My Life Experience

Sometimes, I tend to dream about being loved. Being loved just for the sake of it. No questions, no fears, no complications. Just love. A hug, a touch, a sleep.  Then I wake up to what is now. The hollow vapidness of the empty bed strikes me as I tend to look out of my window to a large building that simply looks like it will touch the sky someday. I wake up to what is now and feel alone, hollow, a stick in my heart. "If only I was loved", I think. I then proceed to go through the day with whatever has humanely been expected of me. Work, studies and some chilling time here and there. After that brief moment in the morning, I never reflect on wanting to feel loved again throughout the day, instead I actively avoid it.  THE PARADOX OF BEING LONELY  The subway breezes by. The station is silent although there are about 128 people standing right next to me. Most of them on their phones, looking down at the void of content. I usually do that as well, it's easier to be deeply su...

 1:04 AM, November 18  I should be sleeping now. I have a big film shooting tomorrow but I wanted to take this time to reflect on some things that I have done before, that I do not want to repeat again. I just thought it would make sense for me to write a short blog about it because apparently this is my safe space.  I like this. One day, when I will get old and famous, someone will read these, maybe my kids and have a perception of me when I was young. I think it's pretty cool to know your younger dad. How was he? What were his ambitions? What broke him? What made him happy?  Ha- before diving into that tangent let me just quickly reflect on my previous directing fails that I do not want to repeat tomorrow. I will be documenting this film projects journey as well, as best as I possibly can. "THE FLOWER AT THE END OF THE WORLD"  The first thing that comes to mind is the sacrifices I make when shooting. I am a little too gentle at times, especially with my actors...

So I've decided to not release these blogs out to the world. Firstly, cause I got banned off instagram and facebook because of the title of my last blog "You need to bleed a little" haha, cowards.  Secondly, I think writing these blogs can stay personal and people who know me, already know I write these blogs so if they want to read it, they will look for it.  So now, that's out of the way. Let's begin.  WHEN IT GETS A LITTLE DIFFICULT  I'd say it gets more and more difficult as time passes by and I would love to disagree with it but I can't anymore. They say wounds heal over time. I'd say, no, it's not healing per say, its still there just laying, chilling in your skin. It's fine if you don't touch it but if accidentally something does, you bleed. You bleed the same way you bled when it first came to be. The scars might be old but the feeling it bursts upon your skin will never be.  I was in the shower couple days ago. I had a good day. I...

"If all I see is your face, I'd rather be alone" 22 and October 22, Toronto, Ontario Look at the faceless gentleman in this painting. Sitting across the bar in his own space. The world outside is empty and the world inside "Phillies" is empty too, in a different way. With his head down, pointed at perhaps a glass of whiskey in front of him. I wonder what he's thinking. I can't tell because he is facing away from me. If he were to turn around, maybe I could have a hint of him. A hint of what he wants to say but he never will turn around and I will never know him.  But- even the faces I see, the couple in the painting. The lady in red and the gentleman in his lovely blue feel deserted. Their hands slightly touching but only "slightly". There is no sense of intimacy. They might go home and fuck for all I know but "make love" they will not.  The bartender who appears to be an old man positioned in such a way as if he is talking. Talking a...

Vivaldi's Winter in the background -  As I write this, I write this to you.  Upon first glance, you seem ordinary. Nothing spectacular about you. Your eyes are shaped like those average leaves that fall in fall. Your nose just a bump on your face that allows you to live. Your lips, mundane, colourless, fragile in winter and your body, ape-like. The only difference being, you can't climb trees and they can't create art.  This is what I see of you when I first meet you. I see your physical existence and my corrupted mind, before a word is spoken, looks at you and knows you or if I put it into correct words, pretends to know you . It pretends to know the meaning behind those meaningless tattoos and pretends to know about the hidden mole inside your mouth. It pretends to know why you cut your hair short and why you let it grow. It pretends to know why you listen to Taylor but secretly smile with Beethoven. It pretends to know more about you then you know about you. And you lo...

 So whenever you see a story about a blog I wrote in instagram, you are most likely destined to go into this hollowness filled with nothing but brisk dark void and a painful scream echoing in a distant. BUT NOT TODAY. Haha.  Today I am here, surprisingly, writing about happiness and again surprisingly with a very big smile and bright eyes, as bright eyed as a brown man can be and a shinning hope for life, colours, rainbows, sunshine. So what happened? How did I go from a sad blog writer to a happy blog writer in mere 32 days?    Well I fell in love.   I don't know how I ended up here but let me try to explain. I found myself staring at a giant graffiti on a building next to a Church where they apparently shot the boys, THE BOYS, as in the tv series not actual boys, but I don't know about that, churches are always very eerie to me, so some boys might have been shot inside as well, again I don't know about that. Anyway, so I was walking through the street and saw ...