I'm presently listening to Joel Plaskett's In Need of Medical Attention album, which I really like in certain moods. It is blaring from these old computer speakers as I write. 'I know it's an ugly sentiment, like a smooth back-handed compliment... I hope you don't repay me (forever in debt)." What a damn good simple album. Fits my darker loner moods perfectly. Speaking of Joel Plaskett, Adèle got tickets to his show at the Capital Music Hall on January 21st. I haven't seen him live in years so it'll be good to check out his new stuff live. Even though I wasn't particularly blown away by his last album.

I'm alone in Manon's apartment, a place I used to live in five years ago. Actually, I celebrated New Year's Eve 2000 here with a bunch of friends. I was let down by that night, for some reason. According to everyone around, the year 2000 was suppose to be something exciting for some reason. Well, it came and went without a bang. I was seeing some guy I didn't really care about, and then I spent the morning frantically cleaning up loads of vomit from my sister's bedroom, which was supposed to be off-limits.

Now here I am, five years later. What have I done? What am I doing? Where am I going, and what is my life worth? I look at life in such a metaphysical way that sometimes it's hard to fill in the blanks. So many ideas go through my brain while I do the most mundane things, like riding the bus or washing the dishes. Thoughts on art, immortality/mortality, identity, etc. I always plan or hope to sit down and write down these detailed thoughts to friends or on my blog, but then I get to work, or arrive at a party, or go to bed, and these thoughts slip away unshared. I think that is the main difference between me now, and me five years ago. I use to spend so much time sitting around in Café Wim on Sussex Drive, learning to play chess, listening to philosophical conversations and swapping ideas with a certain drive that made my youthful passion feel powerful and promising. Now, I think about these things but times have changed and I keep the thoughts mostly to myself. Wim is closed, Dmitri is in jail, my closest intellectual friends are dispersed from Alberta, to Winnipeg, to Toronto, to Halifax, and we're just getting older I guess. And what about those who remain? Too tired to talk? Or is it the cynicism from more life experience that prevents us from exchanging different views? Sometimes I do weird things and throw these thoughts out to some internet voids that can't or don't respond, like my blog, or by e-mailing people I don't even really know. Perhaps I'm searching for some kind of magic that use to exist? Why do I feel like my brain (albeit now rusted at the edges) is still thirsty for these kinds of exchanges, and like I don't have many outlets I can turn to on a regular basis? ... And then, I am being too self-important? After all, do my thoughts and words really hold any weight?

I have also been feeling insecure about my writing ability lately. I think the university is instilling that in me, though. After all this time I am seeing the cracks in the system and it pisses me off. The amount of useless information I have to cram into my brain - which I will instantly forget as I breathe a sigh of relief after the exam - seems weird to me. The grading system is flawed and the professors piss me off, too. After all, is it not a learning institute? Often I feel like it's an Us against Them situation as opposed to a learning environment. Anyway, it certainly is getting harder as I grow older, and it's making me lose any confidence I use to take for granted when I was younger. When I was twenty I felt like I was fairly intelligent for my age and knew a lot of stuff. Now, growing older just makes me realize how much I don't know, and how much there is still to learn.

Last night I went to Martine's apartment for a nice little party. It was actually really nice; we sat around in the living room drinking and smoking, sharing funny stories and jokes. But the mesmerizing part was the art that surrounded me. In the past year or two I have come to understand how important and powerful art has become to me. I find being around art extremely comforting. It reminds me of the perfect imagination, innovation, freshness and ability to be surprised that stems from childhood. That unpretentious, unselfconcious reflex to be amazed by something new, and the reflex of asking why without any fear or pretention. Anyway, Martine's live-in boyfriend, Derek, is a full-time artist. He paints beautifully; as Martine remarked, many of his scenic work does hint to some the Group of Seven stuff, but it still is quite impressive. And then there's his abstract stuff, which is really great. I noticed a spectacular piece which apparently was started on September 11 and continues to this day, as well as a huge abstract mural on the kitchen wall. Derek also does some literal work by creating art based on photographs. Last night we spent a while discussing his work and I commissioned a 16 x 20 piece from him, which will be based on a photograph that I will present him, as well as a conversation we're suppose to have soon about the work. I guess he wants to find some kind of essence in what I am thinking of and how to incorporate this photograph into a painting. I'm quite excited about it and it is the most refreshing event in my life right now. It will cost a fair amount - I am a poor student after all, as I always say - but in normal circumstances he could sell his work in a gallery for a lot more than I'll be paying, so it's not really an issue to me. Besides, I find that I'm surrounded by so much useless, irrelevant crap like clothes or ridiculous things, but art just blows all of that out of the water and feels much more permanent and special in a completely unfrivilous way. Which is funny, because I know many people feel that buying artwork is actually quite a frivilous thing to do- some people still have some 80's view of a millionaire buying a trendy piece of work for exorbitant amounts, just cause it's trendy. Well, perhaps for certain people that might still exist, but for me it seems to keep that little fire inside me burning away. Like the Eternal Flame in front of Parliament Hill, which occasionally reads: "The Eternal Flame is currently being repaired and will be functional shortly" or something like that. That always makes me laugh.

I have a purring Sonny on my lap. While it's good and important to express oneself, it may also be good to forget and just feel. And to feel this soft orange fur against my hands is a beautiful way to put these thoughts aside without any regret, or resent, or restlessness...