Martin Strel & Dream Diarrhea
Your ideology is based on ideas.
You watched a documentary
That fired your soul up plenty
But your mind has dream diarrheas
You can't actuate the fire of your heroes
You roll out intellectual phrasing
But you're killing time - you're pacing
In a waiting room of zeroes.
You try to fool those closest
By saying 'I'll do it - just watch me
I'll play piano better than Liberace
I'll design a boot better than Versace
I'll write my Joanie Loves Chachi
I'll score perfect in Bocce
But your vase is filled with dead roses.
You sit around while I live.
You spout postures and what-ifs
And make up unused guitar riffs
While I work and constantly give.
Soon, your parlour room chatter
Will dissipate into the ether
You or the words - but none will choose neither
And your invisible friends shall scatter.
Your ideology is based on ideas.
You watched a documentary
That fired your soul up plenty
But your mind has dream diarrheas
Hoppy Beers & BC
I've always liked Hoppy beers. There's something about the spicy, wheaty
bite of a beer brewed with the right amount of hops. It's refreshing but it also
sticks to your tongue and mouth in a beautiful dance of flavour.
Out in BC, I experienced some of the best hops filled beers that I've
ever had. In fact, at this one pub we played (called the Howe Sound
Brew Pub), there was a seasonal brew called 'Total Eclipse Of The Hop'.
I was in Heaven. Another beer that was served to me from Trish's snow
filled deck by her super cool husband was called 'Hop Circle IPA' by
a microbrew company called Phillips. It was tasty and punchy.
Nowadays, in Northumberland, I'm lucky if I find a pub that serves
Rickards Red (over-carbonated to boot).
Oh BC. Come back to me.
The K-Town Sound
We rolled through the streets and made ourselves seem like giants
Looking for our shadows in the rainy evening hour
We danced to the beats and lived life as if we were defiant
Filled up with spirits that the Lake would devour
All the way down Princess and on to the steps of City Hall
We raised our wet fists to the governing body
Stormed through the park, past the black train that is forever stalled
And left all our soaking clothes in a parked mazerati
Past all the families, milling about and minding their arbor
Some pulled their children away from our parade
Launching off the rocks, we plunged one by one into the harbour
And under the deep, in my mind a song played
Feelin' like Blue Rodeo
In the middle of Lake Ontario
But I'm closer to the shore
And the city that I adore
New Ventures
The roads unfold and it is beyond our doing and our bidding - we choose
a path, assume the risk and deal with the fallout. No one person can truly
predict their outcome.
The destination is really not even that important - but how you got there.
This colloquial life. It ebbs and flows in and out of diction and speech.
We try to sum it up - but our calculations fall short.
There are no words for truth.
You Called Down The Thunder
Sometimes, payback is the only option. Usually though, there is a way around
revenge. It sneaks up on you and taps your shoulder in the dark - it tells you
words that you don't want to hear.
The soft, solemn sound of peace. Peace.
War unfolds at all times beyond our control and beyond our influence. It
happens. Lines are drawn. Enemies are formed. Battle is done. The trenches
fill with casualties.
For what?
Why do we fight?
Old Friends - They Don't Know Me Now
That song by Arcade Fire has been raging in my bones for a while now,
like a record needle stuck in the groove of that phrase, and I've been
thinking about the altruism of that sentence.
My old friends - they don't know me now.
In the days of our late teens to mid twenties, idealism runs rampant.
We feel indestructible and unbeatable in our thoughts, our morals, our
beliefs and our dreams. We think about the old friends who we have
lost touch with and the joy it would be to re-connect. But growing older
and getting into the 30 zone, as Douglas Coupland says, our glass
of water basically gets full and our cups runneth over with memories,
desires, lost dreams, lost wages, debts, joy and discernment.
I used to think that I met everyone for a reason and that any
relationship was salvageable. Now, I'm not so sure about that. There
are things I went through in St Catharines - alone - with just mostly
myself - that I can never relate to others. There are things that I had
to push through and glass ceilings I had to break in order to get to
where I am now.
Demons I had to fight.
And though where I am right now, currently, is not an amazing place,
there are truly very very few - maybe not even another soul - who can
say that they truly know me. I am a shape-shifter. I only dive in as
deep as others feel comfortable and barely ever put myself at risk -
and yet, in the same thought, I have been that deep-pusher for many
and I have been the one to get others to open up about themselves.
