It is more fun to talk with someone who doesn’t use long, difficult words but rather short, easy words like ‘What about lunch?'

- Winnie the Pooh

So far untitled poem

One day I shall run to the sea

Where my love will be waiting for me

We’ll dance and laugh in surf and sand

I’ll kiss his cheek and he’ll hold my hand

The sun will shine upon our lovers’ embrace

Its healing fingers will bless our face

He’ll smell of pine and boyhood dreams

I’ll be dressed in foam and girlish schemes

The waves will sing of our eternal devotion

Of this love fulfilled by the broiling ocean

With carefree hearts and serpentine ways

We’ll get lost in love, in our sea foam maze

I’ll bear him three sons and one little girl

And they too will rejoice in the watery swirl

We will grow old on our rocking chair sea

And happy forever, oh so happy we’ll be.

Falling

In honor of Autumn:

October sun filters through

Trees set aflame;

Shivering heat sets the world on fire.

Birds pack their bags -

they’re growing tired

of fighting the northern wind.

Sun shines warm

but the Earth grows cold,

beginning to creak her bare,

wooden bones.

Moon’s eye turns hard with greed

knowing her time has come.

Leaves sing a sad lament

on this bittersweet day;

another brother has fallen,

silently drifting away.

How beautiful Fall is!

Aristotle is an Asshole

Would you take morality advice from this man?

I hate Aristotle. I loathe him with every fiber of my being; my reaction to him is similar to my reaction with a serial puppy drowner. Not just because I dislike philosophy either. I got along great with Plato and Socrates, but they also played nice. Aristotle, on the other hand, is an asshole.

I don’t agree with some of the conclusions his comes to (such as mentally retarded people are deficient human beings and as such can never be truly happy) and I can’t stand the smugness with which he delivers these conclusions. Aristotle is an elitist that uses pseudonaturalism to support his idea that he is superior due to his love of learning. I’m sorry, but a blue collar worker who finds joy and pride in his physical task is just as happy and worthy of a human being as a socially awkward philosopher who spends all his time hunched over his tablets, instructing future “Greats” on how to slaughter thousands in order to satisfy territorial gluttony.

Now some may disagree with me. They may say that Aristotle was brilliant in furthering both science and philosophy. They may say that many of our most dearly held beliefs on humanity and happiness stemmed from his copious cranium. But to them I reply: I don’t give a damn!

Despite my not giving a flying fart about Aristotle’s contributions to society, I do have a confession to make. While I do think Aristotle is drastically off base with some of his ideas, that’s not why I hate him with an everlasting passion. I hate him because I don’t understand him. He forces me to confront my own ineptitude in some aspects of philosophical literature and I resent him for that. Philosophy is somewhat akin to literature, which is “my thing”, and my not being able to properly interpret him is an affront to my proficiency in doing “my thing”. And for this Aristotle pisses me off and makes me rejoice at his unfair trial and death over 2000 years ago! Ah, ancient vindication! So sweet!

There is a certain truth within my desire to destroy Aristotle’s name for all eternity and possibly wreak havoc within the lives of those that think he has a point. As humans, we tend to vilify the things we don’t understand. This is not a new concept. But it is especially acute when it comes to people we don’t know. I’m sure Aristotle was a really cool guy when you got to know him and I don’t doubt that if we had a chance to talk, we’d come to some sort of peaceful impass about our situations in philosophy. But because I don’t know him, or Hillary Clinton, or Lindsay Lohan, I’m able to see them as horrible, lowlife human beings that lack anything resembling a soul. The fact of the matter is that that is only because they make me question what I believe and they challenge the things that I hold most dear (well, except for Lindsay Lohan). I don’t agree with them, I don’t understand how they can think or do the things that they do, and therefore I am able to nurture my unbridled, unjustifiable hatred of them.

Maybe I’m sensitive to this because my dad is a figure often vilified in the hockey realm. Because people don’t agree with his calls and they’ll never have to confront him face to face, somehow that makes it OK for them to intricately plan his painful death online. Side note: it’s not, so chill the hell out Toronto!

The thing to remember with people like my father, or yes, even Hillary Clinton, is that they have families, they have people that love them and that they love in return - they’re humans with virtues and faults like the rest of us (who knew, eh?).The point is, I realized today that people, even soul-crushing public figures, deserve a fair shot at living the life they believe in, complete with the values they hold dear, no matter how much we may disagree with them. And that just because we disagree, doesn’t give us the right to decapitate their voodoo doll likenesses or to curse their progeny for the next twelve millennia.

