zsimonthoughts

[zsimonthoughts]

[zsimonthoughts]

Life is what you make of it It will always have ups and downs At this moment I am riding the ups I feel weightless and free Nothing can touch me right now. But i remember the downs that I had That they can return at anytime They will come again but at this moment I live free of worry, and for each day I Have A Girlfriend and A New Job -Z.Simon

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When you get so nervous waiting for a text that you bite on the corner of your phone.

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It Started On A Chance... - Z.Simon

It is a strange turn of events that has me now smiling and believing that things do get better if you just give them time and positive energy. I now have a friend because I said ‘why not’ when asked to go to a party and though I am nervous and reserved things are moving along alright. Sure, I might be the one with butterflies and not the ‘man’ for being shy; I am the one however you feels incredibly lucky to be in this situation. She can tease me all she wants but I still will be nervous about hand holding. She is very special, and worth getting butterflies about.

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OF HOTEL TRANSACTIONS IN VERNACULARS AND OF MYSELF AS A DEATH

I want to be a mannequin

and stand in nudity in the front lobby of Le Château De Frontenac

I want to scrape my nails along the teeth of all the married Men and kiss the swollen lips of every wife that drools her tears in my eyes

I want to be sharp breasted and long haired and every kind of sadness there is

I want the drug money the indoor swimming pool the butler that keeps my secrets quiet and the chauffeur that eats all my sins

I want the Cadillac funeral and the white limousine roses

I want bad coffee and stale pastries at my wake.. and I want all the guests to get bored and leave early

- Maybe-Lee Edwards

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“What do you think we are if not stories without happy endings?”

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kindergarten.

When I was little girl I always thought I was invincible. I could run a thousand miles (or maybe it just felt like a thousand miles) and not fall between my feet, sweat trickling on my back until I lacked the alacrity to do so. I had the guts to wear an almond dress back then, not minding whether I had too fresh scars and what not.  I had,more or less, a pair of teeth protruding when I open my mouth but I still managed to laugh as hard or to genuinely make a sappy smile, which is too big for my face. I was living in my own world, where I would spent the whole afternoon reading books, reflecting on soliloquies, counting petals and singing rhymes that don’t rhyme at all, leaving the rest of the hours spent on one very important thing, treated with the most sacrality—flying.

But school wasn’t a wonderland, all the other kids were staring at me like I was some kind of anomaly, a staccato that failed to make them hum. With great condescension, I hated them as well. My main reasons as I have remembered were, a. they occupied the limited space I had for running, b. that they had a complete set of teeth already, c. that the girls had more than one almond dress, and d. the swings were always occupied.

Then I saw this boy. He was about my age, brown hair and amber eyes. His left eye was a bit sore, he just got into a fight, and one of the tails of his shirt was untucked. I didn’t plan on making friends with someone like him. I didn’t even plan on making friends at all. But then he pointed towards the swing set. It was empty for the first time. Later on, he would tell me that he fought for it, so that I could fly. Later on, I would break his heart, and let him fly.

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It was raining today,  and the sky told me things I’d never heard before. He whispered secrets and reassured me that everyone felt like they were missing something. He promised me with hurricane, there were souls being saved, and so effortlessly, he created loud crashes of thunder and confessed this thunderstorm was for me, this would be my salvation. He murmured to me that no matter how loud or quiet a thunderstorm is, no matter how bright or dull, no matter how ferocious or gentle it may be, it is just as breath-taking and just as awe-inspiring as the next one. The Sky cried for me to understand, and every droplet breathed what I never could believe: Maybe I am not the funniest or funnest, and maybe I do not shine as bright as the next girl. Maybe I will never have a slender figure, and maybe I will never laugh quietly, but I know my heart is violent. I know there is more to myself than this routine of self-destruction. I know that there is more love and compassion within my bones than I care to admit. I may not have the significant exterior features that will have men kissing my feet. The Sky sobbed to be heard because he witnesses walking hurricanes that blow people away every day but let themselves become soft breezes. He wanted everyone to understand that the earth below may not listen, the land may not say anything back except echoes, and he wanted oh-so terribly for everyone to believe that the earth’s indifference was never supposed to be a curse, because without it, we would never grow our wings to fly, we would never reach the sun.

