Chris !

I like analog media (mainly cassettes), birds, chickens, cowboys, Dad rock, doodling, feeling cold tile on my bare feet, license plates, my bike that I don’t use, my cats, Neil Young, orange, people carving things into wood and drawing things on benches, people stuttering from excitement, pigeons (my favourite bird of all time), prairie fields, quilts, Radiohead, strangers cheering someone on when they’re scared, the sky, the smell of ink, things I’ve made myself, Watchmen, weed, when men look up with that look in their eyes (not in a weird way), when someone lights up a room, when you spot someone at the same time they spot you.

When I write personal essays they usually have some sort of theme or emotion that is really controlling me at that current moment. Sometimes I will write down song lyrics, then I find ‘references’ to down the line. They are usually linked with quotes and annotations from things that I find, quotes, poems, pictures, etc. that relate to the personal experience, emotion or theme. When I find something of note to that essay I wrote I usually tuck it away in the pages.

Sometimes I find things that relate to essays I wrote months or years ago. When I find things like this I usually date it with a short note. I was recently looking at poems on Pinterest and came across an excerpt of poem about grief by Liz Newman.

“But as long as there’s grief

I will endure it

because it means

that you were here

and that it mattered.”

Upon finding this I wrote it down on a sticky note, and added it to my ‘grief’ journal. When my mental health was at an all time low. This was when I wrote an entry about my fears of losing a member of my family. Specifically my dad, or my mom (especially before I forgave her.) This journal also included poems and prose, such as; “I Hope You Get Home Safe” by Margaux Paul, “Mickey’s” by Tyler Cosey, and the previously mentioned “I Look to the Mourning Sky. Quotes like “God give peace to the dead, the living still have to live.” from Crime and Punishment. This journal specifically included much of my reflections and emotions while I was struggling to find reasons to keep going. These reasons usually ended up being my own fears of my family’s demise. The fear of not wanting them to feel the reality of grief was what usually kept me six feet from the edge.

At the end of the journal I wrote my favourite song at the time, (which it still is,) “I’m the ocean” by Neil Young. And a few things that related to it. “Yer Not the Ocean” by the Tragically Hip, and an except from Donte Collin’s “Calling the Boy Home”

“I write ‘I’m an ocean’ I mean (I cradle dead things)(I am soundless grief)(I am always trying to escape my body)(I am in between land; in between homes)(I have no land to call home)(I am too busy being the God of my own grief; too busy keeping everything alive…”

Today came across a Venn diagram that connected the ocean with grief and added it.

I usually don’t realize the theme until a few months after I’m done writing the journal. It makes me curious what theme my current journal will be.

I realized I’ve never posted one of these. Journaling has been a big hobby of mine for about a year now. I started shortly after quitting the first ‘real’ job I’ve had. I felt an urge to write again, the first time I’ve felt that way since high school. In school I was always happy to analyze things and write essays. After graduating, because I was never forced to write anything, I simply didn’t. I feel like most people just go on that way for most of their lives. However the amount of movement in my life really pushed me to write again. So I started journaling in what I had just learned at that time could be considered my commonplace notebook. (Pictured below)

I’ve been using this notebook for various things, my interests, school work (highschool then trade school), lists, etc. I used it as a memory tool, as well as a tool to write down my interests and keep track of things. Then I started slowly adding entries. Things about my life, essays and personal analysis. As I filled it out and neared the end I was excited to buy another and really develop this hobby. Journaling brought me a joy that I hadn’t felt for about a year at that point.

In searching for a new journal to replace the old one, I discovered journaling ecosystems. My first thought being, ‘well there goes my paycheck.’ The bookstores around my area, and in most I find, charge so much for any notebook, I felt it unrealistic for me to buy more than two. So I didn’t, especially because most people carried theirs in leather bound covers. If the price of those didn’t burn a hole in my pockets, then the shipping would.

However, when taking my brother shopping for art supplies, I realized something. I am a man that likes to work with his hands, as well as learn new skills. So I wandered to the leather working isle. I picked up a small sheet of leather and braided leather cord. I used the notebook I had to measure the height, then cut a long strip, then trimmed it down until I was satisfied. I now had a leather trifold cover for the single journal I had bought, and my intentions for more. As the months when by I added a few more journals, then another, until I was satisfied. Now I have a system to organize my hobbies and writings in a way that in completely personalized to me.

Here it is, all bundled up. As you can see I’ve got a pen sticking out from the top. It’s nothing special just a ballpoint pen I had laying around and used for my schoolwork. Attached to the leather cord, via jump ring, is a good luck charm from the 1978 Olympic Lottery to support the games, as well as a ring from my ex-girlfriend. Who supported me when I came out to her as gay, with more understanding then I thought she would.

