ASSASSINS OF YOUTH

Anyone who tells you you’re fucked up is just trying to cover up how fucked up they are too.

If you’d only lay with me a while
Don’t you know your secrets make me smile?
Talking at the ceiling tiles.

But it’s so hard to pay attention,
When you’re talking to a thing of beauty.
It wasn’t you, it wasn’t your words, no. You just threw me…. Off.

Usually I just don’t do this
Known you so long, why get nervous?
All this time, seeing you in all the wrong light.

But it’s so hard to pay attention when you
Look right through me.
Was it me, was it my words?
No. You just threw me off.

(humming section)

It’s easy to hear me,
When you’re listening.
But you make it hard to shine
While you’re glistening

All this time, in the light.
Like a thing of beauty.

I woke up in complete darkness - I’m used to the sun flooding my room with light in the morning, forcing me to get up. My imminent worry is the time; in all the darkness I can’t judge the time, a skill most people learn from the sun without even knowing it. Here, I run on a faceless watch.

My sleep hasn’t improved. I’m tempted to take my citalopram, though I’ve been neglecting to do so since I got here. The sea air sweeps up from the harbour and gives the city a constant breeze. It does a hell of a lot more for me than drugs of any kind ever have. I had no idea Citalopram would be such a demanding drug - causing me terrible dizzy spells if I missed taking it by even half an hour. Once, I slipped on the stairs down into the basement. I put out my right hand to catch myself and rammed my right ring finger directly into the exposed wooden beams of the basement. I felt a pop all the way to my elbow. Writhing on the floor in pain, I had the decency to remember my parents were sleeping, so I bit the nearest towel to me to keep myself from howling. I looked at my finger and it didn’t look that bad. I applied ice, the swelling went down and once I could move it again, I forgot about the incident completely. Now, it aches. Since my arrival here I’ve noticed it more. I missed a doctors appointment before I came over here, but rebooked. The appointment is to see how the Citalopram is doing 4 months out, and if my heart is doing it’s job and not being overworked.

I find it incredibly ironic that I’ve always lyrically explored the idea of hearts in my music (“What to do with a heart that never learns?”) but now that the real, flesh and blood heart within my body is causing me grief. Grief which in turn makes me anxious, and by the same method overworks my heart.

That’s the cruel bitch. I’ve wandered the streets of Victoria at night looking for that risk, that thrill that will chisel away at my shell. I never found it in the empty beer glasses at the Wired Monk, nor did I find it up and down the streets of downtown Langley. Working at the mall and having a penchant for performing has made me too familiar a face, and the fact is, I don’t take risks because of some jilted notion that it will cause someone else grief. So inside the shell i stay - biding my time by idly scrawling my thoughts across the walls. But when you’re inside the shell, you’re alone and you’re the only one who can make any sense of endless parade of words that slip through the shell and into songs. What I need, what any of us really need, is not to be proud, arrogant or headstrong in the risks that you take - they should be assessed out of your better judgement, something that I feel anyone with the right amount of common sense can summon within seconds.

Today, that chisel came in the form of a guy named Matt. Matt is from Bristol, England. As I was making my way downstairs for breakfast, I took him for a German tourist due to his straight blond locks. Most of the Germans here keep to themselves in little groups. I held a door open for him and when he thanked me, I couldn’t help but notice his clearly NON German accent. I spoke: “Are you English?” He turned around and instantly gave me a detailed description of whereabouts in Bristol he’s from and was quick to joke. Somehow we landed on the topic of how long our stays at Ocean Island would be, and found out we were both traveling alone, wanting to head to Tofino this Thursday. He made me pay for WhatsApp so we could keep in touch, but this method apparently didn’t work out on his end.

All the while, I was sitting at a folk concert held in a jazz club that was formally where the big bands and military bands would play when they hit the city way back when. Loudon Wainwright III, the father of musicians Rufus & Martha Wainwright (both tremendously talented and held in high regards, particularly Rufus who has had multiple gold records) was playing an intimate show. A show, actually, that I spent nearly a quarter of my waking hours yesterday procuring. Worth every penny I spent, I was both entertained by Loudon’s wry sense of humor, and his incredible ability to make something as ridiculous as having to take a plastic bag when you walk your dog into a song with enough wordplay and chord transitions to pass for a wonderful song, forget the subject matter.

The show ended pretty late and my phone was almost dead. Thankfully, my hostel is only two blocks away from where I saw the concert. I made it back from the show just in time to play one - it was Jam night at the hostel stage, and it was looking bleak. With nothing better to do, having been seated watching someone entertain me for hours, and a little bit of liquid courage, I brought down my travel guitar and launched right into “Someone like You”, which is a crowd pleaser and a song I know well. It was really well received, so I played one of my own songs, Threads & Seams, followed by what can only be described as the strangest version of Neil Young’s “Keep On Rockin In The Free World” I’ve ever been a part of.