People have told me things that they have told to no one else. I am a
vault.
But there is no vault for me. There is no other 'life companion' who I
feel comfortable telling everything to. I can't do it. And maybe that's
a curse, but maybe it's how I need to be. There are certain things that
I will take to the grave - things that no one else will ever know.
As a man who appears to have a million friends, I truly have none
who I can bare all of myself to - I spend a lot of time alone.
Perhaps it's where I am most comfortable.
My old friends.
They don't know me now.
The Tempest Rages
Something is definitely happening. A change is going on within me.
There are phases and periods in life in which you just sort of exist
and act as a witness to your surroundings - and you feel removed
and sort of watching from behind a rose-coloured set of glasses.
That is not the case these days. I am involved with every morsel
of existence and every fabric in the mosaic of consciousness. I feel
like a shell is being shuck off and a new person is emerging. I feel
freer to let go of old friends and people than I ever have. I have
lost the thought of being broke and have almost learned to survive
without playing any sort of game.
I am becoming the best possible version of myself. I may have to
go through hell and horror to get there, but I'm getting there.
'Let perseverance finish its work so that you may be mature and
complete, not lacking anything.'
The Multitudes
What really happened during the feeding of the 5000? Was there some
sort of transcendental incident or was it just a bit of luck?
When people want something, the identity of a person is lost - it
quickly becomes a blob of teeming desire that morphs into something
altogether different than a singular identity. As Tommy Lee Jones
says in MIB: 'A person is smart...people are stupid.'
Sometimes, we forget about the person - and we shoot for the
pleasure of 'the people'.
It's a battle we will always lose.
Night Skating
I used to do this while I lived in Ottawa between 2008 and 2009. I
remember the discipline. I remember pushing out from my legs and
feeling the burn deep into my ankles.
I remember.
The ice glistened beneath us. Sarah and I pushed hard, after a few mild
days, over the top of a frozen canal surface that felt like hardened
waves. Fifth Avenue. Warming shack. Post Italian food.
Crunch time.
Bear down. Winter comes and winter goes.
I'm Building Something
I'm building something.
I can't talk right now.
While you are busy tearing down and doing your demolition
deeds, I'm in the cellar - hammering.
'They said he suffered horribly.
That he called out for me right
before he died. They said he said
he regretted his life. They said
he said a lot of things. Too many
to recount. They said it was the
longest and saddest deathbed speech
any of them had ever heard.'
-Synecdoche NY
Uncaring
I've grown tired of the struggle. The path is beset on all sides
by the wicked and by the weak. I am in the middle - on the
path. Playing the game. Making the journey.
I've given up on caring what you think of me. I am what I
am and I'm okay with that. I'll never be an Einstein but I will
write a book someday that will enthrall many. I will travel
more and play more music. I'll meet people. I'll write more
music and I'll keep creating. I'll publish. I'll best the critics.
I may not have two pennies these days but I traveled across
the country playing original music in towns and cities I'd
never even heard of before.
I've made 4 full length original albums and an EP with 3 more
full-lengths on the way.
The fuck have you done with your life?
I love you - but stop projecting your discontent on me.
I'm bummed out, sure. I'm broke, yeah. But my spirit will
not be broken - not by you or anyone.
I'm tired of being the one to apologize.
Man up and control your anger for once.
The Woods
I'm going to the woods.
“I went to the woods because I wanted
to live deliberately,
I wanted to live deep and suck out
all the marrow of life,
To put to rout all that was not life
and not when I had come to die,
Discover that I had not lived.”
-Henry David Thoreau
Get The Ray Gun
In the Zombies COD game (that I've become semi-addicted to), there
is a gun that is the ultimate problem solver.
It's called the ray gun.
The ray gun sits in a chest that you need a certain amount of points
to unlock - and once the chest is open, there is no guarantee that
you'll get the ray gun as the weapons inside spin around in a sort
of lottery fashion (sometimes landing on a lame maltov cocktail
maker or a crappy magnum 357).
But if you get the ray gun, you will know of its power.
Shooting streams of green fury and decimating zombies on contact,
it is the room-clearer of weapons. It is the finishing move and if it's
used well, it can help you to make it very far in the game.