Behind it, my new travellers weekly planner. I bought it for myself as a Christmas present and I’m glad I did, it’s already full of goals, my friends birthdays, plans for the year and manifestations. The two stickers are just some that came with the planner. A beaver cigarette card joins them on the cover. Beavers are a representative of my country (Canada) and are a good symbol of persistence and hard work.

Inside I have four notebooks, two small ones, and two larger notebooks.

The first notebook is a list of things I love, and things I hate. The list was inspired by the song, Doesn’t Remind Me by Audioslave. Some of the things listed are on my bio. But they aren’t organized in alphabetically like I have them on this app. Some of favourites include; Canadian Music, strangers cheering other strangers on, the feeling in cold tiles on bare feet in the morning, and orange. On my list of dislikes I have only listed three things (so far); making out while I’m high, when you tell someone’s being insincere, and one way conversation with my dad.

Beside it is my commonplace and personal journal. I use it primarily as a brain dump. I wrote down poems I like, entries about my life, drawings, notes for my sister’s dungeons and dragons campaign and processing things that are happening in my life. It’s already halfway full and I started this one at the end of September… lots of things happening. Additionally I use it as a small sketch pad to add some drawings to my personal journal.

Third is my notebook that I use for playlists. I love music, and I like relating music to other music. My playlists range from simple things to very personal things. Things like; music that mentions trains, songs with street names, songs with stuttering. On the more personal side; tapes I make for people, songs that remind me of friends and family, and songs about my home. I’ve always believed that music is something that can’t be stopped through borders, genre and laws. No matter what, humans will find a way to make music. It’s the most human thing we can do, sing, dance, create art. Speaking of art, the cover is a sketch by a popular, but also my favourite, artist, Vincent Van Gogh. His work has always been some of my favourite since I was able to think about that sort of stuff. As I grew older and learned more about him the more I saw a man who thought similarly to myself. He struggled with much of the similar mental health problems I’ve been seeing myself have more and more frequently. I believe that when I saw the small notebook that he deserved a place in my ecosystem. Especially since journaling regularly started as a way to track my mental health.

Tucked inside the last journal is another small journal. This one keeps track of quotes. Things I hear in movies, books, lyrics, friends, coworkers, and essays. I found it hard to find specific quotes when they were buried in obsessive ramblings so I needed a way to put them all in one place. The clip that holds it in is just a clip I found at work that held a label onto pipe, nothing fancy.

"infinisimal"

When I was a kid, I used to have a reoccurring nightmare. Year after year. Always on the night of Christmas Eve, or sometime within the week before the holiday.

I remember it vividly, more real than most memories from my childhood. I wake up, and I walk upstairs, beckoned by my dad yelling for me. It's late at night, but I can't be sure with Canadian winters, it could be just after supper. The Christmas tree in the living room is decorated with all the last-week-of-school-before-break projects that they had us do when I was young. I never looked closely at them, but if I did I'm sure they would be exact to how my family haphazardly placed them on the tree each year. More decorations on the bottom of the tree, since my dad was the only one who could reach the top. I only look at the tree briefly before I go outside.

It's the end of December, and snow has just started to fall. That's how I know it was a dream. I'm barefoot and in a old shirt and pajama pants. The pavement is cold, but it's not bothersome, like ceramic tiles in the early morning. I'm always a child, even if I was older, I was a perpetual 8 years old in this dream. My dad is standing on the sidewalk, looking into the sky. He is standing beside the spot where we normally put out the trash bins. As I walk towards him the lighting shifts. When I step out it's the harsh, deep blue lights that we hang up every year then take down sometime in May. By the time I make my way to my dad, the keyhole cul-de-sac is lit up in warm, yellows and reds from the dull streetlights and my neighbour's multi-coloured Christmas lights.

The conversation I have with my dad isn't important. I hear something about the stars, he has his camera. Every other word spoken is mumbled, but I nod anyways like I understand why he wanted me outside. I walk four steps towards the streetlight by the opening of the key-hole of my neighbourhood. I look back at my dad and he is looking at the sky again. it reminds me of the times he's told me that the winter is the best time to take pictures of the sky. Winter nights are early, and brighter than there summer counterparts. Maybe it's because of the the lights that people put up or that the snow reflects the light around it. I'm not sure why my dad is taking pictures of the sky, especially when it's clouded with falling snow.

All these thoughts about the sky, and the image of my father looking into the dark like it's telling him the secrets of the universe prompts me to look up. When I look up I can see every star. As if they were individually pointed out to me by some higher power. As I stare into the endless void the stars and snow blur together. The longer I stared into the static from the stationary stars and slow swirl of snow the more the sky opened up. I could feel myself get sucked into it, hypnotized and all but floating towards the abyss as it completely took over my vision. I have never felt more scared in my life, even now when I am 20 and grown up. This was my first time truly experiencing existential dread. I was 8 years old and looking at something that was infinitely older than me and will continue long after my body is nothing but soil and no one knows me, and it was looking back at me.