The Joy of Pain

Leaving behind one's pain and insecurities is, by and large, an uphill task. You never know if you'll eventually reach the sweet spot where you're, for all intents and purposes, 'over it'. Having been through my fair share, I'm in a position to share my two cents about it as well. There are many schools of thought regarding dealing with something unpleasant. Some believe that it is in the best interest of the affected party to grieve and move on; loosely translated - days and probably months of tears till your glands run dry. Another ever-popular and ever-so Goth alternative is to bury it deep down and never speak of it again; with the exception of an annual drunken scenario where you bear all to a perfect stranger. Confrontation or fighting the fear or opposition has been the 'winner's formula' that P.E teachers have been doling out since the turn of the century; ever since P.E became more than just a filler.
                                            Now this leaves us to our school. Call us masochistic but we believe that in embracing our pain we do one better than all the others. Pain and insecurities often cause the worst gashes that could turn into something truly dangerous. Instead of ignoring its presence or misdiagnosing solutions, one has to come to terms with it and not merely by crying. By realising that tears have brought along with it less dramatic but better company like learning, strength and understanding, you take the first step towards a better path. When you realise that all this supposed negativity gives you the final nudge to create something and push for what it is that you truly want. It makes you dig a little deeper, think a little clearer and understand a little better. Now, the jury is still out on which school triumphs but when the results are a stronger person with possibly a great story to tell, we may have tipped the scales a bit. 

Dream Notes

There were many singers who sat behind run-down trucks crossing state lines, coining words to go with the dust in the air and the warmth of the unpredictable. Artists have been taunted by the bare canvas and blank pages alike. While they try to figure out the empty spaces between inspiration and creation, a torture engulfs their very soul. It makes it impossible for them to think or even breathe. Across the sky, birds fly without bounds and direction, tempting them and leaving behind a shell of a person. The men run their fingers through their hair and the women toss pebbles into the creek, hoping in the name of God or Nature or Synergy or Nothingness, that the dry spell end. Without direction, we just keep moving along this path that takes us nowhere and that makes it all the more fearsome.

There is no saying if we'll hit a dead end or a wrong turn. Why, just the other day we heard in the papers about the man who led a woman down an alley way, to her death. She didn't know where to go and played a hunch on a blighted moment. While we hear jazz music in the background with head a-spinning, you can't do very much to stop it either. A cigarette swirl and a knee-weakening move turn everything into a beautiful haze.