Kurrs' Digital Tapestry of Words

Originally Uploaded here by karo666

A really good series of chances is not providence, but inevitability. Every good turn has a probability, small though it might be, of happening. A series of good chances has a much smaller probability, but it still posseses such a probability. The question is not if but when. The only reason most people don't experience truly wondrous series of coincidences is merely because they die before the chances have a chance to line up.

Fortune does not possess meaning into itself, and calling it capricious is not an isomorphism, although it works well enough to be a good parable.

Holding you is like touching sunshine made flesh, the mid-morning solar light of autumn, comfortably warm peeking through softly shifting falling leaves. It bore repeating. You won't know though, nor will I let you, no matter how much dresses and skirts conspire to evoke unreasonable responces.

There is only so much despair and hardship you can endure before you pop out the other side. When your emotional responses say Enough! and you become a tich mad, delerious, to solve the problem. One of the advantages of this living in a wealthy nation is it often gives you the ability to notice that things are never actually that bad. This is in contrast with a poor country where, well, I might be dead or something.

I ran into a girl on a bus whom I haven't seen for about a month. It was a warm, stupid, grinning, honest exchange that left me at the verge of tears I couldn't have more. This will be remedied.

Strangely, my aged father's father was more right than either I or he could have actually known. This may be the first time. Random, perceived as capricious.

Written On: Home Computer

Posted by Kurrs at 1:49 PM | Permalink

Originally Uploaded here by antimethod

Today was a good day, even though I have trouble defining where it began. The Pirate is not open, the weather is bad or inclement in the very least. I visited trout lake in the afternoon, juggled and greeted friends and others. I went home and was depressed, then went to the theatre. Closing night went out with all the bells and whistles it should have and I'm still riding the wave from that one. Then I cleaned and organised, bussed and skytrained, split and connected, viewed and appreciated. I attended the cast party, and drank. Finally, I wandered around downtown with a fast walker and when I turned around after leaving, so did she, her fingers trailing like a flag in the wind.

Or maybe it was just my mind moving.

Written On: Home Computer

Posted by Kurrs at 3:14 AM | Permalink

Originally Uploaded here by flea.ef

Fuck, my insurance bill is bigger than I thought it'd be.

I can practically smell my cello chances vanishing in the need for rent.

Fuck, I need a job.

Written On: Home Computer
Alternative Title: Studies In Subtext Through Expense

Posted by Kurrs at 4:52 PM | Permalink

Originally Uploaded here by A V A

I'm unhappy again, I can't shake it. The play is this bright and burning candle I warm myself around, the thing that succeeded, that was beautiful. A point of sanity. But it won't end up breaking even, meaning that nothing I have done this summer has actually netted me income, or even not cost me thousands of dollars. I guaranteed my four, but work hand over fist still needs doing, and even after that is done I will not have stability, I still won't know how I'm paying rent. You need a break, a vacation, but I simply don't see how that will happen. And that's the truth of it.

I have alot of responsibility right now. It's empowering, but also kinda depressing, given that nothing is working out as I planned.

Parables of sand and salt still catch in my throat.

Written On: Home Computer

Posted by Kurrs at 9:58 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)

Originally Uploaded here by hundun

It isn't quite like loneliness, which is the lack of a particular person, a void that requires filling. Instead, it is a sense of maladjustion, a desire for stability that other brings.

A mere week ago, I made four promises, four things I would not let break, despite the litany of random events I have had to contend with. Already, it seems I have guaranteed them. There is solace in that, not stability but definately solace. I may end up making it five, and may manage to slip away to Shambhala, but I wouldn't hold my breath on that one. I very much want to go, but the threads that hold my web together are fresh and thin. They will probably require vigilant maintenence. Not to mention the future is decidedly unsteady, and will require some focus in the weeks to come, on top of everything else.

Inside me, there are stories to tell, analogies of fictional waters and sand. I will write them down eventually.

Written On: Home Computer

Posted by Kurrs at 12:29 AM | Permalink

Originally Uploaded here by embleton

Posted by Kurrs at 11:44 AM | Permalink

Originally Uploaded here by rayphua

Like butter over too much bread.

I measure myself out, and I don't leave much remaining. I am exacting in this, which means I don't accidentally leave too much behind. But then, something unforeseen will arise and I will deal with it. I always do, I have only faltered a few times and they burn black marks into my own accounting. Few and far between though. The problem lies in my sanity, for while I no longer run myself into a broken physical state, I seem to choose emotional and intellectual torment over failure. I think this is a virtue in our culture, but I really can't tell.

I'm tired and really emotionally unstable. On the plus side, I think the business will start making money now.

Written On: Home Computer

Posted by Kurrs at 12:04 AM | Permalink

A final straw upon my back, it broke.

