Dreamish.

I want to be published more then anything...

I'm not quite sure if i want something academic published, or if i want something personal published.


I kind of have a dream of being a published journalist... but lets keep that between you and i.

You never know who's beginning is your end.

"You say you got it but you aint got nothing you wouldnt trade your whole life for"

So this is it, this is my new years post. Although, quite frankly it's a little later then it usually is. I'm not sitting at home, i'm not sitting in the dark at three oclock in the morning. The only similarity is that there's something to say about where my life is going.

I think i've turned out to be a moderately good person thus far. I think i've found ambition that i never thought i'd have. I have amazing friends, that i hope i'll hold onto forever.

As Cole likes to think, we'll never grow up, and we'll never drift apart.

Oddly enough while i sit here and write im listening to his song Austria, there's something just honest about this song... something worth fall asleep and dreaming over...

Well, after making my small confession of how im pretty proud of the man i've become i have to point out my insecurities.

One: I'm becomming more and more closed off... not purposefully... but it just seems this way and i hate it.

Two: High hopes mean Huge Let downs...

Three: I constantly feel like im getting punched in the stomach... im not even sure why.

Four: I looked into your eyes this morning and i didnt see you looking back...

Five: I'm more worried you're in love with the thought of us then me as an actual person...


Everytime we fight you mention how you built up your future around me, and how all we're doing is temporary and things will be awesome in the future. How that you see yourself with me years from now.

I dont feel secure enough with me right now that i can grant you that kind of promise... or future accomplishment. I feel scared that everything you do is simply things that help you accomplish what you see for yourself in your future.

I cant help you build something that i'm not in.

I'd Commit History Suicide.

Sometimes, I really fucking hate your past.



My stomachaches aren't going away.

Just because i'm not dwelling doesnt mean its not there.

Plug In and Press Play.

Sorry that its taken me so long to post, i guess i haven't really had much to say. Although i keep having a few instances where i could babble on about something pointless although i feel if i did that, i'd be wasting my time and yours. Although finally, while sitting on the bus today i came to miss something i never really acknowledged before. So i would like for this to be my temporary goodbye, not with an undertone of saddness but moreso a belief that our meeting helped me become who i am today.

I grew up listening to music that i found suitable to my needs, just as we all do as we develop our own likes and dislikes. It became almost a vice that i would run back to in times of need, distress, angst, sadness or even happiness. The reason i became so transfixed was because of my steadfast commitment to the feeling of connection i developed between the sound traveling through my ears, and the message the author was sending. Moreover (a term my cousin likes to abuse), this connection became a type of therapy. Not to sit and complain about past instances but this relationship i had formed was my means of coping.

My experience would confine me pleasantly in my own existence, subtracting everything save my emotions, my headphones and the music. I would literally become happily alone. Not that this was a means of getting away from my problems, but quite the contrary, it was a means for me to sort, categorize, and develop strategies that would help me alleviate the problems that would be plaguing me.

Through this connection i developed with music i conquered some of the most devastating issues i have ever experienced, as an example when I was traveling south on the ontario northland buslines to visit my ailing grandmother and i received the call that she had passed and that i was never was able to say my goodbyes, i quietly put on my headphones, turned on some dashboard and cried. Music took me away from the evident problems i was facing, and replaced it with nothing but pure, uncorrupted emotion. I cried just that once about her passing and never again. I didn't need to. Music helped me develop the strong, rock of an emotional self i wasn't aware i owned. My connection was a way to deal with the weight of the world, and break it down into sections and deal with it individually.

Although im aware i still have my deep problems as does everyone else, my connection with music helped stablize the self that i am developing. Hopefully with this, Albert Camus would believe this to be a proper act of self-love...

Then, on one late fall day (the reasons i remember this will remain my own) i had, recognizably, my last connection with music.

I love now in a unique way, mostly void of anything other then her and our profound connection.

I cry now during the consumption of booze, or the times i pick up my mothers book.

I revel in the depressed manner that helps me cheer up almost never. Maybe less because of my loss of Music, and moreso with the concept of growing up and growing older.

I miss now, in a means that makes me write, and less in ways that make me seek solitude.

This is why i feel i have lost my connection with music. I dont believe it is lost forever, because i scratch the surface from time to time listening to songs like "Echo", "Let Go", and "Bubbly" although i feel like, in a manner of speaking, i'm passing it on unknowingly.

I believe that my art is not lost, but being formulated now in a way that will forever be a means of overcoming, and rejoicing. I believe, as i'm writing, that this will be a gift i hope to pass on to my children. From my soul to theres. I believe my better-half has this same understanding and connection with music as i do, which gives me no doubt that they will have SOME relationship with the one thing we can relate over even after i pass... Music.

