“In all honesty, I believed that today my life would change. Perhaps with little or no indication beforehand, with little or no time to prepare for what comes next. I thought things would transpire that would set me on a different trajectory, a different path, finally, today of all days. I did not know it would happen. I did not know it would not.”
— Nav K, today was supposed to be the day (via navk)
i. portrait of an apology with a shovel i promise you i’m not crazy i’m just tired of sounding like an apology like everything i’m doing here is wrong like my name is your mouth is another bad omen like faith juxtaposed with madness who really knows which is which these days everything begins and ends so suddenly we are barely aware something was there a start stop pulse the side of the road so conveniently called a shoulder as though a little gravel can solve all of life’s ills one must always carry in their trunk jumper cables a shovel a golf club each one has its purpose the road ends by the water the shoulder stretches on just in case there was something like your name juxtaposed with a mistake an error in calculation everything ends and begins heaving on the shoulder gravel shovel jumper cables like a stop start pulse the engine doesn’t turn ignition refuses to spark who goes golfing with a skull i’m tired of sounding like an apology i promise you i’m [not] crazy – ii. portrait of an apology in morse code i’m tired of sounding like an apology like a eulogy like an epitaph tapped in morse code on your skin every moment becomes a grieving i wish to be selfish with you without feeling like i need to apologize for taking up your time my name like an omen next to yours like a song i know we live lifetimes in brief minutes often sparse often scattered dream of dreams that remain only dreams silence is louder than sign language and your body has gone quiet the thought wasn’t fleeting enough i grabbed it by its tail squeezing gently at the throat beckoned it to stay in a way i could not you i’m tired of sounding like an apology of dreaming in morse code just waiting for you to intercept – iii. portrait of an apology by a lighthouse some people are lighthouses on fire stranded like smoke on the water cascading unfurling burning where things should not burn i use my false medical degree to press the flesh harder in all the places i know it hurts most and i even have the audacity to act surprised when it does there is so much i cannot be trusted with but you are not one of them it’s true that i’ve built bridges and wired explosives to every pillar and suspension and carried the detonator in my pocket but i’m also shit at swimming so what does that say about me i’m tired of sounding like an apology but what can i even expect of myself when so often i’ve been told i’m at fault i promise you i’m not crazy i’ve just spent a lot of time sitting on the shoulder of this road wondering who keeps putting these lighthouses on fire
- nav k.
𝕵𝖊𝖘𝖚𝖘 𝖑𝖔𝖛𝖊𝖘 𝖞𝖔𝖚
U 2 bruh
There are political newspaper comics that aren't this succinct
Hello. I have nothing to say. Actually there’s a lot to say but it seems there’s more comfort these days in saying less or saying nothing. I hope you’re well and may you survive this strange time in our history.
Fallen angels by Roberto Ferri.
Roberto Ferri is pure excellence ✨
How do you live?
I try to live a day at a time, moment by moment. Appreciating the present without being so lost in what might be that I never realize what’s in front of me. Because what might be also might not be. Understanding that looking forward means preoccupying myself with myth, grasping at something that does not quite exist yet. But by focusing on the present, I can ensure certain things follow a course of action.
I live by accepting that I’m not perfect and that I’m allowed to make mistakes. I take those mistakes and learn from them to do better and be better. And I accept that others, like me, are allowed to make mistakes too. That nobody is perfect, that some people may come close but perfection is subjective and ever-changing. And slightly overrated.
I live by accepting and respecting myself the way I am and acknowledging that nothing is set in stone. That the universe has set me on a path and that whether or not there is a greater plan, I’m also in control of a great number of factors and experiences.
I live by looking forward to experiences and shift my focus away from material. Materials can be replaced, memories cannot.
I live by forgiving my past. By accepting what was for what it was and what is for what it is. Treating certain periods of time as their own individual lifetimes and honouring them as they were.
I don’t know how to live. There’s no definitive way, that’s for sure. But I try to keep it simple and start with what I have control over and try to keep a positive outlook (on most days). Some days are harder than others. But life is good.
