It was like taking a plunge into ‘literary’ waters. I quickly fell into a deep depression losing all sense of my surroundings and found comfort in alcohol . Days were spent binged on anything accessible. At one point I even resorted to armed robbery of a 7-11 convenient store with my shitzoo dog named Dr.Goldberg JOO-stien to feed my habit. Sufficient to say I was living a feeble life. Things didn't go as planned and I cracked. I was a failure. The mental struggle had owned me and I was reduced to nothingness, now in an apartment complex somewhere down town, in and out of reality on the decayed sofa that was in the living room. I had just ordered a batch of pills from my dealer Sven of the East Side Dough Boys and eagerly waited. Remote in hand the channels flickered between one another when the room filled with the soft angelic voice of an angel. “Talk to the tree, make friends with it” said the afro’d man. His words pierced through me and had awoken me. I shuffled through the stack of paper and started writing. Once the show was over I gathered my belongings which consisted of ten sheets of writing, my lucky red yo-yo, a photo of me at burger king, and headed back to Kwantlen with a sense of achievement. From the sheets I created my first poem. P.S my friend Travis is a literary ‘God’.
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| Bob Ross in his natural habitat |
The Joy of Painting
White
Shells wrapped with stripes
waiting, to see the day.
The
paint brush releases,
sweet dispositions
as
beau blue drifts over the beach
He smiles
at the camera, happily
praises the newbies. says
“Let’s
paint,
a cloud above the sea
whichever
works with you”
as splashes
of bright cerulean
touches
the tips of tides and
showers
the sands,
shadowing over
the
beach are hands of waves
waving
back,
happy accidents
Stay tuned for the next episode.
Stay tuned for the next episode.