prompt//The sky wanted to talk, but earth kept silent.  (via thequiethearttalks)

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I Love You - Z.Simon

I have only said those three words to one individual outside of my family. There was not a grain of romantic feeling behind those words. You genuinely changed my life for the better. Now I am trying to change my own life for the better. I live mostly day to day, but that is alright with me. I want to say those words to someone else, but a few small things hold me back. Firstly if I don't feel it romantically I feel I would be doing an injustice as you set the bar so high already. Secondly, I'm not sure I could ever say it romantically. I used to believe in true love, in romantic love. Nowadays I feel like a realist. Nothing lasts forever... and romance belongs in storybooks. I can not see how pledging yourself to someone else forever was ever a good idea in the first place. We evolve and adapt daily as a person and a species. How can two people be compatible until death without giving up some of oneself in the process? I loved you and you set the bar high. But you no longer hold the bar for me anymore.

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Female Seeking Success

By Carly Yansak

“So what do you do?”

 The question is always a threat to me, something I try and avoid at all costs at this point of my life. I look at the person who undoubtedly has a better answer and flat-line

 “I’m a cocktail waitress.”

 “Oh! Well… you must make good money!”

 “Yeah. At the expense of my soul.”

Success – the word boils my tongue. It’s a relative term and one I don’t yet understand. Is it a mansion overlooking a coast? Is it a 9-5 with a steady salary? Is it simply being happy? Who can say? The woman with a FUPA checking out your Walmart purchase of toothpaste, Trojans and hair conditioner – she may think she’s successful. The guy who handed you the fast food bag of shame at 3:30 a.m., he may think he’s Russell Simmons. Of course, you don’t think that way. You look at them and think, “ha, fuck your life,” (even though you’re buying a triple stacked Big Mac at 4 a.m.). But they don’t care about your judgment. They have their own opinion and that’s what counts.

What is success? Something we all crave, but as far as phrases and sentences to comprise this enigma, I’m at a loss. I certainly don’t know it when I’m peddling martinis and taking other people’s money. The absence is making me anxious; I want him, that tasty little morsel of a descriptor. In haste, I set out to find him with an open appeal, submitting to something he surely must read – the “Wanted” ads.  

 “Female Seeking Success: 23-year-old blonde, above-average looking woman seeking success. Is willing to compromise morality, reality, principle, body, words and life for. Open to role play, context changes and anything not involving the sale of food or alcohol.”

He never called.

I tried looking back, browsing the things I’ve been proud of before to find a key to his heart:

Moving out of New Jersey

Sleeping with really, really good looking men

Evading the law on many, many occasions

Getting compliments on my ass

Learning to shoot pool like a man

Being able to drink tequila like a man

Having really thick, shiny hair

Somehow, these didn’t fit any of his locks. I curled my hair and went chain smoking through my city streets, hoping success would manifest and tell me the secrets he was hoarding.

He never showed.

Yet, something else was appearing – a thought process, a string of understanding for the path I wanted to build. I began to see success as something not needing to be fully uncovered, but only outlined so I could fill it with actions. A set of goals that could make me confidently say, “This is who I am, this is what I do and I am glad for it.”

That’s what the FUPA lady at Walmart would do.

“I’m Glenda, I’ll be checking out your groceries, hitting the KFC afterwards and I don’t give two fucks what you think about it ‘cause I’m content.”

The revelation inspired me. I hopped a bus to the nearest Walmart to purchase a $3.95 bottle of wine. When I got to the counter, the clerk was a frumpy woman with frazzled gray hair and chipped fake nails. I scanned her name card – Marge.

“Hey, Marge,” I started as she looked at me quizzically, “Thank you.”

“Um… you’re welcome.”

“No, not for swiping my wine with nimble hands and grace, which you are doing,” I put my hand on her arm, stopping it in action, “But for the inspiration. It’s you! You’ve made me realize – success is what I make of it! Nothing else!”

Marge looked frightened, but under her raised eyebrow, I saw the glimmer of a smirk and a knowing eye twinkle.

“… Would you like a receipt?”

“No, no, I don’t need a piece of paper to tell me what I’ve gotten here today.”

