[intoxicatedunusual]

the peculiar sound of an ocean breeze

The air suffocates me, the air here clogs my throat. I’ve been burning this weed gram after gram and every time I spark it up the pain mellows out.

I’m choking now, trying to swallow your words. Perhaps they are too big for me. I feel like a tulip growing in Arkansas. Because if you just look past all the rot that surrounds it it’s just as beautiful as a tulip growing anywhere else. Or it would be if it weren’t jammed between the rocks.

The murmur of the gags shifts into a whimper and then a soft cry. The shutters open, shining light on spent eyes in the dead of winter. But, is it morning? Canadian winters make the dead of night brighter than the most dreary April afternoons.

It seems more and more that the world wants a peek inside our minds. It seems they have a concern of what makes us think the way we do, and act the way we please. Perhaps they won’t be pleased until they see for themselves the bonds that tie us all together. Perhaps a tiny hole, no more than 9 millimetres will give them the courage they need to defeat us. Perhaps the arcs of rolling crimson shinning off the lens of the video camera will give way for some humanity. Maybe then they will understand what is on our minds.

I’m on a bluff overlooking Lake Ontario. The winds of Scarborough are strong, rolling off the lake and whistling down the street. My head filled with white noise, the crashing of the waves against my podium.

I will not succumb to your will.

[intoxicatedunusual]

Snowblind

The frosted breath of the Saint-Lawrence exhales endlessly over the streets of Montreal. Tucking in and out of alleyways and curving around the cobbled streets of old town, growing and growing, a constant pressure. The hedonic stars overhead in the bitter cold of winter set the scene on a thousand warm bodies, candles, lighting up the streets of the city. All this time I had thought hysterics were for children.

Sitting on the cedar chairs of Ben & Florentine, outside the frosted edges of the street view window bustle hundreds if not thousands of strangers, but we can’t see that. The pressure builds until you smoke, and then the cycle repeats. Cycles on cycles, rituals on rituals, clean skin, perfect eyebrows. A hereditary trait, signaling distress.

Outside the window, the cars hiss by leaving streams of pollution, the earth breathes in and cries but does not say anything.

We the generation of souls confounded with our bodies, lost in pub crawls and gym memberships, lost in the telescreen more than we’d like to admit. We bleed from our minds the creative thought so cherished by our ancestors, we bleed with the world.

Inside the echoes of my skull, the world does not hear my cries. Perhaps the old ways have come once again, perhaps I will find myself covered in dirt in the gutter again soon. My peripherals shift to her green jacket frills, and her bright white smile crossing at the red. Her silver hair reflecting the morning sunlight in every direction. I was blinded by the shimmers of a dream. 

I breathed in deeply, concerned with the thoughts that began to circle my mind, I returned to an image of myself as a child circling the 8th graders snow fort on the battle map I drew with a stick in the snow. The snowballs loaded up, weapons for war. 5th grade me and his comrades battling our own imaginations, perhaps we never learned how to. 

I snap back to the cafe, looking at a child and her father ordering breakfast. I envision her in hockey skates knocking the young boys out of the way. The innocent smiles on all their faces. I feel the blood pour from my skull again, my thoughts manifest into experience. Oh the innocence, oh where has it gone?

R. R. R. MacGregor

[intoxicatedunusual]

Wednesday, October 19, 2016

It’s been a tough year. We lost at the beginning, we lost in the middle, and if tonight goes the way the mainstream media wants it to go, we lost at the end too. This constant losing has left a stain in my mind that I can’t seem to shake, as of late. This melancholy world of downers has left me stumped. I can’t seem to make much sense of it on my own. 

Well, you see, I’m a logical man, and logical men are usually most logical when logic is needed. I being in a slump and unable to understand on my own, made the logical decision to call up an old friend. It’s been an awful long time since we last spoke, and I don’t think we’ve really ever spoken, at least not on equal grounds. He’s one of those strong silent types. He’s been giving all sorts of funny names over the years, but I know him best of all, as does everyone.

