Shadowpen

On a journey of self-discovery.

[shadowpen]

Remember when you asked me if I was in love? Well, he's my loaded question.

J

[shadowpen]

World Peace

How can we ask for a world with peace, love and acceptance if we don’t try to love and accept our enemies? 

But how can we be expected to open our arms and embrace those who are trying to kill us? 

We have to stop trying to change each other, and just accept each other for who and how we are, to live side by side in disagreement but peace. To get there, someone has to be the first one to take murder off the table, and I’m simply not certain of who is brave enough to make that move.

[expressions-of-nature]

Pacifica Sunsets by cafcaf

[shadowpen]

Serenity

[shadowpen]

Having been chewed up and spit out by the gears of University once already, I have no desire to go back, but now I have to watch my siblings jump through the same hoops and hopefully come out the other side still standing. My brother was assigned a project that he saw absolutely no value in completing, so he wrote this speech instead:

Ever since we were kids we were told to follow our dreams. Great artists strive to be true to their inner child and chase their passion. We are students of theatre. Who will chase dreams if not us. Drama means to do, not act. Who will act if not us. We must dispell the myth and break the chains of the education system to free ourselves. To truly learn and create.

We have all been brainwashed into the belief that post-secondary education is a necessity like food or breath and that without it there can be no life. It is the be all and end all and we pity those who can’t afford it, who have to “settle” for “less.” But look around! Examine close the true quality and value of your surroundings. We must challenge the idea that memorization is the same as equal to understanding, that rubrics and arbitrary “guidelines” open pathways when in reality they take learning only as far as how to match the criteria. Not how to generate or explore ideas, not how to discover new connections. We must shatter the system of the rubric, the boundaries of curriculum and explore material from every possible angle.

Charging recklessly into new ideas will be dangerous, we will be wrong and off point, but we cannot learn if we do not fail. So fail and fail beautifully so you can succeed. But fail at things that matter, not 20 second formats or forcing all your ideas through a single course reading. Fail at proving our sitcoms are the new naturalism, or that the Teletubbies were Futurists. 

I propose we reformat schools to provide a safety net, and not a pit of spikes as we tread the highwire of education. If we fall we bounce back eager to make it across, but right now failure is a punishment too expensive and shameful. Failure is not an option and therefore we can never learn. We must abolish the system of marking which offers no reflection of true thought or understanding. It provides no insight or foot-holds to climb on from, it serves no function in progressing learning. It records how obedient we can be. We must demand nothing less than feedback and the exchange of ideas in order for our own to blossom. Reclaim your agency! For every young adult who is prevented from pursuing their dreams. We must show them how to escape the mental prison schools have built around us, restricting original thought and knowledge. Do not be fooled by the illusion of free will. To choose ideas from a pre-ordained list is to surrender and be assimilated into the mindless machine. 

If we do not act soon we will be swallowed by the beast. University is killing us, its own customers. 90% of Canadian University students say they feel overwhelmed by it. 50% are utterly hopeless. 9.5% consider suicide and 1.3% attempt it. Free yourself from the vortex before you get sucked in and emerge with a scroll of paper and no where to go. Only 25% of Brock students feel very satisfied with the quality of education they received. That’s what we’re paying for! Reform is up to the dreamers who don’t want to be “taught” but who want to learn. 

We must wake ourselves up, all you dreamers, all you passionate learners who feel unsatisfied. We must challenge and explore beyond curriculums, make new connections and discoveries. We must abolish the rubric and marking systems that reward obedience over intelligence. We must make schools a place to fail safely so we can learn. Above all, we must actively follow our dreams, and not allow ourselves to be corralled into the slaughter house of useless study. 

It makes me proud to have such a strong, resilient, thoughtful, brilliant person in my life, and it gives me hope that this generation isn’t as totally lost as so many believe it to be.

[shadowpen]

Crocheted sleeve + folded blanket = decorative pillow!

