Ch-ch-changes – thoughts?

I’ve changed up my header and profile photos, as well as the colour of some text, on this blog & my twitter page and wondering what you think? Is the text too hard to read, or just the right amount of obnoxious neon? I like it but if it hurts to look at that’s a problem, ect.

Also, changed my twitter handle from @mad_d_black to a hopefully easier to remember play on my real name (which was already taken) /nicknames: @moodynightshade

Follow me!

(see what I did there)

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Maybe there’s a movement. Or maybe we should start one.

Maybe, what we all (the young, us, ‘young adults’ especially it seems) have to remember (constantly, everyday, around every corner and conversation and expectation) is that no body really knows what they’re doing.

Maybe we are all anxious, and OCD, and self conscious.

Maybe we’re all floundering for some kind of sensibility in the chaos that is our perception of the world and each other and everything. Each of us and our thoughts and the words that come out right and wrong and sideways and poetically, they all get tangled like a fly in the web of a very tricky spider called life. And we’re trapped here, stuck somewhere between can’t escape the hold and loving this sweet venum.

Maybe we both wish for happiness, and pretend we know how to find it (or keep it, or stay happy in one place for very long).

Maybe we want to be travellers, lovers, artists and bohemians because to us that means we’re finding our own way with a little bit more joie de vie than the average american teen and,

and and and, we want to beleive that something somewhere, well anything actually, will ever really make us happy at all.

And in the search of this idea, this utopia far away behind (what we’re told will be) a stable income and true (ever lasting, in Christ our lord amen) love, our lives are filled with so much beauty, so much laughter, and care, and chaos, and coincedences that we will never be able to hold it all. Never tell, or write, or take enough photographs to capture the true (cheesy quote worthy) happiness that comes in the everyday crazy; somewhere between sneezing with your mouthfull and that snarky glisten in your best friends eye.

And they, the opressers and the pessimists and the scientists, they say, that our brains aren’t done developing, and that our horemones drive our actions and that one day, when we’re 32, our motabolizims will have stabalized and then we can go on to live our “real” lives. And maybe they’re right, (or just for some; the boring, sensible, lazy, brainwashed, scared and ‘faux’ depressed) or maybe there’s a movement towards appreciating the unstable, unpredicatble nature of our brains and trusting what all those funny biological chemicals are telling us in the form of libidos and emotions and personal tastes.

Maybe there’s a movement towards appreciating the messy, and the scary (taking chances on people and places and dreams) and the not so simple complexities and intimacies in a whole spectrum of relationships.

Maybe there’s a movement towards realizing that we can cultivate lives worth sustaining. Making homes into recording studios and hosting the parties we’d like to go to in our own backyards.

Maybe, there’s a movement towards appreciating community;
to appreciate living in a world filled with people just as fucked up and depressed and confused as you are (probably, and if you’re not, get out of my house) and to realizing that often, people with the biggest hearts, with the most incredible minds and coolest portfolios have been around the self doubting, depressed for days, haunt at least a few times and that some are probably on it right now.

Maybe there’s a movement towards realizing that there’s no happily ever finish line decorated with suburban home floor plans and wedding bands dripping in white white (pure) white and comfortable retirement funds.

Maybe we’re on a parasol in a web of uncertainty and maybe there’s a movement towards accepting that that’s okay (and that ‘true happiness’ makes a better post it note quote than a life goal) (and that happiness is best homemade, self made, and probably different for everybody, and found in as many different ways as there are people).

Maybe there’s a  movement. Or maybe we should start one.

We have been talking, in one of my classes about art that makes you feel uncomfortable.

Art that transports you.
Art that puts you on edge.
Art that makes you shudder.
Art that makes you squirm but you still want to look.

And what the value is of this type of work.

The art I make is often incredibly personal.
Often what most people would call, too much, too close, too raw, too intimate.
too too too.

But maybe this means it’s “working”,
because I want to make people feel the way that I feel.
Like so much, so close, so raw, so intimate.
so so so.

Before you remember how to be yourself and so instead are so much more.

I love when you meet for brunch and you haven’t been home yet.

I love that messy space between happiness and comfort.
That messy space before you’d had time to collect yoursel, to process your actions and experiences and all of the new people in your life as of last night.
Space before you’ve had the time or energy to put on good face, to remember who you’re supposed to be and what your insecurities are, when your groggy, hungover, giddy and greasy. Before you remember how to be yourself and so instead are so much more.

The possibilities streatch and expand you, the laughter tumbles like a nervous boy stutters when talking to a beautiful girl and connections are made deep, below the surface of expectations and reputations. You are weaker in manyways but vulnerability is a wise monster, and vulnerability is the key to making real friends, and vulnerability is essential to growth and change and discovery.

Thoughts on a Home Hunt/Like Trying to Fall in Love by Next Week

I’ve been internet shopping for an apartment in Montreal for weeks and it feels almost like I’m internet dating with a home for the next part of my life and it makes me wonder, how anyone can stand to internet date (for real) at all, because love to me is all in the instincts, the feelings, the quirks, and these things are terribly hard to read through a screen, but even in between the negotiations of how much I’m willing to pay and what neighborhood I’ll be in and if they like cats, I have been able to find a few places thats character and charm speaks to me (and some I even yearn for) but then it’s all ‘well they haven’t called me back…’ and ‘someone got to them right before me…’ and ‘well, maybe I only liked them because I was drunk…’.

And in my (possibly foolish, unrealistic, unpractical and idealist) romantic ways, I’d like to believe that there’s an apartment out there (with all requirements met) that’ll be perfect for me(and my roommate) and exactly what I need right now, and that when it works out it’ll feel natural and comforting, and that maybe that’s possible within the next week? Yikes!

Home hunting feels like dating because it’s all like a delicate dance of mutual desire.