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Excerpt | Blood Orange: Meridian

    Meridian sat and watched his money pass through his teeth and form a fire in his belly. He was drunk and getting loud, pushing and slapping other men trying to drink their sorrows away, chasing away the few women that came through the doors, eager to find a bed to creep into. Meridian would laugh and hold his hands away like he’d not meant any harm. Five minutes would tick by and he would be at it again.     “Hey pal. Keep your shit together or I’ll throw you out. Understand?” The bartender was a large man and his fists were as big as softballs.     Meridian smirked. “Do you think I give a rat’s ass about this shit hole of a bar? I just came here to forget where I’ve been but there is no one to dance with. Will you dance with me?” He laughed then, those big teeth dancing under the neon signs that ran along the wall behind the bartender, giving his white shirt a sickly yellow look, like nicotine stains on pale flesh.     The bartender just shook his head.     There was a tiny stage near the back of the bar. The lights were dim and the stools sat broken and feeble. A frail, old black man meandered in from the cold and ordered a gin and tonic.     He called himself Maurice and tucked beneath the crook of his arm was a violin as old as the skin that hung from the man’s bones.     Maurice took the stage and began a love affair with those that would watch. He plucked along the strings to check their tonality and then, he began, moving in between notes like daredevils on motorcycles through highway traffic.     A melody hit Meridian that night and he could barely stand. It was the most beautiful thing he had ever heard and he nearly cried. Instead, he listened and bought Maurice his drinks.     After an hour, the bartender gave Meridian a tap on the back. “Hey pal. Your credit may be good other places, but not here. Pay up.”     Meridian hit him square in the face and broke the man’s nose.     Everything stopped.     Meridian, in a fit of rage screamed at Maurice to keep playing. His eyes were on fire and the old man’s hand trembled but his music swayed on through the night once more.     Meridian hopped over the bar and stuffed a one hundred dollar bill into the bartender’s mouth and proceeded to pull out every one of his teeth with his bare hands.

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Plurisignification

“Well, what do you mean? Crane or crane?”

Lindsay looked squarely at her teacher. She looked through Mrs. Grinkle’s thick glasses into the depths of her grey-blue irises. She wasn’t standing down.

“It’s both,” Lindsay said defiantly.

“That’s impossible, you must differentiate.”

Lindsay looked around. Tiffany was turned around in her seat, staring at her. She was smacking her gum and twirling her long, red curls. At her right, Timothy was aiming his ball point pen at Lindsay’s nose. And to her left, Rudy was looking at her anxiously.

Lindsay hardened her lips. She’d gone up against her teacher before, but never on such an imbecilic point. This was supposed to be creative writing. She didn’t need to prove her literary gift to these dim-witted, pimpled sophomores and their flunkie teacher.

“It is both,” Lindsay insisted.

“You’re going to need to stay after class, Lindsay,” Mrs. Grinkle scolded. “Now, Timothy, let’s talk about your poem, ‘Why the Crow Crows.’ Brilliant, really, it was great.”

Lindsay sunk back in her wooden chair. She exhaled through her lips, blowing wind toward her bangs. What an old crow, she thought.

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Going through the motions should not require this much brainpower. Making a change should not take this kind of energy. Finally doing what is right over what is easy is a process I need to become familiar with.

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Are you fucking serious

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It Can’t Be Over - Z.Simon

I honestly can’t believe that my best friend is gone from my life. My mind refuses the fact that she never wishes to talk to me again. I still hold onto the hope that one day I will be good enough again to be a friend...

Then I look to myself and realize that some things just end. Accepting it is over would be a step in moving forward in life. I just do not wish to move forward in life without her.

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People laugh when I try to explain Canada’s vast climate and geography:

Like how in Manitoba, we have sand dunes in the Spruce Woods Provincial park

They just kind of hang out in the middle of the prairies.

Then there’s the desert in Drumheller, Alberta, complete with wild cacti:

And then there are the rain forests in British Columbia:

…where you can find cute little fluffies like the Spirit Bear.

And then of course we have the tundra we’re so famous for.  It looks a little different in the summer though:

but  in the winter it looks just like you think it would

Then, of course, the Rockies and all their many, many lakes

There’s the fjords in Newfoundland

Our boreal forests look particularly stunning in the fall

We even have beaches…really nice ones too!

…anyway…I think it’s really cool. It’s not all igloos and snow drifts, you know!