During that song, though, i realized I’d spent so much time teaching and talking to the other guitarists, I had hardly noticed who was playing drums and kicking ass.

Of all the people it could be, there again was the chatty boy from Bristol. He followed me out when I decided on some cheap tea before bed (ha. Hours ago.) and this was the first time he’d seriously asked if I wanted to travel to Tofino with him. He said he’d called ahead to a hostel there and they have ample space - most people have left after the long weekend. After the initial shock of someone approaching me to travel with them subsided, I had only this to say. “Did you bring any instruments?” He chuckled. “No, pretty hard to haul around any decent sized drum while backpacking.”

So I made him an offer - i’d be willing to tag along if he’d fashion a drum kit out of whatever materials we can find, so we can make money busking. I only have about $300 and though I’m not incredibly worried, I don’t want to end up far from home and in a situation in which money is urgently required.

Matt revealed that he’s nearly got his masters in Mechanical Engineering. For as down to earth as this dude is, you’d never guess he knows the answers to formulas that look completely Greek to most anyone else, myself included. So with the busking agreement firmly in place, we shook hands and are planning on discussing the how/where/when tomorrow (this) morning. At first I was nervous. But fortune deals the cards. It’s bittersweet that the following happens to be one of Carleen’s most beloved quotes - I heard this originally through her - “strange coincidences may be but the normal workings of the universe.”

And it is with that in mind that I focus my attention on the trip that’s still to come, as well as enjoy the trip that’s happening as I type. I’d much rather sleep when I feel like it. I don’t think I’ve ever revealed myself in this way before.

So I fall asleep in the dark, to wake up in the dark; and face the dawning day with as much optimism as I can gather. The steel will of my heart keeps my memories of lost love teeming to the surface, but I see forms of love in the joy people get out of watching me rustle the emotions I have across six strings; or in the simple antiquity of old world charm breathing life into this island.

I thought I’d be homesick, turns out I’m just sick of home.

She’s strong, and I’m just like the paper I’m trying to write this song on.

Who knows what stories I might hold - but I rip, tear and fold.

I need someone to hold me down before I blow away with the wind.
She’d never seen my kind before, doubt she’ll see it again.

I’d bow out now, but the curtains haven’t even opened.
There’s still so much to learn.
Even if it don’t turn out the way I was hoping,
I’ve still got time to burn.
My mind never stop, the world.

Keeps.

Turning.

If I said I slept well last night, I’d be lying. I got back to my room around 1:30am after staying up to talk to this young German couple named Josef and Douda. Douda was pretty drunk, but it was funny to listen to her bitch about her qualms with the English language.

I also used the only German phrase I know; which basically is translated to “Hello, how are you. I am a lost little boy.” They got a kick out of that.

I just didn’t want to go back to my windowless room until I truly had to pass out. But the sheets wouldn’t stay on the bed; the pillow kept falling into the crevice between the wall in bed… It felt like I was up all night; but I’m sure I slept at some point.

I was lucky enough to see in the paper that folk legend and Wainwright family alum Loudon Wainwright III is playing here on Monday. It’s $47; but I think i’ll go for it. Monday there’s a parade as well for Victoria day, so I might pop a squat for that, although I can’t really say parades are my thing.

The coffee is helping. I found out quickly that I forgot a towel; thank god they have some on rental ($5, you get $1 back when you return it). I also somehow forgot toothpaste, but that’s easy enough to find.

I’m going to hit the Royal BC museum today after I track down and buy LWIII tickets.

I don’t think I’ve ever been so quiet.

I’ll post soon.

My heart is racing, I think it’s a good thing though. Sea air smells sweet, but now I’m breathing in the air conditioning, sitting gangster section (far back) on a bus into Victoria.

As I type this, I’m passing the Emily Carr library. It’s a beautiful, old looking building that’s had some recent renovations. Someone on my bus remarks that Emily Carr’s childhood home is an excellent little spot; I’m keeping that in mind.

There are 3 very pretty Swedish girls sitting next to me. I love to just listen to them speak; even if I don’t have the damnedest clue what they’re saying. Their english is limited, but they knew enough culture to notice and comment on my Back To The Future t-shirt.

The ferry ride was mostly spent securing things to my bag. It’s nearly 20 extra pounds of weight - thankfully it’s support has been decent enough to be alright while walking. Standing still, that’s the challenge.

I’m also passing Mayfair mall, which I know has a House Of Knives in it. It’s incredible just how far some stuff has to travel to get there.

I think I’m entering downtown soon, time to focus.

I feel great.