So you got lucky this time Aristotle, I’ll back off…but I still think you’re an asshole.

Sparks in a Dark Room

Humanity is a funny thing. It’s always scrambling to find a soul that mirrors, or at least compliments, its own. It wants contact, meaning, purpose, and most importantly, love. This by itself would not be supremely remarkable, since other creatures also desire many of these things. The difference is that they’re honest, and Humanity is not. It’s too afraid of rejection to be honest. It fancies itself too complicated. So it’s created often entertaining, but wholly empty retorts - cynicism, sarcasm, and simple hardheartedness - to keep the pain of loneliness and disappointment at bay.

Humanity wants to be needed and respected, but it’s frightened of being met with the opposite, so it lies for comfort. It says it’s confident and happy being alone, that it doesn’t need the approval of others to know its path. But that’s never quite true is it? It’s always looking for some form of affirmation, whether through family, friends, religion, accolades or strangers. It wants to know that itmatters. But asking for this knowledge would be too simple, too raw, too open and far too terrifying. So it’s left wandering in the dark, needing something to prove, but all the while hoping to find another groping hand that fits its own. When will Humanity learn the ease, the beauty of being genuine? The pleasure of telling someone how much you love/admire/envy/want/need them and seeing that spark of truth blaze through our dark room? When will we learn?

A Love Story

The steadfast hope

The passionate kiss

The secret smile

The bittersweet bliss

The broken heart

The shining tear

The racking sob

The burning fear

The wearying road

The aching hole

The rising sun

The uplifted soul

The snapshot memory

The healing pain

The maturative moment

The redemptive rain

T h e L o o k

Cold fire fills the sky 
Icy flame in his eyes 
Passions burn on high tonight 
Little one be wary 

Bodies shake with restrain 
Yearning for that heat again 
Minds dwell on the question “When?” 
Little one be wary

Secrets shine in that smile 
Conscience toils for a while 
Heart races on for miles 
Little one be wary 

The world lets out a sigh 
As we stand idly by 
Wondering when it’ll be our turn to try 
Little one be wary 

One day a curtain will fall down 
And all defenses shall hit the ground 
It’s when your heart begins to pound 
That you, child, must be wary

The World Wide Web and the Monsters in my Head

So, it’s 3:30 in the morning here and I seem to have redeveloped a slight case of insomnia. I’m exhausted, I know I am, but I can’t sleep because I feel like being fakely poetic in the midnight tide (see?!). The problem is I don’t know what on earth to say; there are monsters knocking around in the attic of my brain but so far I’ve been unsuccessful at either inviting them down for tea or shutting them up with a broom handle against the ceiling. So I’m left to wander and toss aimlessly while my mind monsters have a wild rumpus all on their own. I apologize for what is shaping up to be a rambling, meaningless post but you won’t mind if it helps me get to sleep right? Right? Thought not.

Something that’s bothered me recently (although it really shouldn’t have been as shocking as it was) is how utterly mean the internet has become. Kids are literally killing each other through and because of the medium; otherwise rational adults, made the brave coward through anonymity, become psychopathic, hateful people; the sincere and honest are pressured to be constantly cutting to others in a weak attempt at being “witty.” It’s upsetting! I believe that the internet is a beautiful, wonderful, informative creation that involves more than a little bit of magic and to see it being turned to such malicious purposes is heartbreaking. I feel as if I’m witnessing The Lord of the Flies come to life. If the chance of repercussions and punishments are taken away, is this what we become? Is it true that we are nothing more than wolves to our fellow man, barely held in check by society, laws and government? I hate to think so, I never have before, but things like “flash mobs” and “flaming” make me wonder and they also make me frightened.

Be kind to each other. Life’s too short for things to be otherwise. Yes I know that Lindsey Lohan is a hot mess and Kirstie Alley has gained weight yet again but they’re also people, just as we all are. If you can’t stand someone, take yourself away from situations where you have to deal with him/her; don’t spew snark online. The internet gives us the most incredible opportunity to connect with people worldwide, from Arkansas to Antarctica. Do we really want to waste it with hate?