[shadowpen]

Build Me Up

What a useless feeling I'm feeling: feeling useless. Feeling down will drag you under, and take your friends down with you. Before they can help me build back up, I need to provide a foundation. These words will fill the pit that I've fallen into, they will put me back on my feet and give me something to stand on. My friends give me bricks of praise to build with, and I push these words into the darkness in between, to plug the holes in the mortar through which my confidence has been leaking. Soon I will be solid again. And when the friends who pulled me up start to sink, I will give them their own bricks, and we can save each other once more. 

[shadowpen]

About Abortion

Let’s talk about abortion, shall we? For the pro-choicers, bravo, you need read no further. For the anti-abortionists (for I find the term pro-life too vague, everyone is pro-life, but not everyone is against abortion), let me ask you this: why might a woman seek an abortion? Despite what you might think, she didn’t go out and find a way to get pregnant just so she could have a baby to murder. Clearly she didn’t want to get pregnant in the first place, and it’s not her fault she did: no contraceptive is 100% effective, and let’s not forget the commonly used but still valid example of rape. So don’t you dare blame the woman for getting pregnant with a child she didn’t want. “But what about the careless teenagers not using condoms?” you counter. I reply, do you really find it logical to punish this girl, and in turn her innocent baby, by forcing her to give birth to and care for a newborn at 16?

Let's ask ourselves, what are some of the reasons she might have for not wanting a child? What if she can’t afford a kid? What if there’s no father in the picture? What if she’s a drug addict? What if she has a genetic disease she doesn’t want to pass on? What if she has terminal cancer and will leave the child motherless? There are lots and lots of reasons why a person shouldn’t have a baby. But there is only ONE reason they should: because they’re ready. Physically, financially, emotionally, mentally, socially, ready. Having a child changes your life, FOREVER. It is a lifelong responsibility. And no one should ever be allowed to make that decision for someone else. 

[shadowpen]

Shoetree: The Pink Flip Flop

It's bright pink, although not the fluorescent shade that's been taking over the fashion industry. It's made entirely of rubber, with no embellishments: rather utilitarian, for a pink sandal. The plug between the toes has been pulled from the sole of the shoe, and Jimmy Buffet floats through my head before I can stop him. It's nailed at the toe, probably because the heel is worn too thin. The left shoe is nowhere to be found; it's just this lone pink flip flop hanging from a tree, which is why it caught my eye as I was driving past. As I walk back to my car parked on the shoulder, I wonder; who put it there, and why? 

-----------------

A door slams nearby, startling Ellen out of sleep. She sits up and promptly whacks her head on the bunk above her, again. 

"Ouch, even I felt that one...you okay?" Evan asks as he drops his head over the edge to check on her. But before she can answer their own door slams open. Rob leans in, nearly bouncing on his tiptoes, the very picture of haste. "We still going on that walking tour? It leaves in ten minutes." 

"Shit! Yes! I am!" Ellen shouts as she flips neatly out of bed, remembering to duck her head. Rob gives her a skeptical look as she claims, "I only need five minutes." Have to skip the shower, obviously, she thinks as she brushes her teeth like it's a race. She throws on some clothes, and throws what she can think of in her bag. Phone, wallet, water, camera, okay. She takes a minute to check her hair in the mirror (it's a disaster), and after two tries to tame it gives up with a groan and runs to the door where Rob is impatiently waiting. She slips on her flip flops and says breathlessly, "I'm ready!" 

"Seriously? Those are the shoes you're wearing for a walking tour?" Rob's right eyebrow shoots up. "Yeah, whatever, let's go," Ellen replies as she tugs him into the hall. Down in the lobby a good sized group has congregated around the couches. Just as Ellen sits down a tall blond twenty-something with a clip board walks into the group and asks if everyone is ready to go on the free tour. He's tanned, he's muscular, and she's especially glad she got her ass out of bed for this. He smiles at her as she gives her name to him, and she smiles back. Then she remembers she didn't shower this morning. 

"Alright, if that's everyone, let's get this party started!" Their blond tour guide leads them out onto the street. Ellen whispers to Rob, "How's my hair?" as they file outside. "Fabulous, darling. Just fabulous," he mocks. He playfully rubs his hand on top of her head, chuckling as she ducks away from any further damage. 