Live on.
she wanted flowers and plants with big leaves a place with windows for proper sunlight the lighting was more for herself than the plants but windows would be good for them both she wanted white furniture; a white desk and chair it would contrast neatly with all the greenery especially with all the sunlight pouring through she didn’t have to say that part, i knew already she wanted flowers, even though on most days she would change out of her outfit three times before leaving the house - “what was wrong with the second one?” too feminine, not enough pockets she preferred to dress like a man most days to stand with her hands in her pant pockets sneakers and jeans, cigarette dangling between her lips as she cussed the cold “i want to look androgynous” she would say, dazed between puffs of smoke, standing half masculine half feminine, and entirely herself, i would look at her, smile, gently ask what she was thinking “because some days i don’t really feel like a woman, even though i’m in a female body, but i don’t know if i would want to be in any other body either, i just feel like i could be both, so why choose one?” i loved her body the way the body of a lover is to be loved, gently, with grace and passion beneath her androgynous shell she was still soft still gave and received love very much like a woman you could hear her laugh before you actually saw her the kind of belly laugh that you could not help but smile at hearing, especially on days where there were more layers of laughter than blankets on her bed she wanted flowers and plants with big leaves and windows for proper sunlight white furniture to be androgynous and to have pockets, delighted that we could share jackets and sneakers together she told me she loved me in september december and february, and moved in on summer solstice “i chose this date because it’s a new season for us” in new york that january she decided to move again “i’m thinking about going back to finish school, to really think about my career and then come back” she still wanted flowers, and i would pick them out at cathy’s, tell her what colours i wanted and why walk in with the bouquet leading the way, each time to a gasp and a smile, the “no reason” flowers from once every two weeks to once a month to a point where cathy probably forgot about me she wanted flowers and plants with big leaves and noticed that i didn’t buy flowers anymore that the conversations faded and the laughter became muffled beneath more layers of blankets the plants started to wither, bouquets of flowers hung upside down to dry now crumbling to the floor “i’m going to throw these out now” she would say one day, to my empty stare in response “i can’t take them with me” she would try to coax “and besides, you can get me new ones, if you really feel like it,” that day i learned something, that two half-smiles never make one whole she wanted flowers, and i only desired to stay high from the drugs out of her mouth we travelled west again, laid down her bags one last time, no room in our hands left for flowers – nav k
what ends always in blood is still a form of liberation.
Someone told me recently that the older you get the more time appears to move faster because you’ve lived more and experienced more of the world. I’m not sure about how true this explanation really is, but experiences now certainly tend to carry more weight compared to when I was younger.
Every year that passes carries with it events and experiences that, I hope, contribute to who I am and my sense of where I am in my life and the world. However, it becomes increasingly difficult (at least to me) in a time where everything seems to be moving at such a rapid pace. It’s hard to pinpoint any one position when the world around me shifts so quickly.
Personally, 2018 has been a mad blur of experiences that have left me any series of words, including but not limited to: overwhelmed, winded, exhausted. Somewhere in between, I’ve also been inspired and captivated by the natural beauty that exists around all of us.
I took some time this year to travel and do things I normally wouldn’t do. I’ve visited about ten different cities across four American states and two Canadian provinces. All for pleasure. I’ve camped out in my car, stayed in expensive tourist hotels, shady Airbnbs, and ate in questionable establishments with the hopes that my overly sensitive stomach would make it to the next service stop.
I’ve seen (and scaled) the glory of the Rocky Mountains, their obscenely clear springs and rivers, and almost got carried by the rapids and down a waterfall.
2018 has been, by all accounts, a year of growth and growing pains. But isn’t every year like this? Perhaps, but perhaps more so for me because I’ve carried one question with me throughout these last twelve months: how do I strike a balance in my life? Financial balance, emotional balance, work-life balance. Balance between family and friends and passions and obligations. At first, it seemed simple enough to approach the matter by compartmentalizing different aspects of my life, dividing everything by time. Soon as the months progressed, all of this proved to be much more difficult.
Perhaps, I thought to myself, it boils down to a matter of where I am in my life. Two degrees, two jobs, I’ve saved, invested, built a decent stock portfolio. I bought a brand new car in 2017 (and very shortly felt a different sort of pain that I had not entirely signed up for). I thought to myself that I had most of my life figured out, that what was left would be sorted out by going through the motions.
I remember seeing a tweet by a famous philosopher named Drake some time ago that went something like “anything can be overcome with three sleeps.” Sorry Drake, I’ve had almost 365 sleeps and I still haven’t figured it out.
This is not a list denoting what I’ve done or haven’t done as much as it is a letter to myself admitting that I have some work left to do. And while one of my greatest traits (according to others, not me) has been the ability to be vulnerable, I’ve found myself sharing less and less over the course of this year. I’ve nearly completely shuddered myself from social media. Platforms through which I had routinely shared my writing and my thoughts on current world events went dark, and I allowed no remorse to seep through as I continued to live “in the real world.”