I can't take this anymore.

Originally Uploaded here by elsabet

There is truth in the idea that we operate at different speeds. I suppose I am in a relatively frequent state of emotional upheaval.

I didn't know she ever used the g-word.

A terse little story, lovingly told, or told inspiring love, that so encapsulated her essence I tried not to break into tears. Within the last few days, once again the puss and ache of a reoccuring problem, a cyst, flared up to dislodge my stability. In that regard, I understand, because I ride myself pretty hard and I don't put up with systemic problems. I simply do. not. have. time. for. it. In the face of it the first time, I lost her, and in the face of it the second, I miss her.

My seams are showing. I will fix it.

Originally Uploaded here by andrebernardo

Before, my heart dropped into my stomac when I was told, the emotional fragility of the tragedy du jour was, unsuprisingly, leaving me with few defences. I tittered, and Andrea looked at me as if I was mad. I tittered some more, muttering some nonsense before I wandered out, all suit and honey, knives and silk. I kept it together, until we were about to rush off, after having waited too long. And the first thing that came to me was now, now, you have to tell her now and I almost did it, ran down the street with all the madness-induced romance and tell you. Thankfully, I'm not that crazy, and we drove off before I lost my senses again.

Sometimes, I get sad that my loves cannot be fulfilled, that I know all too well their doom before they begin. I take solace in that I know I hurt others less this way. This careful path I tread is done, hopefully, out of a sense of wisdom, or at the very least practicality. However, it still gets me down sometimes.

Not that it really matters, I suppose I do need a shirt that proclaims Emotionally Unavailable.

Written On: Mother's Computer

Posted by Kurrs at 11:51 PM | Permalink

Originally Uploaded here

Last night was opening night, and it was stupendous. While I was whisked away by Anthony in his little red Mustang to deal with the emotionally charged crisis du jour (just don't ask), I just started screaming and laughing. I'm surprised I didn't start crying, just to top off the cake of madness I was baking. Finally, something I've done this summer has panned out. It's been really hard on me, but I suppose it's fitting, that the riskiest of your endeavours ends up being the most successful. Touché, dear sister, touché.

Written On: Home Computer

Posted by Kurrs at 8:53 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)

Originally Uploaded
here by Dan4th

Posted by Kurrs at 2:05 AM | Permalink

Originally Uploaded here by mrs. tiggy-winkle

The lack of a lovelife doesn't bother me anymore, not directly at least. The simple reality is that I have bigger fish to fry as of late, tragedies that come not single file but in battalions, that the recent sadness that relates to the end of one of my longest intimate relationships kinda takes second-seat. This is not to say that I am fine, or that I don't shake at the sight of her, but neither do I blame my depression on her person nor the artifacts that exist in me because of closure.

I haven't been holding it together, I've let my depression get in the way. Vicious cycle that I won't, can't let get out of control. The show will be good, the Pirate will continue running, I won't lose my house, KMM will continue. These are things that must be, no matter the losses that must occur along the way. No Shambhala, No India. Nine years away from my parents, nine years emotionally married. I won't let it slip now, no matter how close to slipping it might be.

Then, for no reason, I hear my name. I check the doors, front and back, and even answered. Yes? Hopefully, I'm not going crazy, but there wasn't anyone there. At least, not that I saw.

I have to get up in the morning, place orders and do tech, cue-to-cue and then sleep. Work in some food, and that's a day.

Written On: Home Computer
Currently Listening: This Morn Omina - The Drake Equation (album d/l)
Alternative Title: I Fail At Being A Real Theatre Person, Being Sober And All...

Posted by Kurrs at 12:30 AM | Permalink | Comments (3)

Originally Uploaded here by e-nikkos

The source of my unhappiness comes primarily from the ruining of my life. Not ruined for the future, but right now.

I was asked if I was okay - which happens more for me than most, or so I'm told - and what others could do to help. And I replied honestly. Nothing. My problem does not lie with you, nor with a lack in me. The sources of my unhappiness merely require work and focus, or time and patience. You, human, cannot give me those things, the work I need is my own, the time I need is not owned.

A series of compliments, how infinate in faculty, and yet, to me, what is this quintessence of dust? I don't complain, I merely muse about my lack of ability to appreciate the good in a situation.

You see, love, that no one has ever returned to me. I burn brightly and hot, and when they can finally let go, they do not seek me again. No matter how much they might miss me, the relief overcomes them, and I remain untouched.