There is no ray gun in life. All we have are a lottery of options
and we choose the best that we can. Sometimes, I wish that I'd
done things differently. I wish I'd been more aggressive about a
career in writing right out of university. I wish I'd gone to school
for journalism 8 years ago. I wish I'd secured people in the
same town that would play music with me and work at the craft
of being performers for years. I wish I'd not racked up debt so
quickly.
But we all must find ways to get that ray gun - whatever it
might be. A job. A partner. A lover. An ally. An opportunity.
And the naysayers will feel its creative and green-glowing power.
I don't know when I'll get it - but I have the feeling that I'll get
that ray gun. I've been to the chest enough times. It's only a
matter of time.
Springsteen And Nepean
At the start of January, I spent a few days at my parents' house by
myself. I had no car. I had no real commitments. It was a bit of a
retreat. One afternoon, I decided to walk up to the Tim Hortons
near Greenbank - a walking path which took me right across the
playground and fields of my old Junior High school.
I realized that as I was walking, Springsteen was in my headphones
as I had just purchased 'The Promise'. I was enjoying its gruff
luster through piano-mashing, harmonica swelling and sax blasting
rock of the E Street Band.
I felt sort of sentimental in the sense that the first record I ever
bought was 'Born In The USA' - and I had listened to it for the
first time ever in my parents family room, here in Nepean. And
now, here I was - a mostly grown man bustling across the frozen
turf of my yesteryear - stumbling into the now-ness of it all.
A neighbourhood that once seemed so massive is now so
shrunken and small.
I walked by the space park (which is now just a normal park
that was once laden with UFO type play structures made of
steel and paint) and paused near the swings. My friend Brian
and I had many good talks on those swings. Another time,
in that very park, a guy named Kenny destroyed a fort that
me, my brother Adam and Trevor Kalinowsky made. It was
one of the first times I ever felt really betrayed and ruined.
He karate kicked Trevor in the leg and Trevor threw some
sort of wooden club to my brother so that Kenny couldn't
take it. Adam caught it. Later that day, the three of us made
a 'Kenny doll' in my parents basement (with a head made from
a cardboard Quaker oats container) and beat the shit out of it.
I know that Bruce played a part, in some invisible way, in helping
to raise me as I listened to Born In The USA over and over again
until the needle naturally found skips in the vinyl. I know it sounds
lame, but Bruce and I have a connection through the streets
of this nondescript suburb - and we actually even have the same
birthday (September 23).
I'll always have Springsteen and Nepean.
Venture
It's amazing how this story of life unfolds. As the pages turn,
the characters who we once, and perhaps foolishly, thought
would be with us until the very end somehow disappear and
new characters emerge into the storyline.
I'm at a phase of letting go - moving forward. Realization.
I'm understanding that not everything will be the way I once
idealized - and that friends and even family can get lost in the
shuffle of the plot.
My characters are changing - and perhaps even the plot of
the whole story is as well.
Let go of what's behind. Venture into what is ahead.
Cracks In Everything
On the days where balm meets dead o' winter, something happens.
You feel melodious. You are in a song.
I've had a terrible January and February hasn't been that promising either...
But March is a-comin'.
Someday, I'll leave this joint. I'll bust out.
My cell will be empty. My cot will be crease-less with fresh linens.
I'll be gone.
I have to remind myself that some birds aren't meant to be caged. Their feathers are just too bright. And when they fly away, the part of you that knows it was a sin to lock them up DOES rejoice. But still, the place you live in is that much more drab and empty that they're gone. I guess I just miss my friend.
A Lot Of Work
Anyone who wants to really have a baby needs to spend a
weekend taking care of one with its parents absent.
That's my niece-in-law - Cate. She's a smart girl and has a pretty
adorable personality. She's 1 and a half. But she is, without a doubt,
a boatload of work.
After St Catharines, we headed up to Hamilton to see some family
and their young daughter. Unfortunately, due to a sudden injury, the
mom had to rush off to the hospital because of unbearable pain.
Sarah and I took care of Cate.
At 1.5 years, they are basically running, laughing, screaming and
doing everything but talking - but the words are almost there.
Sentences are right around the corner. They need to nap. They need
to eat. They can do a lot - but they need help with most things.
They're fragile. They bump their heads on tables. They move fickly
from one toy to the next and one book to the next to try and stay
entertained.