The day is filled with scenic detours down busy streets as well as quiet alleyways. Jack, the tour guide, shows them the various styles of architecture in the city. They see some popular graffiti, they see city hall, the post office, the police station, an old church, and the river. They've walked about twenty kilometres, and it's only 3:00 pm. The group finally arrives at the beach front, and everyone's eager to wet their feet in the surf. Ellen, however, has been limping for the last hour, so when she spots an interesting piece of driftwood a bit further down the shore, she invites Rob to have a seat with her. But before she can take more than a few steps, she blows out her flip flop. The irony makes her laugh out loud. She waves her useless sandal at Rob. "Happy now?" Inside, she struggles to tamp down her anger and dismay at the thought of having to hobble around with a broken shoe the rest of the day. 

"What's all this then?" The flash of pink seems to have caught Jack's eye. Ellen fights back a blush and says, "I, uh...My flip flop broke." She shows Jack the strap of her shoe, flopping around in a way it was never meant to. "Ah," he smiles. "Need a lift?" She thinks he means a taxi, but the mischievous look in his eye leads her to believe otherwise. Before she can ask what he means, he takes her by the waist and hoists her above his head, settling her onto his shoulders. She lets out an involuntary little yelp on the way up. "How is it up there?" Jack asks her. Ellen's heart is pounding; his boldness is more exciting than she would have thought. "The view is fantastic!" He chuckles, then calls to the group. "The adventure continues! Let's move out, people!" He hikes up the sand, Ellen's toes tucked behind his back, her shoes dangling from one finger, and she turns her head to see some of the other girls following them with jealousy on their faces. The ones Rob has started talking to, however, look happy enough. They burst into laughter as she faces forward again. She can't seem to stop the smile on her face from spreading wider. 

[shadowpen]

Shoetree

A tree hides the story of its life inside, under the skin. The twist of the branches, the colour of the bark; these are tells that we can see. But cut one down and its secrets are spilled, rippling outward from the moment it sprouted. A tree cannot stop this intimate tally from being recorded, but at least it can contain it. The same cannot be said for mankind. Time wrinkles our faces, our hands, our bodies. Burdens bend us, hollow our eyes, harden our voice. Joy brightens us, lightens us, cracks our face in a smile. The decades are written on our skin. 

Enter the oddity of the shoetree: serving no obvious purpose, the footwear of various strangers decorates the trunk of an unlucky tree. Preserved yet forgotten, personal but anonymous. Nailed to the bark is the story of humanity; not a laugh line, not a scar, but a bookmark nonetheless. On the rough canvas of timber is painted a collage of residual emotion...

[shadowpen]

Closed Mind

In a closed mind the skull traps a finite number of thoughts and ideas, shrinking and compressing them smaller and smaller into a little ball, forcing the few ideas inside to spin round and round on hamster wheels, going nowhere but spinning in circles faster and faster until they start to glow with more meaning than they should have. 

[aworldofexperiences-deactivated]

[shadowpen]

Eerily pertinent to my life right now.

[shadowpen]

Untitled

A boy and a girl--okay, a young man and a young woman--had been dating for over five months. Things were going nicely: he was a gentleman, slightly conservative in his displays of affection for her in public, but sparing none when the two of them were alone. He knew what he liked, he knew what he didn't like, and he made no apologies for either. She was slightly more timid, and put rather too much thought into things before she voiced them. All of her thoughts and emotions were closely scrutinized, as were the actions and words of others. 

Due to this tendency of hers, she would analyze his attentions to her throughout the day, and in the overblown field of her anxious mind she would perceive fluctuations from mere friendliness to intimacy to passion. She told herself that these observations were simply projections she was casting onto him, and not at all signals of a change of feeling in him. Not only was she hurting herself by making these faulty judgments, but it was also unfair to him, who in reality had done nothing to warrant them. 

Some days, most days, she was able to overcome her insecurities. But on other days the uncertainty and anxiety she felt began to rip her apart inside. She feared broaching the subject with him because she knew it was ungrounded, but she also knew that if she ignored the burning question within her it would continue to eat away at her serenity. So one day she asked him: "Am I important to you?"