Our talk was good, I used reason and fact, instead of emotion. I spoke truly, I spoke to him as any boy should, with a voice filled with regret and respect. I figured he may just be the only person capable of making sense of my thoughts, but as he listened to me, he seemed at a loss for words. In essence, I was confused, so again I spoke, less with facts, more with emotion. Still no answer. So, I screamed, I pleaded at the top of my lungs, begging for an answer, for a shining light to show me the way. Then it hit me and it shook me to my very core.

I got my answers, and yours are there too, you just gotta know where to look. Blind eyes like to point fingers at my friend, claiming all the pain and hurt he has caused. But, as Marvin Gaye already said, “Don’t talk about my Father.” 

[joelmcilveen]

[intoxicatedunusual]

"You've got to get up every morning with a smile on your face and show the world all the love in your heart."

-Carole King, 1971

[contemporaryartdaily]

Manifesta 11

[intoxicatedunusual]

Daddy set my mind free, Mama got me dancing.

Thought stealers, all of em. I freed myself from em before you guys even noticed it was polluted. All you need is love and they won’t let you believe it’s out there. Love in turns, kaleidoscopes and cigarette burns, we’re dealing with lenses, we do a lot of work with 0′s and 1′s. My girl ain’t fit on a scale but she got a mind that sets me in place. 

The winter time is coming. A long, cold one and we’ve already been frozen for years. The warmth on the fields of summer is a secondary emotion, it means nothing. Somehow, I lay myself down and watch the stars, somehow I feel a part of something bigger than myself. Before I go I’ll make sure to describe the sun and moon to my children. That’s the way we’ve always done it, unbridled enthusiasm, love of stories, all possible in the light of love.

We gotta trust something more to free ourselves. We gotta fight those rat bastards eating up our clothes, abusing our healthcare, in love with the small interest. We gotta look bigger, we gotta be with the universe, we gotta be real. 

Whether it’s the green, or the burn, or the yellow bellied fucks that are running us into the ground, an umbrella ain’t gonna stop this storm. When Dylan strikes an E, I’m slow dancing in her arms, im not thinking of you or me, I’m thinking of us. Me as in the grocery store clerk, you as in the man slow dancing to Dylan. Us as in the rain that trickles down a predestined path never thinking of what it might be like to fall somewhere else.

-R. Rob Roy Macgregor

[intoxicatedunusual]

See World

I see crying eyes more often than a solid smile. Broken families, broken homes, broken children, cracking bones. Then cry for not what they have but what they want. Not what they need, but what they want.

Burning with anger, crotch smiling Marxist pigs. Screaming louder to make their point heard, trying not to be overheard. Contemplating secrets, we contemplate suicide, we contemplate drug use, our depressions come alive, they focus on some sort of whack ass past genocide. 

Now, I understand the outrage the youth is screaming for, yet I don’t understand what they are screaming about. There is an utter disconnect between people in the same hole.

Unite, unite, unite.

[intoxicatedunusual]

Canadian Pride

The olympics have been going on for almost a week now. The pride I have for Canada has risen dramatically. I'm proud to be from this nation, and I always have been. But to feel loved as a part of the group we call Canadians is something more. It is purpose. Mandy Bujold won her fight this morning. 10AM, a boxing champ of which I've had the pleasure to share the ring. Albeit only for two or three punches (she's very quick). Nonetheless, I am one of the many Mandy touched on her journey so far. An icon in the ring, and an icon in our hearts. A part of Canadian history forever. Unfortunately, now more than ever, Canadians have been divided by the politics of our country. Such a menial affair. Politicians are not the Gods we see them as, in fact, most do nothing. I wouldn't wish to be a part of their exercises, and if you do wish for that, I pray for you. Because it is not the politicians who unite us, they are the ones who divide us. It is the power of Canadians like Mandy Bujold who unite us. It's not black and white, liberal or conservative, it is grey. The world is not run by rulers and demagogues. It is run by the people, after all, that's what democracy is. And in order for it to work everyone has to play. Ryan.