Luckily, a half hour of Dora the Explorer vacuumed her attention
for a spell. TV really is miraculous.
The extreme swings from joy to heartbreak are pretty incredible.
I have a lot more respect for folks with youngins, now, and our
Sarah's sister and bro-in-law, now. We only spent most of a day
taking care of her - and they do that every day, 24/7, and hold down
jobs.
God bless the parents.
Ole Stompin' Grounds
Today, I did had re-visitation of my roots.
Saint Catharines.
After meeting up with some friends, I took the opportunity to stroll through
the old Cor-Bloc building on King St - the building that housed (and still
houses) the call centre I worked within for 3 years. June of 2007 was the
last time I'd even set foot in that place.
It felt like a closed chapter in my life - it was surreal, brighter and much
smaller than I remember. The landscape of my mind made that job into
something much bigger than it was - but that was also due to massive
amounts of anxiety.
I walked around the lobby, past the old coffee stand where I used to get
a midday muffin. It was empty - a ghost town. I wasn't sure if anyone still
worked there but I heard water running behind a counter somewhere.
I guess I wanted to feel something - I wanted to connect. But I felt nothing.
That guy who worked at that call centre is long gone - and the anxiety with
him.
This aging, bitter, passionate, broke man is all that's left.
A Dark So Deep
I think that I have pretty high expectations for my friends and when
I don't hear back from them, I sort of take that to heart. I know that we
all get busy and that we all have lives and all of that blah blah b.s.
ladeeda, but I really think that in this day and age, if someone responds
with silence to a question or a query, the only excuse is laziness.
Even making up a lie is better than a non-response - because if
someone responds with a lie, at least you know they've read your
message. The non-response is not communication; its mostly
laziness. Working in a professional environment, sometimes people
will use the old 'Oh well, I didn't have an answer yet' disclaimer to
defend their non-response when in reality, a 3 worded email saying
'I'm not sure yet' at least lets you know that the receiver has read
what you said and is taking steps towards a solution.
Sometimes, I want to move to a cabin by myself. I know I'm a
people person and a very sociable being but really - I could use
a break from people for a while.
Islands Of Stone
So this morning, after an egg sandwich with a dear friend, Ben and I
hit the CFRC Queens radio airwaves for an interview on our friend
Dorothea's show. (You can listen to the full interview
here and then
selecting Feb 9, 2011, 1300 hrs from the dropdown menus). It
reminded me of how much I love useless banter in the right context.
We played a few tracks and talked about upcoming releases and doing
so the day after a show made us actually feel like a band - a real
band! Brendan couldn't make it but Ben and I plucked along as a duo
and even though my voice was a bit quiet at times, it was fine and
dandy.
The first two songs we played were ones we had wanted to shelf
for a while (Let's Go Out Tonight & Otter Lake Sound), but in
playing them I think we were reminded of the love, warmth and
memories that they bring (especially to me).
And in playing that song about Otter Lake
In a radio studio in Kingston
The words came alive as I sang and spake
All the memories glowed and mixed in
And I was transported to a place with my friends
Steve and Joel out on the water
Acting like asses and laughin' to no ends
By the shack turned cottage on old otter
Islands of Stone
Crumble Down
Voice on a phone
The Years, They Pound
Hipster Bars & Turbo
So we have a show tonight on the Queens campus. Balls out.
Time to roll.
As we walked into the place, I got ID'd and my friend Ben (who
plays banjo in Graven) had to sign me in as a non-student. What
is that? Like a red A? I hate hipster socialites who think they have
something that's so beyond repute that they can act dubious,
ambiguous and exclusive. The manager of Clark Hall Pub was
really nice though - and he made us feel welcome and right at
home.
We played our set (as the first band of 5 on a night that featured
mostly hardcore acts) and seemed to get a good amount of hoots
and hollers from folks who enjoyed themselves. After our short
set, which was well received and cheered upon again when the
following band mentioned our names on stage, the drinking
began. Myself and a few friends endeavoured into this beverage
that is famous at Clark Hall called 'Turbo'. It tasted like angels
dancing in your mouth. The table of us drank much and it was a
night for the books.
I found out the next day that 'Turbo' is actually half Smirnoff
Ice and half Coors Light. I felt like a jock or a 16 year old girl
who had been taken advantage of - oh well. It definitely lived
up to its name and got us all to a good place - turbo-fast.