Written On: Home Computer

Posted by Kurrs at 1:51 AM | Permalink

Originally Uploaded here by OctaviusPie

Do you know that I still love you? You said I was a birthday present, and for mine I received the gift of loss. There was a soft sharpness to you, long limbs and narrow features, and more than anything, an abiding sadness. Your broken pieces forming together to form the new you, unbroken by design but not function. Down a rabbit hole, you were never anyone but yourself. We drove each other crazy, but isn't that always the problem?

Written On: Home Computer
Currently Listening: The Postal Service
Alternative Title: An Intimate Relationship With Permanence

Posted by Kurrs at 3:26 AM | Permalink

Originally Uploaded here by Églantine

Today I watched A Scanner Darkly which is irritating in part and genius in totality.

Today I fell asleep because being broke and depressed makes you lethargic.

Tonight I drank beer and energy drinks. The energy drinks were organic, the beer wasn't. I also ate chicken, that also had beer.

Tonight I didn't get drunk and others around me did. It was a nice change of pace.

Written On: Home Computer

Posted by Kurrs at 2:09 AM | Permalink

Originally Uploaded here by Oldvidhead

I wrote an entry on my laptop. It felt strange, anachronistic. It lacked poetry, although it did have some interesting content. I haven't uploaded it yet, and I might not.

There is a part of me that wanted to go with you, much like there was last time you went fishing. Don't get me wrong - even though it seems I was - there are chinks in my armour now. But underneath is way too precarious right now for anyone to venture into. I want to tell you the truth, to explain the reasons why I avoid your obvious offers. However, it would only make things more uncomfortable, so I keep quiet.

I saw an unbelievably beautiful woman today, for a moment. It is almost certain that the unbelievable nature of that beauty would fade if I spent any time with her. Fleeting is into itself beautiful, even in the absence of obvious unattractive facets that would inevitably come up.

I don't want anyone but you, but I don't want you either. I suppose I'm single for real now. Just emotionally unavailable. Strange, it's been nine years. The unposted entry explains that one better.

The play opens in a week.

I'm tired.

Written On: Mother's Computer

Posted by Kurrs at 12:04 AM | Permalink

Originally Uploaded here by jeremy crowle

I had almost forgotten how much I missed the rain. If, but for a moment you would forgive me my goth trespasses, it is almost as if I require less tears in the presence of it. In fact, I'm almost not unhappy. Content with my level of misery and upset, I remember why I like goth nights and dark clothes. I like situations where I don't have to smile, where I don't have to put any honey on my tongue. I understand their use, their necessity, and I will be the first to defend social mores and conventions. But, much like sex, I like having places where I can strip myself from these disguises to at least don a mask that sits more comfortably on my face.

It is frightening how much your mannerisms and hers overlap. I can't say I'm a fan, because it is a matter like poison. How much can I stomac today? The urge to run from the room and vomit pulls on me about as strongly as the desire to fall into your eyes. The trickiest part lays in the fact that there are actually some things about you that are better than her, easier to deal with. But you're even younger, and you are simply not her, and too much of things that I would break you over. Deal breakers before a contract was even considered. This paragraph is meaningless, and I will drop it into the void, and only a handful of people will even slightly understand its passing. You certainly won't read it.

It's getting better, I think...

Written On: Home Computer
Currently Listening: VNV Nation - Legion (song d/l)

Posted by Kurrs at 1:23 PM | Permalink | Comments (3)

Originally Uploaded here

You'd think it would at least hurt less as time went on.

Although, to claim that my women troubles are the source of my pain would be intensely factually incorrect.

Piece by piece, my life is falling apart. Like London scaffolding, I try to hold it all up with a snappy suit and grin on, but it remains an illusion.

It is difficult to problem solve when it hurts all the time.

Written On: Home Computer
Alternative Title: Well, At Least I'm Not Drinking

Posted by Kurrs at 11:04 AM | Permalink

Originally Uploaded here by myrtepeert

Seeing people when you're this depressed is actually rather odd. I'm used to holing up in my house, letting my life fall to pieces slowly and quietly, like erosion at the bottom of a cliff. But now I'm wandering around, coming apart like stone through space. I haven't broken anyone yet, haven't just started breaking anything and everything. Both urges are there, and to say that I haven't hurt any one or thing would be a lie. The problem is that there is nothing for me, no solace, no solution. There is just the pain of passing, and all the frustrating realisations that go along with it.

Written On: Home Computer
Currently Listening: Moby - Natural Blues (song d/l)
Alternative Title: The Imperfections of Language
Vegan Pirate: Closed Due to Inclement Weather

Posted by Kurrs at 8:41 AM | Permalink

Originally Uploaded here by Hugo*

I can't sing any song but hers, which means I perpetually have a corpse in my mouth and I'm not even discussing revolution. I continue to vacillate between fury and sorrow, the sensation of broken glass, running under my skin like a current or wanting to fly from my hand like a crashing wave upon the shore. I am distinctly and noticeably unhappy and depressed, and even moreso when I'm not in a repeating cycle of drunk/hungover. I can't forget thin wrists and promises of airplanes. But the story has become mine alone again, and it never lost the taste of tragedy that it seems I require.