[genevieve-nollinger-deactivated]

[01101010010101-10101001010110-d]

[modellovepersonal]

[intoxicatedunusual]

The Power of the Lost

In this world, my brothers, my sisters, we carry the power. Through Anonymity, through the internet, we have the power to change the world. Unfortunately, some want a name to a face, some want to be above others. So, let them climb, let them show the world who they are, stay in the shadows, my friends. We are the power, the lost ones, the omnipresent entity of humanity. We will remain bound, together, as one.

Kepp your face covered, but your chin up. It can get rough out there.

[intoxicatedunusual]

Vibrations

From the next room, the wall moved forward and back to the ever present power of a good bass kick. Music was the fuel, no wait, that’s the drugs, or is it the women. Sometimes two is equal to three, and four can be triple sevens. I smelt the blood, freshly split from the 19-year-old chavs who just walked through the door. Feeling sad for the loss, another bunch of vampires in this stakeless city. I continued through to the bit where you pay. The man helping me had a dragon tattoo coming down over his eyes, undoubtedly the father of the bartender Michelle who always had her eye on me.

 I turned to Max,

“Hit the bar, grab me 2, I got $10 on it. I’ll hit the piss pot and meet you in the back right. They’re holding it down there. It’s loud tonight.”

He nodded in agreement, I took my number for coat check and slid through the door, b lining for the bathroom. It was one of the modern bathrooms, big white walls, like an asylum, confined, within’ enough mindless lunatics to make it so. My mind was far from clear, but I took a chapter out of Plants’ book going in through the out door. The line stretched endlessly. After I washed up I moved out and towards the back.  Linking up with the sadboys, grabbing my drinks off of Max, I downed the first one too quick and was sure to feel the pain in a minute. It starts as an unpleasant feeling and quickly becomes debilitating. Oh well, so it goes. 

I looked to Thomas,

“Big crowd tonight, you ready?” He greeted me with a smile, and spoke,

“I’m always ready, this guy’s tearing it up right now, I might tech in some of these Spanish tunes tonight.” 

A true believer, in any and everyone, he loved the world and it became clear in his words.

I broke his train of thought,

“Well it’s easy for him, he’s using our equipment.” Laughing, I turned to Bre, talking with Matts, “and how are you tonight, darling?”

“Feeling good!” She said smiling, with her charm and wits about her, “I’m excited for you guys.”

Matts spoke up, “Where the fuck is he, he’s always running late man I swear, it’s quarter past, we’re on in...” Blah blah blah, Matts could go on for days about this stuff. He was Mark, and like clockwork, as Matts continued his complaining, the sea of people on the dancefloor split, and there he stood, 3 girls in his arm.

I stood up and headed in to see what was good, and to see the ladies. Mark was a chav, but he kept his mind together half the time and the other half he never forgot the morals he was raised on. But, by God, he and I loved a good hunt.

I shook his hand, told him and the ladies to come to the table, but he gave me the ole thumb across the neck, and it became clear that the lights made the women appear much more beautiful than they would have in the bright light of day. They declined anyways, something about the next act getting ready, and they wanted the front row.

“Vampires,” I muttered. Mark and I walked back to the table. 

Sitting down, I lit a cigarette. The bar was a trendy one in uptown, and somehow smoking inside had made its’ way back into society. After taking a sip from the second beer on the table for me, the DJ on stage uttered his last words and spun his last record with charisma, and an extended sense of thankfulness. We stood up, Me, Mark, Thomas, and Matts, saying our goodbyes to Bre, and Thomas met her lips with a kiss. We headed towards the stage.

On our way up the stairs, we shook our predecessors hand and gave him some delightfully taken words of encouragement, and praise.