On the walls of bar, I noticed a chalkboard that said 'Clark
Hall (hearts) PBR'.
Hipster Heaven at Turbo Speed.
Everybody's Screamin' Murder
It really is enough. I think that the snowbanks are high enough as it is.
I think it can stop now.
Today was a mundane and exquisitely boring day. I tried to help book
a few shows and lost interest in a hurry. On days like these, who
among us can be motivated to go outside? The only way I'd head out
there is to make money - and right now, I mostly do that from my
domicile with a computing device, so what drives me to leave?
Irritable.
Angry.
And then I got a phone call that changed everything - my view, my
mind, my headspace. Bam. A cold shock of water to the cortex.
Bing Bong. Reset button.
Things are afoot.
Speaking of leaving, I will be leaving tomorrow for a Graven show
in Kingston. Shows and meeting with friends are also motivators
for leaving the house - and should be acted upon whenever there
is potential for either.
More to come...
But there always is, isn't there?
Sometimes Sundays
At times, there is a faint whisper. A stirring in the trees. And even
deep in the winter's grasp, an exhale from the heavens reigns down its
bounty. A smell of chimney smoke on a mild day. You can go outside
without a jacket for more than 3 minutes. The sun is seemingly
buoyant, even past 5 pm on a February weeknight. Your debts float
out of your being and into thin air for a few moments as you inhale
through your nose.
And suddenly, you know it's going to be alright.
Yesterday was an alright day. I watched the Superbowl with some
family. The Steelers didn't win. This made my already alright day
even better. I drank some Creemore. I ate a few sausages. I ate
some veggies.
I need to get out and start pounding the pavement again. Sadly,
I miss the burn that comes with running and it's been a long while
since I've hit it. I feel like I could take that on again.
Can we control what happens?
Maybe.
Snow-Bi-Wan-Kenobi
Sheeyot.
It's getting to be disgusting.
Sure, the first snowfall is a nice, romantic, time-stoppage where we can all
gaze in wonderment at the heavens - but really? Another 6 inches last night
and 6 more coming this week? Really?
I went to a movie in Oshawa tonight and the drive back (which is 25 mins
on a normal day) took us over an hour. The 401 was a snowy field. People
jockeyed for position on a bed of snow chunks and black ice.
Make it all end.
Mancation 2.5 (Hip Hop Guy)
Kingston.
The site of many dreams and demises of mine.
Where stress will often decline.
Where civility and joy never seem to align.
There is something about this city that allows to me be inconspicuous and out
of the eyes of most people. I feel safe. I feel like I can do pretty much anything
and function as much as I need to the next day.
Friday night, I made my way to K town for a usual onslaught of activity -
band rehearsal, going over tracks with Ben and then drinking sloppily with
two friends (one of whom I didn't even know was in town) - Tay and Shay.
After my practice had finished, I had an offer to stay in town but I realized
that I needed to back early for an appointment on saturday morning and
couldn't afford to stay over. I also felt a bit of a malaise and I wasn't sure
why. I had dropped off Ben and Bren at their various living spaces and was
going to meet with Dave (another K town friend) but hadn't heard anything.
I sat in my car on Princess for a moment, admiring the view of the
snowy bustle.
'Doodle-dee.' (that's the sound an iPhone makes when it gets a text).
It was Taylor.
'Matt - I am staying with Shane tonight in K town. On our way
back from Brockville. Get ready to rip shit up'.
My spirits were lifted.
Team Mancation was going to assemble once again.
The three of us convened quickly to discuss a late night game plan.
Shane hates being called 'Shay' which is why his name was dubbed as such
a long time ago. Taylor hates being called 'Tay' even more than Shane hates
his nickname. They both call me 'Old Dirty'. So it's all even keel. We hit
up one of our favourite spots - a dirty, suburban pool hall called 'Raxx'.
Raxx has a lot of live bands and a massive amount of pool tables and an
even larger amount of zany cougar women. It's a sight to behold.
As the three of us sat down to survey the scene and enjoy some ice cold
Rickards (a beer I don't love but one that 'does the trick' when you need
something cold and dark). About 5 minutes after we sat down, a large
hip-hop dude (who will later be referred to as 'hip-hop-guy') with a sideways
red baseball cap was talking up Tay in a very close way. None of us were
sure what it was but we could tell that something was slightly 'off' with
this guy. Taylor then ordered a second pitcher, filling the table with 2
full pitchers of beer.
