thought

I've never taken kindness for weakness. The measure of power is our ability to restrain ourselves. Even better said, to see the larger picture. I have my own personal failures. Decided by myself and for the most part discussed only with myself. Why wake up and play into the hands of others? But there's no "winning" or "losing" for me in regards to my relationships. But I could see myself "losing" pretty badly if I were to try and make everyone happy. An impossible feat. And even in regards to love and good karma. Again, I can work to spread that emotion around myself but I don't expect anything back.

You know, this whole thought process is basically me reassuring myself. Just be cool Devon. Because as of late I’ve been having some thoughts that things aren’t fair. And I could really go into those reasons and put people on blast etc etc. But fairness is so subjective. Life isn’t a game with agreed upon rules. What’s fair to me is unfair to someone else and vice-versa. I mean this seems simple enough but the controversy within myself is still there. If we feel that we’ve been cheated or are in the process of being cheated then that feeling is going to be there and it’s going to be strong. We can’t control that kind of blood flow. That quickening of the heart beat and the flush of the face. We get angry because that emotion is quick. It sneaks up on us and often we stumble through our anger and create a bigger mess than was needed. So control has been my biggest ally as of late. To keep my thoughts to myself, but not necessarily throw them away. But to keep them to myself and figure out alternatives to explosive confrontations.

Of course all of these thoughts are stored on a metaphorical bookshelf. And this bookshelf tends to sway and shake when I feel cheated or wronged. And that’s when I start to see familiar negative thoughts resurfacing themselves as if they fell off the shelf. Then I’m forced to deal with that thought again. But I’m weary of placing it back on the shelf. I’d rather just destroy the thought. Hence purifying my bookshelf of these negative emotions. But I’m also aware that they are back around for a reason. And perhaps the solution is not to shelf or destroy the thought. But to act on said thought. And so begins...life really. As we attempt to navigate through all these thoughts with action or inaction. Both being equally important in different situations.

I’ll stray from my rather purposefully ambiguous topic to point out that society is rather unhealthy for us. Beyond the fast food and cheque chasing establishments. Beyond the patriarchy and oppressive behavior. I don’t believe we’re being given the tools to be being human. Everyone’s so stuck in their own narrow lane in life. And these narrow lanes leave no room for exploration of thought and self. “Winning” and “Losing” become a reality. And unfortunately said victories and defeats are often as the expense of another. But as I pointed out earlier in this post. The rules are not agreed upon. And the win/loss is entirely subjective. For example, I have a rather long commute to work each day. I take two busses and the trip is about 45 mins total. Most cringe. Others would cringe even more if I told them I decided to skateboard home from work the other day. A trip that took about two hours. But did I ever feel fucking alive. If anyone has me on snapchat (illmatic8988) you saw a quick video of me breathing heavy and sweating before crossing the St James Bridge. Shortly after my phone died. And who says a long commute is such a bad thing? I took Corydon-Stafford-Academy-crossing the bridge to portage avenue and then home. I wouldn’t do it every day, but maybe I should do it more often. Humans were meant to travel long distance by foot. It’s how we all ended up where we are now. But “progression” can veil an inherent regression. Along the way I saw my city in a different way than I ever would by bus or car. And although it was a route I’ve taken before. New things appear every time.

I feel as if I’m growing up by accepting certain realities of life. But also challenging conventions and focusing on what makes me happy. As for my bookshelf of thoughts. Maybe it’s time to speak my mind and clear some clutter. It’ll never be perfect-but nothing ever is. Life is beautiful in its frustrating complexities and sometimes complete utter failures. It’s also beautiful in a sweaty smiling Devon arriving home having experienced a simple pleasure. To travel by skateboard through a quiet city nestled in the heart of the prairies.

Peace & Love

Dev

Away From It All

She doesn't have the explain sad eyes while perusing the aisles of life
I understand flipping through old outfits lacking self definition
Turning away as her eyes glisten
Both of us stuck in consumer chaos
Offering discounts to my soul on behalf of my loss.
Away from it all is where you can find me
With the last bit of strength I pulled you from the crowd
But nowadays I wait for you to call
Hoping you finally found that dress
And to whisper words to remind you..
I still write poetry in this three piece suit
And you still know how it looks crumbled in the corner of the room
Away from it all
Find me in the back lane behind the marching band
When the cymbals clashed and the crowd roared
And the sky flashed with celebration
I want one more moment
But those eyes so wide and bright with excitement
Can't help but hope you find love
Away from it all.

-Dev

Who Am I?

Context-less

To be free of subject. To matter more in dark places. Not illuminated by crowds or cheers.

No, a darker audience.

I wrote once so fiercely that the writing had imprinted itself onto many pages. But as the ink faded the message became clearer. As I squinted my eyes and outlined the writing with my fingers it became clear that the search is not over.

And will it ever be over?

The tumultuous twenties. A post apocalypse of the teenage years. To wonder outloud...

"Who am I?"
 And one either has amnesia or one has simply lost a rooted sense of self. Which can be unsettling because we all want the comfort of our own living room. A place to lay back and breath comfortably without the scrambling of radio signals and dark writing plastered to the wall.

I just erased a sentence. Swore outloud. Fucking lover talk. Salvation with the embrace. Maybe who we fuck will convince us to apply to that job we always wanted. Blah Blah Blah

I know it's cynical but I'm tired of writing of love for the moment. I've cut back on writing poetry because the words seem stale and dated. Sure, I can make a little four liner. A cute rhyme scheme that'll have people saying

"Oh that's so trueeeeee"

Easy.

Lately I've been kicking up dust. Messing with my memory. It's blinding. The future is where I'm heading. But the mind is not always MY mind. I lose it sometimes. And especially lately after late nights at work I find the night to be almost taunting. Are these signs?

Does the park want to swallow me whole? A car will pass and illuminate the trees for a small moment and then create a fading tunnel of light that narrows, dims and flicks out. I can't say that I like the cars or not. But people barely exist in the park at night. If I do pass people their faces are dim. They are just as wary of me as I am of them. Or they jump in my path with booze on their breath. They want to know where I'm going. Or if I could maybe do a trick on my skateboard despite the total darkness. I always force a smile.

Of course this question of "Who am I"? is dangerous with no answer. If we cannot define ourselves in a concrete way then how can we love ourselves? And that's when I realized I was going through a dark period. 

However, the question of "Who am I"? Eventually turned into a power slogan I found myself chanting in my head. I'm Devon. I'm powerful. I'm my own God. And it may seem a little bit out there to relate myself to a mythological creature, but why not? I control all things. Not in the sense of pulling on strings and forcing the world to revolve around my needs. But I control my intake of it all.

I find the most inspiration within myself. And have found negativity presents itself in a much more visible manner. What I mean to say is I'm able to detect, label, define, and often understand the sources of negativity in my life. And the time has come to start to make changes to rid myself of this negativity.