All these expenses, these timely new friends and foes that have filled my belly and helped my ears and eyes experience more, all these expenses, are now welcome and at the same time completely inevitable.

In essence this whole life of mine has been building figure on top of figure, adding up to 9 and then coming back down to 0 once again.

Most of you don’t think about these digets, these numbers are strains on our fingers and fuel for our calculators.

But it’s 2 more hours until we’re all the way in Burnaby

I keep stumbling upon pictures on social networks of your receding hairline and the school that you now teach at is the same one that I went to so long ago.

I keep wondering how so many of you finished up with the classroom so quickly, and how so many of you just don’t care that you’ve escaped it entirely since high school…

I keep thinking about how many of us are left in limbo still, just hoping to see the finish line.

All of a sudden Fall came back again today, blew in the door, and made all the houseplants shudder in their pots.  The clouds floated curiously on top of all the blue that is left on the horizon, and kept us secretly warm from the air pressure that’s been knock knock knocking since the end of October.  I’m reminded of Halloween last year, the cold, the body paint, the strips and strips of movie film that I’d sewn onto that black t-shirt of mine.  This was long before I knew the meaning of clothing that fit well, all the while just displaying my belly button to the world.

This was all long before New Years, the night that redirected everything.  The night I met so many of you.  And it’s cliche and simple to think that on a night like New Years we should be so redirected, but when I look back at the pictures, I certainly look older, simpler, and more worn out.

And we’ll all find the wrinkles to form on the back of our hands, and I’m sure that if I ever combed my hair there would be bushels of hair between the teeth.

For now I’ll ignore these signs of a wasting mind, and just continue to build upwards, skin tightening, hair thickening, eyes brightening.

And you help me to wonder, Jar Hippy, just who is following my every move?  Just how many people take notice to me speed walking around this fair Vancouver campus of ours, scarves trailing, shoes clicking??  How many observers are completely filled with rage to see the texture of my jackets, the countless disposable coffee cups that I also tote around?…  How many of them would want to consume me too?? Or completely deconstruct me?

There is something about those of us that silently sit in the corners of the room, looking still and transfixed by the books in our hands and the music in our ears, while completely hypnotized by the bodies in the room and the jars that they drink from.

And I’ve watched you run across 49th, and I’ve seen your body move in ways that a gay gold star would never understand.  For the male form in all of its simplicity would never know the complexities of your layers and layers of feminist propaganda, or truths, or sentences that surround the center of every page and each period; all of it padding for something deeply interesting and intriguing inside.

I’ve learned how to walk in my best saunter, and still, I’m standing tall, strong, and new in this skin, and some might care to tell me that it’s all temporary.

And still, I must wonder, Jar Hippy, if I can feel such rage and fascination towards you all these months and days,

then surely there is hope for this new happiness too…

Apparently, these “two dudes”, and the congee noodle house’s poor sign once again know the taste of the pavement.

I think you may have tried at once to carve our names into a tree, and the outcome seems a foreign thing.  I cannot seem to piece it all together, although I know that we were certainly those people who cling to the terrace and cling to each other.  And perhaps we disgusted the masses, or brought them to curse obscenities to love, and tell it to go and fuck itself.  And for these things that would have normally disgusted myself as well, I am far from concerned.  I am newly comfortable, I am newly aware of the changes in myself, and the recollection of feelings that I’d almost given up on.

It’s hard not to jump.  It’s hard not to want to dive in, swim, and just dissolve into solution.  And there are those that would tell me to slow down, to take it easy, to embrace this pace.  And I’m trying to calm this racing mind and the things that want to keep fighting and flighting all the way to the end.  I know the feel of my adrenals, I know the temperature of my stress, and the way it tastes.  I know the eventual return to the masses, and the feelings inside when all the voices get at each other.  I know how easily happiness and sadness change into madness, and every step in between.

I’m standing still.  The diving board is quivering under the weight of these feet and legs.  My toes grip the surface, feeling curiously sandy and aware, of the texture of everything. And the sand might like to simmer and boil just like the tempers of all those cursing profanities at love, telling it to rot on the edge of the board and never quite test the temperature of the water.

The spectators disturbed… by the sound of the cars, or the pace and the taste of the wind on the first of November, all of them distracted, fail to notice my knees.  The joints and the muscles all bending, descending toward my calves.  And my arms spinning backward, my wrists facing frontward, I bounce and rebound, and sail furiously forward.

I knew from the very beginning that this forum, stinkwallet, would most likely become a muddled mess of confusion.  Like my very brain, I imagined this place to be a raucous of thoughts, pictures, and useless tidbits of information.

But SEO and all that it’s taught me about this new universe, has tonight taught me something about myself too.  Out of all the tidbits, the crumbs, and the graffiti on the wall, this spider has found me to be a significant “not onlyer”.  I won’t even write the two words directly beside each other if I can help it (“not” and “only”, that is), for fear that I might keep this spider well fed on the fuel that I’ve been feeding it.

But what does it say about myself?  It certainly leads me to believe even more that I’ve no sense of my personal brand–that this place is more of an experiment in the ways of the internet, than something of any true value.  It certainly has me believing more than that though.

The unconscious writing on the wall.

The writing that’s hiding behind the heavy, sloppy, oily graffiti.

The writing that’s begging for another me to suddenly show itself through the muck and the mud.  That, dare I say it, I have been doing one thing while all the while looking for something else.

It all sounds frighteningly too familiar if you ask me.

But, you know, when I see the following at 11am on a Sunday, it all has a way of rushing back in a hell-storm of anger and frustration.

Glasnost at POP UP...the Shop

POP UP… The Shop, located in the heart of Gastown is an exciting concept in Vancouver retail. POP UP provides local designers, vintage dealers, and retailers the opportunity to showcase their wares for a couple of days in their very own shop.

On October 16th and 17th, local designer Stephanie Schneider will be unveiling her Fall Collection to Vancouver. Her line, Glasnost, consisting of skirts, shirts and jackets complemented with leather work designs including hip-sacks, wallets and custom flasks for the gents will all be priced to sell.

Come down and check out Stephanie’s exciting new line on October 16th and 17th between 11am-9pm.

glasnost.ca

More information on POP Up… The Shop:

Located in the heart of uber-hip Gastown, this unique concept store offers an ever-changing installation of retailers and products from emerging designers & vintage dealers to bigger brands blowing out discount stock and samples.

Even better, check out the arabic version. Don’t forget to sing along.