A good friend of mine once said, 'after i pass i'll miss only one thing... the songs i'll never hear.' I wish i had a repsonse in which to give him some sort of comfort. Although i now believe that his connection with music wont be short lived, but through his children, and theirs, there will remain that everchanging, everpresent connection with beautiful music.

Therefore i guess with this... i'm more happy then sad. By hoping that one day my children might throw on a set of headphones, relax and be removed from all that troubles them.

Here's to hoping, Cheers.

Hi, My Names Nathan. Nice To Meet You

So i think, a small apartment, dim lights and maybe even a cliche amount of candles littered left-right and center to light the room. I think of stress, problems, work, bills, and maybe even the feeling of being a little lost. I think of second hand furniture, i think of the beauty in one bedroom apartments, i think of the cumbersome chore of paying rent.

... and then, as quickly as those thoughts enter my head they leave. They leave because you just entered the room. You drop your bag, you toss your keys on the table, you let out a sigh of relief because your finally home.

Ants in your pants plays in its low-quality way just loudly enough for you to hear it. I grab your hand, kiss your cheek and ask you to dance. I think of my heart smiling, i'll think its all been worth it.

So this, this is my introduction. I'd like to introduce myself to this feeling. This feeling of knowing im finished looking, im finished with feelings of hopelessness in thinking no one could understand my moods, my habits, or my understandings.

This isnt just love, its perfection. Its perfection with faults, scuffs and scratches. This is me saying that i love it the way it is, and this is what makes me happy. This is what keeps me interested and attentive.

So Hello, Nice to Meet You.

Here's To People I've Never Met.

Here's why I study History:

"And lo and behold there we were about five Germans, and maybe four or five of us, and we didn't give any thought whatsoever to fighting at first... Then i realized that they had their rifles, we had ours and then shells were landing and we were cowering against the side of the ditch, the Germans were doing the same thing. And then the next thing you know, there was a lull, we took cigarettes out we passed 'em around, we were smoking and it's a feeling i cannot describe , but it was a feeling that this was not the time to be shooting at one another....They were human beings, like us, they were just as scared."

This is why i dont find myself so detached from what i read. Here is why i love history. Hopefully you understand.

It's Like Falling In Love When You're Ten.

I don't understand. What ever happened to consuming oneself with the notion of a naive, fabricated version of a Hollywood-fashioned Love. Captial L Love. Before you say anything about the legitimacy of a Love only witnessed in the movies I want to explain that yes, i understand its got that extra flare. But fuck, whats wrong with a little flare?

The eldest part of me screams quite loudly, Be Realistic Nathan! Love is hardships, love's getting through the tough times and coming out on top, Loves eating on the floor together because you cant afford a table yet. God, i feel like im struggling to get what i have to say out on paper right now...

maybe, quite simply, im aware that realistically, love isnt the same in real life the way it is in the movies. Maybe it's knowing this which is consitantly distorting my perception of love.

Although I still, fight constantly to hold onto that feeling. I know she makes me feel the flare, the lights, the action.

I've grown up, basing my life on this fabricated concept. It's like that moment where you realize santa isnt real.. and you take a breath, knowing full well this isn't very shocking news, because you always had the impression that it was like this, but the sight of your mother signing, "from santa" kills that little bit of childhood innocence one always claws at, and refuses to let go.

Fuck, i almost feel apathetic... this all originally stemmed from a simple line my professor explained today during class. He explained, in complete harsh reality, as if to EMPHASISE the realism, not the pessimism, that at one point, eventually, everything you love will die.

For some reason, maybe the lack of sleep, the coffees i had choked back in order to keep myself awake, or the numbness of six hours of lecture straight caused me to get teary eye'd at this notion, at this concept this man felt completely at ease with unleashing upon a class of ill-prepard students.

To think, everything I hold closest... everything that I love, or believed to have once loved or will eventually love is, in the most honest way, tempral. You, reading this right now, think about what you love most. Don't you feel almost cheated? I think what really killed me about this theory is when he spoke about our children.

He explained, when you're sitting there, holding your new born son or daughter in your hands, the one thing you're supposed to love absolutely... unconditionally... with all of your soul... they will eventually, for one reason or another, pass away.

Yes, this is me finally dealing with death, this is my hatred, this is my bitterness, this is my complete and utter disdain for death. In every single selfish aspect i could possibly concieve of... death is cheating me... its stealing from me, its hurting me intentionally. So where does Hollywood, Captial L Love play into this?

It's my way of fighting back. It's my way of getting one thing out of my life that death can't take from me. You want to see Love as a weapon? Well here it is, in all of its glory.

I'll hold onto my nieve love, I'll hold onto my Capital L Love. I'll hold onto something so completely tempral that i'll take solece in the fact that no matter what, its the one thing death cant take from me, and even if it could, as long as i experianced it, it wouldn't matter. I have still already won.