The lights hit my eyes, me and the boys, 2 hours and a boom box. The world moved to our music, our rhythms, our control. The drugs peaked, an orgasm of light and sound, an expose of the filth that filled this city but you couldn’t tell us that because right now, the world was ours. Problems were gone, friends were made, drugs and alcohol ran our bodies and drained us of all of our goodwill, sins for a Sunday morning, pleasures on a Saturday night.

More to come....

Ryan

[intoxicatedunusual]

The Only Ones Who Know

I saw the despair in her eyes. I saw her lifeless body lying in peace as I prayed. Peering into her life, small glimpses, time passing, moments fading. I felt abysmal, sliding down a dark path, my mind racing, my thoughts on nothing but her. I was in a room full of memories and I could only think of her.

Even if I could have shown you the place you wanted, you could have made it that much better on your own. You didn’t need us, we needed you. You’re gone now and a part of me is missing, a part of all of us. But, I can’t help but feel the gift you left in all of our hearts. A virtue of acceptance, of inclusion, of good times, of friends, most importantly, of family.

You brought us all together. A messiah of Kitchener, a goddess of love. You rest now, and you rest for a while. One day we will meet again. Like the day you got back from Alberta, I will greet you with a smile. My curiosity will not fade. You are a darling angel, and you will watch over me as I progress. You will be my guardian, won’t you.

There are many things left unsaid between us. But, I won’t live with those as a burden. I will live out all the promises I made. I will not let you down. I will let you live on.

I remember what you taught me, many moons ago, on that walk from your house to Ben’s. Under the moonlit sky, crossing the iron bridge over the grand river. I told you there was something special about your eyes in the moonlight, and you told me to quit opening my mouth, you didn’t much appreciate those performances. 

“We’re forever unfulfilled, and asking why. Like a search for murder clues, in dead man's eyes.”

[intoxicatedunusual]

It's Hard

I find it hard to express myself. Most definitely because I hate myself, but, I don't fear myself. I fear the look of disappointment, from my boss, from my friends, and especially from my family. A disapproval hidden by love, but still felt in the air. It attacks me when I try to sleep, it fills my lungs when I smoke, and it claws at my feet when I am out of the house. I feel a wreck, and I don't know when I started declining. At first I thought the spiral out of control led to it, but there is something more. I feel supremely alone, with no way out of this goddamned place, and even when I find a good road I like to find ways to explain why I can't. So I sit here, aimless, hopeless, a mess of reckless abandon with severe separation anxiety and a history of people who destroy my trust. So it goes. I guess it is me, alone, a stray cat, a miffed gazelle who was the slowest in the pack. With no options but tears, and no blinding light guiding him further. I am alone. Isolated from the rest of this generic society that fights to keep oddballs like me out. But they never taught you that part in school, no. They taught you the almighty love and equality. They never really taught you how to practice it. This world is hollow, but then again, so am I.

[intoxicatedunusual]

Super Rich Kids

You’re all gambling, drug induced, alcohol addicts who spend your time focusing on the present so you can forget about the world you left devastated in the past. You go through life thinking you are different, you get a car, you go to school, you suffocate yourself with material goods and bad habits, all to make the pain go away. Some of you laugh, you think you’re immune to the shit storm of an earthquake you leave in your rear-views. You think it will be forgotten, and that we will move on, but we won’t, you’ve disgusted us and it’s not a recoverable injury.

Whether you chose to believe it or not, an original thought has never come through your mind, it’s all other ideologies and other opinions that you take, and hold high above your heads as the best. I see it in the schools. You think your degrees will validate your retardation. I’m surprised you can even hold a pencil, I’m surprised you were given the ability to smile as you sit on top of your despotic thrones.

When you come back to earth, we’ll be waiting. Float on in your daydream of a life, carry on the torch of your predecessor, fall in love with your greedy mind. We’ll be waiting here at the train station, with our arms wide open, a blanket, and a cup of soup. We will be waiting armed with the mighty forgiveness of God when you hit rock bottom.

Ryan.