I told myself that I was gathering experiences and in turn gathering myself. I wrote less, but always thought about writing more. I devoted time into a business I registered with friends that we eventually dissolved even before we launched the product, because we soon realized that the idea had too many holes and was too time sensitive.
I finally landed a part time gig in my profession, finally I had put a foot through the door. But even then it wasn’t, and still isn’t, ideal. So I kept applying and finally, three years after graduating I had landed an interview at my desired organization. That dream, too, quickly ended. I broke down at the realization that 5 years of university and 3 years of chasing this opportunity had culminated to a flat out rejection.
Fast forward a few months: I’m still here, still kicking it. I’ve surrounded myself with the most brilliant and the most terrific group of people anyone could ever be blessed with. Still, sometimes it doesn’t feel like enough.
Is it still inherently wrong to not be wholly satisfied with what one has if the constant belief that “there is always room for improvement” exists? I don’t think I’m unhappy so much as I think that there is still an abundance of potential that I still haven’t found myself living up to. And I don’t think I’m the only one who actually feels this way.
I have always expected to stumble, prepared for the bruises and discomfort required to grow into different and elevated forms of myself (imagine your favourite Akira Toriyama character screaming in unjust anger and pain for something like 18 episodes just to reach a more powerful form to fight off a strange and powerful space lizard). Through this half-thought out example (and a sprinkle of nostalgic humour), we can see that becoming a better version of ourselves can often mean toiling through tremendous hardships. That we must also keep finding ways to become increasingly better in order to overcome any and all other challenges that life brings our way.
But the thing is, despite all of this, despite all the pressures and uncertainties that we find ourselves in, life goes on. The world keeps on turning. And tomorrow is a new day. And in a few more sleeps, it will be a new year. And our stories, hopefully, will continue in new ways. Some of it will be exciting, some of it will be challenging, some of it will test and perhaps even break us. But none of it will be fore naught.
Now into the tail end of my twenties, it took me a whole year to come to this one realization. That I had been running for so long that I forgot how to walk. And that to walk, sometimes we need to learn how to crawl.
(TL;DR: We’re all Goku, and life is Frieza because it keeps coming back to get us no matter what).
i. portrait of an apology with a shovel i promise you i’m not crazy i’m just tired of sounding like an apology like everything i’m doing here is wrong like my name is your mouth is another bad omen like faith juxtaposed with madness who really knows which is which these days everything begins and ends so suddenly we are barely aware something was there a start stop pulse the side of the road so conveniently called a shoulder as though a little gravel can solve all of life’s ills one must always carry in their trunk jumper cables a shovel a golf club each one has its purpose the road ends by the water the shoulder stretches on just in case there was something like your name juxtaposed with a mistake an error in calculation everything ends and begins heaving on the shoulder gravel shovel jumper cables like a stop start pulse the engine doesn’t turn ignition refuses to spark who goes golfing with a skull i’m tired of sounding like an apology i promise you i’m [not] crazy – ii. portrait of an apology in morse code i’m tired of sounding like an apology like a eulogy like an epitaph tapped in morse code on your skin every moment becomes a grieving i wish to be selfish with you without feeling like i need to apologize for taking up your time my name like an omen next to yours like a song i know we live lifetimes in brief minutes often sparse often scattered dream of dreams that remain only dreams silence is louder than sign language and your body has gone quiet the thought wasn’t fleeting enough i grabbed it by its tail squeezing gently at the throat beckoned it to stay in a way i could not you i’m tired of sounding like an apology of dreaming in morse code just waiting for you to intercept – iii. portrait of an apology by a lighthouse some people are lighthouses on fire stranded like smoke on the water cascading unfurling burning where things should not burn i use my false medical degree to press the flesh harder in all the places i know it hurts most and i even have the audacity to act surprised when it does there is so much i cannot be trusted with but you are not one of them it’s true that i’ve built bridges and wired explosives to every pillar and suspension and carried the detonator in my pocket but i’m also shit at swimming so what does that say about me i’m tired of sounding like an apology but what can i even expect of myself when so often i’ve been told i’m at fault i promise you i’m not crazy i’ve just spent a lot of time sitting on the shoulder of this road wondering who keeps putting these lighthouses on fire
- nav k.