The cut on my finger, it will scar. Appropriate, you didn't hurt me much and mostly I just hurt myself.

Written On: Mother's Computer
Currently Listening: Summers Tend Towards Heartbreak by Christopher (mix d/l)
Vegan Pirate: Open At This Exact Moment

Posted by Kurrs at 4:01 PM | Permalink

Originally Uploaded here by Hugo*

The weather shifts, it looks like I won't open.

I am reminded that I'm not doing well when I don't have anything to do.

I didn't drink last night.

I am reminded how much I liked the inability to think in the morning.

Written On: Home Computer

Posted by Kurrs at 7:47 AM | Permalink

I have managed to create an almost perfect split between my nocturnal self and my solar self. During the day, I still haven't let anything slip, and in the evening I'm a complete wreck. I suppose someone's who's dysfunction is as pervasive and intense as yours needs to develop some pretty awesome coping skills. And it seems true.

The Vegan Pirate will be open again on Thursday, and we'll probably be closing regularly on Monday and Tuesday. However, Wednesday to Sunday we should be open as usual from now on. It continues to remain a source of great consternation, but our food is good and with persistence I will make this successful.

As for my theatre company, you should help me promote by cross-posting this in your journals/blogs. I would totally appreciate it:

<center><img src="http://www.fairtradetheatre.ca/playbill.jpg" /><br /><br /><a href="http://www.fairtradetheatre.ca">http://www.fairtradetheatre.ca</a></center>

Which will end up looking like this:

http://www.fairtradetheatre.ca

Written On: Mother's Computer
Currently Listening: Evil Nine - You Are Not Through (song d/l)

Posted by Kurrs at 6:00 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

Nothing is going quite as expected. Except for perhaps my reactions to the events.

Situations like this are tricky for me. I'd like to offer words of encouragement, that I will be fine. And, in some sense, it will be. Time is pretty freaking mighty, and it will beat me back into shape. However, little I have to say wouldn't just make my friends worry about me. Which, in all fairness, would be pretty justified.

How about this? It seems unlikely I will be hurt in any long term lasting manner because my current headspace. That's about all I've got.

Written On: Home Computer
Currently Listening: Jem - Finally Woken (song d/l)

Posted by Kurrs at 4:53 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

Originally Uploaded here by BidWiya

Both words fit. Both involve screaming, and that describes my feelings well enough. Every night I get a bit more drunk than the last. Every night I can't sleep. Last night, a girl told me I was pretty and I wished her a good night because she was a child. Last night I almost got into a fight with someone I'd never met. I don't hurt myself unless I hurt myself, except when I gash open my hand by accident. I managed not to get blood on anything. I haven't hurt myself that bad.

A slender girl who haunts others' thoughts spoke to me. It was strange, she's never said hello before. It felt as though she knew, reaching out in kindness and courtesy out of a sense of sympathy or some such. I found it very odd.

A strange girl who haunted my thoughts spoke to me again. Two interactions in the past year collapsed into maybe a bit more than a week. She asked me how I was and I told her pretty awful, but good enough right now. It was close enough, and it's good to hear her voice again. Even if discussing her has been forbidden and I now don't count her, she still lives amongst the others in my heart.

One of the four and I talked, and for a moment it seemed civil and nice. I can't read that one.

I suppose it is a time for these things.

Written On: Home Computer
Currently Listening: Summers Tend Towards Heartbreak by Christopher (mix d/l)

Posted by Kurrs at 7:27 AM | Permalink

Originally Uploaded
here by /\/\ @ r 0 0 |\| 3 |)

I've been emotionally unavailable for a while now.

Since Erin, really. After that there were the twin errors of the summer and there was so much toe-stepping between those two that they seem almost indistinguishable. Different facets of the same series of mistakes, the same statement of hubris. This is not to say they are the same, this is to say they are the same to me. I don't count them either, nothing more than a season of unhappiness, misery written upon the blood and tears it spilt. Perhaps they have the right of it, let us say it did not happen.

Five two one one. The litany of years, the count of the ones that lasted. Fit some between the cracks, call them by letters or momentary actions, they were not lasting relationships but a few singular interactions strung together. Ex-fiance, ex-partner, ex-girlfriend, ex-lover. X X X X. Former, gone, finished. Next time I get to strike the line, counting them like years in a prison.

Repeat Repeat.

Originally Uploaded
here by Hugo*

Posted by Kurrs at 12:47 AM | Permalink