What she wanted to hear: "Absolutely you are important to me. I care about you very much, and I would be devastated if you weren't in my life," or some such thing to that effect.  

What she expected to hear: "Yes, of course you are. What would make you think otherwise? Don't be silly," followed by an embrace.

What she feared to hear: Silence; an inability to answer the question. 

What she heard: "Am I important to you?"

Startled, she quickly examined her feelings and thoughts. I don't want to lose him, that makes him important, right? There are lots of things that are important to me, not just him. I think about him every day, he's definitely important to me. Does he think about me that much? How could he know how much he matters to me if I don't tell him? We're both in the same darkness, unaware....That was clever of him, to avoid answering. But really, we need to have the same answer for this to keep working. He wants to hear mine first. I know he'll be honest no matter what I say, but can I be honest with him? What is my honest answer? 

What she said: "Yes."

No need for more words, no need to complicate it, no need to tangle it up in her mind until her heart ached. The less she agonized over it, the simpler it was, and the truer it became. 

What he said: "Yes."

Things are going nicely. 

[shadowpen]

A Flickering Flame

Fire is painstaking to create, yet all too easy to murder. A fragile flame needs only a puff of breath to send it back to where it came from. People, on the other hand, have the opposite weakness. The act of making a baby is so simple that they are born accidentally on a daily basis, like a candle blown out by a breeze. Yet to kill someone requires extenuating circumstances. In order to alleviate these relative foils devices have been invented: matches, lighters, flint; guns, knives, drugs.The problem is, it takes no great act of will to light a match and touch it to a wick: anyone can make fire. But to point a gun at a person and pull the trigger; well, there are only so many humans out there with the capacity. The question I ask you now is, would the world be a better place if murder were as simple as exhaling? If the chance to live was as rare as lightning striking twice and death as common as the wind, what would our values be then?

The smell of extinguished candles has always been a happy one for me...it's the smell of birthday cake, and the end of church. It has always been a signal of imminent pleasure, but also a reminder that something beautiful has just died. 

[paperimages]

Nachen

[thingssheloves-deactivated20151]

[honeybellpress]

Sunset

Tumblr | Facebook 

A bit more grain than I would like but I was using 400 speed film for this long exposure so now I know to use much lower speed film from now on. Learning more and more about film! 

[shadowpen]

Too Late

Amy scrutinizes the rainbow in front of her, which happens to have an improportionate share of red and pink shades. She holds the small bottles up to her fingertips, striving to mentally transpose the colours in the vials onto her fingernails. It doesn't work. She picks out a glittery purple polish she hasn't worn before, and makes her way out to the backyard. Sitting cross-legged on the lawn, she briefly shakes the bottle, listening to the ball bearing inside clink against the glass. She unscrews the top, brushes the excess paint back into the bottle, and rests her left hand on her knee. As she aligns the tapered brush above her pinky finger, steadying her right hand in preparation for the first stripe of colour, she hears a terrifying squeal and the unmistakable sound of metal colliding with metal. She freezes in the immediate silence, stuck in a hush exaggerated by the unnatural and unexpected clamour that preceded it. She is still staring at her smallest fingernail, paralyzed by the frightening images rushing through her mind: two cars hit head on, crushed beyond recognition; the look of horror and panic on both drivers' faces as their brakes proved futile; blood; smashed windows; metal strewn across the lanes; black streaks on the pavement as a visual reminder of what "too late" sounds like. Already she can smell burned rubber drifting her way, and with the scent comes the murmur of onlookers and the shouts of "Call 911!," finally breaking her personal silence. Yet still she cannot move: her legs have lost all feeling, or rather she has lost all feeling of her legs. Her eyes become unglued, and her gaze rolls over to the tube of purple sitting on the grass. Should she replace the top, or is this situation significant enough for her to toss aside the brush and ruin an unused bottle of nail polish? Would it be more disrespectful for her to continue painting, or to go gawk at the wreckage of two changed lives? Then it hits her: it's 3:30, and Amy's mother picks up her brother from school. In the next second the brush is flung to the ground and she flies to her feet, praying without words that for the second time today her eyes will not validate her imagination.