Unbowed and Unbroken

In honor of my Dad’s historic career and recent retirement (and also to make up for that last post which was kind of sad) I’m going to share with you the villanelle I wrote for him:

The lion is no less powerful for a roar unspoken

The agéd simba surveys all he sought

His head unbowed and body unbroken

The pride in his mighty heart is woken

Looking over the lands for which he’s fought

The lion is no less powerful for a roar unspoken

He sees the love in his cubs’ eyes never forsaken

All the alliances that he has wrought

His head unbowed and body unbroken

The love they carry is his life’s token

The joy he has in them is his only thought

The lion is no less powerful for a roar unspoken

With a final roar that leaves all awestricken

This great king runs into legend from all he’s begot

His head unbowed and body unbroken

Knowing his legacy will never darken

He takes an exit that he’s chosen and bought

The lion is no less powerful for a roar unspoken

His head unbowed and body unbroken

Raindrops Keep Falling on my Head

I’ve come to the conclusion that depression is a very strange thing indeed. It’s sad and lonely and mean and it isolates you from everything that you ever once loved or needed. It burrows into your chest and then proceeds to slowly suck out everything that ever made you, you. It makes the laughter of your friends intolerable because you are unable to laugh yourself. It makes doing the things you enjoy a punishment because you aren’t able to actually enjoy them. And it makes the love and sympathetic looks of your family burn because they make you realize that something is indeed wrong with you. Depression makes you wish that your bed suddenly grew carnivorous and swallowed you whole. It makes you feel like your transparent, a ghost of yourself and a disappointment to all. When you’re depressed you become a soap bubble, so fragile and so ready to burst at the smallest sight, touch, or sound.

By far the worst thing about depression, though, is it’s ability to take over your identity. It consumes you so fully that you no longer only feel depressed but instead are depressed. It seems like a minor difference but it’s far bigger than most are able to realize until they’re in the thick of it. Depression comes to define you. Before you may have been a writer, an athlete, an entrepreneur, a teacher, a parent, a lover, a fighter, a child. After, though, all that is obliterated until the only things left are feelings of sadness and inadequacy. Soon feeling happy or even feeling emotion-neutral becomes a terrifying experience because it seems like you’ve officially lost everything. Depression is all you have, it defines you, it’s what you are and if that goes too, then what’s left? You’re just a used up husk, a demolished memorial to your former self. Because God knows you’ll never be happy again. You can barely remember what happy was, so how the hell do you expect to feel it? Or so it seems.

Depression is definitely a very strange and seductive kind of monster indeed, worming its way in and making you feel as if you need it, until you cling to it as your last proof of existence. Depression is a twisted kind of sadist. Do your best to never invite it into your heart. Otherwise, you may find that you can never fully get rid of it.

What the heck is "alacritous" and is it contagious?

You may have seen the title of my blog and subsequently questioned my sanity. I mean really, the word “alacritous” isn’t one you come across too often and to live that way just sounds painful. But it actually comes from the word “alacrity” which means “Briskness, cheerful readiness, liveliness, promptitude, sprightliness” (as defined by the Oxford English Dictionary) and that’s how I try to live my life, with “cheerful readiness.” I believe that life is a circle which takes us through the good times and the bad at regular intervals - a delicate balancing act in which everything happens for a reason. Yes, I’m one of those people that believe you will always end up where you’re meant to be and that every experience, no matter how traumatic, has some small bit of good.

Now, even with this small definition of both the word and my personality, you may ask how I ever came to call my blog such. Well, dearest readers, I was inspired by a poem I wrote (one of my favorites actually) called “With Something Much like Alacrity.” It’s whimsical and nonsensical in the e.e. cummings and Emily Dickinson sense, although in no way as well crafted. Here it is:

With Something Much like Alacrity

Last night I dreamed of a place

Where I was all alone;

The quiet was complete,

The stillness whole,

But I was far from home.

I lay down for a while

To contemplate infinity

Until the ending I found.

So I decided to fly away

Because my feet tired the ground.

I soared over seas and summits,

Grasslands, greenery and glens.

I swirled with snowflakes

And drops of rain

While learning their secrets of suspense.

I then lie down in a downy bush

And dreamed I was awake.

The paradox of dying to live

My waking dream did make.

I was spun around so hard and fast

The way home was a mystery,

But this was not a defeat for me

The challenge was a treat to me.

Still there was no sigh or sound

No creature to be seen,

So I split into two

And played games with Myself

Until Myself grew mean.

I then dived down into the ocean

Breathing in its salt

But since an ocean dead

Is no fun at all

I quickly came back to the start;

But I got my ending confused

With the beginning of smile

So I just sat down

With chin in hand

And thought about things for a while.

I figured out the meaning of life

Seconds within its asking

And I discovered ungravity

With something much like alacrity.

All this came to not, though,

Since without you I remained

So I hitched a ride on a humpback whale

And now am with you again.