Watch Your Language

Hey folks,

I’m planning a new blog! I like monkiss as unfocussed as it is from day-to-day, with art, personal stories and soap box stuff, the next one is devoted to a nerdy love of mine:


I’m going to do a word a day with some photography to go with it…I think; photos from around my city.

Submit a blog title recommendation if you like. So far I’m using my wife’s feedback and we don’t seem to like each other’s suggestions – so far.


In times of danger

This is how you stay alive.

You think of Thich Nhat Hanh’s words:

“Just let go my dear”  needled in black ink on your forearm.

you think of the millions of cells fighting on your behalf,

synapses firing,

heart beating,

blood pumping

how dare you tear apart the work of the universe, it’s beauty is a miracle

you love and you wait


cultivate waiting, time and beauty

dear Buddha

you were right

all we have is now.

all we need is love

all i want is you

Dreaming toward death

Sometimes, in the midst of depression, my safety devices are writing and my love for my wife.  

I want to be a breath away from fading into the sheets on my bed and into nothing.

Like that movie, A Neverending story, I feel like I’m in the nothing.

Then there’s the knowledge that death is very permanent and only seems like a distant pretty idea. Looks like it might work, looks like an option, but really, it isn’t…not at all…Almost like…communism?

My nails are dragging along the pages and keyboard, if I form them, I will stay, if I type, I am alive, I am here and I will stay.

It’s a sad commentary or the ramblings of a person who has managed chronic depression for 20 years, I have no idea which is more accurate.

It’s a beautiful sunny day – the sun is splitting the rocks, my grandfather would say. It’s 4 celsius but we haven’t seen a beautiful day like this in a long time. It makes my illness that much more, palpable, closer to the surface.

I am here, I am alive and for now, that is enough.

Why Are We Scared Of Creativity?

Creativity And Fear

My whole life, I knew, I was a writer.

I can remember career skills class in twelfth grade where, after four years of the general crap your provincial/state education board requires you to know; ‘reading, writing arithmetic/how to cite a source/meet a deadline’ they realise:

Oh shit! So whatta you wanna do with all this knowledge now that you have this book learnin?

Enter career skills: where you try to figure out what might appeal to you; choose some vocation to earn a living for the next 35 years of your life. Piece o’ cake! Right?

I wondered why I had to decide on one. I liked science, art, humanities, health, perhaps a short time in dentistry or quantum mechanics might appeal to me in 15 years.

Ever present, like a monkey on my back, has been this voice…write, write, why are you not writing today?

As much as I would love it to shut up so I can continue to watch Teletoon at night, it persists and so I’m a bit of slave to it.

Like a lot of people, creativity to me is dangerous, it is for people with BFA after their names, who have magic gifts or the last name Picasso.

Not me.

But here it is, I’m stuck with it. So I manage my fear, do the job that makes me money in the meantime, and listen to the wisdom of other writers.

Elizabeth Gilbert speaks at TED about nurturing creativity.

Our stories and our experiences are our own. chronicling them is not self-indulgent, flighty or a waste of time.

There will be another person touched by your creativity.

Nurture your secret desire for literary creations, sculptures or photography.

….There is nothing wrong with what you want to share with the world.