He became our project for the night. He also wanted to contribute
money to a new pitcher of beer - which arrived shortly. He disclosed
to his new best friend (Tay) that he was a hip hop dance instructor.
He was also very touchy feely and a close-talker.
3 pitchers. On the table. Full.
As Shane decided that we should all have a quick dance on the crowded
dance floor before the lights came on, we moved to the floor and hip
hop guy came with.
He wasn't kidding - he was a hip hop instructor, all right. He danced
with some moves that Step Up 4 will likely patent.
Within minutes, we were looking for hip hop guy
and as it turned out, he was in the middle of a big scuffle. We tried to
help him out but it was a lot of shouting and finger-pointing with
fist-pumpers. Later on, even though I was extending a hand to try and
get him away from the fight, he thanked Tay for helping him and
drank a half glass of beer.
We left the bar in a haze.
Hip hop guy hasn't been seen since.
Shay, Tay and I made some memories friday night, to be sure.
Zomz': Kill 'Em All
I had the chance tonight to get together with Pete - one of my few
friends on Trinity campus. We blasted the hell out of some zombies
and made them feel pain as their heads and body parts and phalanges
decimated into atmospheric dissonance. It was glorious.
Pete and I then met up with some other Trinity folks and had a few
beverages (as Pete is a fan of all types of Creemore - regular, Ur
Bock and the Pilsner) and sat around in a big common room,
sipping on cold suds.
Pete's dad also owns a wine store in Port Hope which gives him
access to a catacomb of delicious vino.
I like hangin' with Pete.
Nothing More To Say
I've been having trouble staying on top of this blog and motivating myself
to continually update it. With every day, the sun rises with potential and
energy and excitment - and sets with a certain sobriety and somber feel.
But I said another 365 - and what I say, I stick to - so I'm doin' it.
The winter has holed me up and this snow doesn't seem to want to stop
falling. Recently, I also decided to stop drinking coffee and it's been over
2 weeks now without my usual sugar-cream-caffeine kick. I've been
drinking organic decaf tea. The great thing about tea is that I don't put
anything in it - no sugar or milk. I've been sleeping a lot better but I think
I've been a bit sleep-deprived because even upon the initial waking moment,
I don't want to get out of bed.
Now, don't get me wrong - I'm not super-depressed. I just don't have much
direction. I need to get out for a bit. I need to pull the pin.
Need.
Compartmentalizing
I spent a lot of time in a sink very similar to the one above for many
years. The stainless steel pot sink at IAWAH is a pretty sacred place.
Many have scrubbed there - many have failed - and many have
felt the sweet sting of a scrub-sweat in that place. Although screams
of good times were happening just feet away from you, and the
fields never looked greener and the lake never bluer, you had to
keep scrubbing. The kitchen staff (featuring a very irate but hilarious
Newfie chef) would show up and curse you out for not being done
or for being too slow or for not having ready what they needed
ready.
I loved the pot sink.
It was a place where I could turn everything off and just focus on
my own concerns while scrubbing away endless layers of stainless
steel, oatmeal, chicken & bacon grease, deep and quantified burn
marks, and what have you. At times, due to overload, the pots
and pans would actually come out dirtier due to greasy water.
This only meant that your job was botched and that you needed
to drain the sink and start again.
Food smells ruminated into a sweaty mess of garlic, salt, cake
mix and disgust that would intrude your pores and clothes like a
bad dumpster. The heat was enough to make you pass out as
you scrubbed for hours on end on the burnt cookie sheet that
didn't have a liner for those burnt drumsticks.
A friend of mine lost his wedding ring down the drain of that pot
sink - never to be found again.
Wash, Rinse, Sanitize.
A perfect trinity.
I feel like I'm starting to shut out things in my life. I'm getting to
an age where you have to make action - or else action passes you
by. And sometimes, in order to make that action, you have to
make compartments - and some people and places get shut out.
In your twenties, the world is your oyster and opportunity is
your friend. In your thirties, the world is a mess and opportunity
is a dangling carrot that you need to grab or discard. Bitter.
Crunchy. Orange.
Get your sink on.
