It's more than gun control... It's hate control.

I know I said this blog was done, but I can't not write tonight and this is my only medium.

In response to the tragic events of today that occurred in Connecticut where yet another gun related massacre occurred.

The outcry on social media is heavily favouring the ineffective American gun control laws as the culprit for such an occurrence and I cannot sit idly by and let that stand.

While I feel that yes, gun control is an issue, I also feel that raising children with values of non-violence, support and inclusion are issues too. Yes, Bill Maher, it's easy to say "Prayers and giving your kids hugs fixes nothing, only standing up to our [...] gun control culture will" but waging a war on gun control is only a tiny piece of the puzzle.

Teaching children compassion, love and consequence by example, showing them they are understood and accepted, and educating our new generation on how to work through and combat the selfish hate filled world we have spiraled into is not what I call "fixing nothing."

Children live what they learn, and I have been blessed enough to grow up with acceptance and understanding, not every child is lucky enough.

No matter where you live, getting a gun is easy if you want it bad enough. Yes, America's gun control laws are extremely inefficient, however making sure there is support for people who are bipolar, suffer from other mental issues and depression is just as important.

I understand we are taking it step by step, and gun control is the immediate gut reaction to a tragedy like this one in Connecticut and last weeks in Oregon. I feel that we need to take it a step further and address the issue of why these people felt mass murder was the answer, why shooting up a school or shopping mall was the only outlet for their feelings.

Yes, fight for stricter gun control in the United States, but please also fight for mental health and arts programs. As ironic as it is fight for non-violence and for love and a world with less hatred. Fight for support and conscience, both political and personal.

The fight starts with you and will, if you let it, change the world.

Moving.

Dear Blog Followers. (aka my mom)

I am moving to a new blog site. One that I can customize better (although i have no idea how) and is a bit of a fresh start.

You can now find my ramblings at http://freshsqueezedjus.wordpress.com/

The things I've written here might appear there from time to time, the ones I'm proud of anyways.

Please come find me over there, and tell your friends.

Thanks!

What I Did On My Summer Vacation Part 1

The universe is a crafty mother-effer and no matter how many times I think I have my future pegged, my cards dealt, something comes along makes me play 52-pick-up. My whole life, I feel, has been this constant state of motion, never stagnant, never still, like the glacial rapids I used to drink from as a teen.

From the moment first started doubting my place in the world, a precocious and feisty ten-year-old, I started to assume that every person has their doubts and dreams and the universe can only look out for so many people. Why was I special? Why would I be any different than the thousands of people who believe they are special in the world.

Now, I'm not going to regale you with some bullshit about everyone having their path, and "The future belongs to those who believe" crap. Yeah sure, some successful broad somewhere said something that inspired someone to do something but that broad got just as lucky, or worked just as hard as everyone else out there. 

Being a privileged caucasian I can't ignore how lucky I am to live the life I lead. When I say privileged I mean having access to clean water and a roof over my head, in no way do I mean monetarily wealthy or tangibly rich. At the same time though I hustle my ass off for the life I lead, as pauper-esque as it may be. 

Now, no matter how many times I get kicked in the proverbial balls, I find theres always a painful or nauseating lesson to be learned by the nut-punch I've just been dealt. Hard lessons are the way I've lived my life and I've gotten my fair share, from my relatively screwed up family situation, my random and unfortunately hilarious health problems, to my early ejection from childhood idealism and fucked up stories of love and loss. 

The upside to being bashed in the face repeatedly by my fairy-god-bitch is that there always seems to be something amazing and beautifully connected that comes along and takes away all the pain, turns me upside down and forces me to see the silver lining in the world at large. Bitch though she may be, my guardian case worker throws me a lot of bones.

After parting ways with what I now see as a completely insecure, manipulative emotional trainwreck I had to deal with being alone again. I had lost my friends. I had lost my music. I had lost my spark. I had lost myself. I now knew I was capable not only of loving someone, but of being loved, a concept I had never fully grasped in the past. 

Most of my friends had abandoned me, most of my work leads had moved on, most of my happiness had been drained, I had thrown myself into what little work I could find loading gear and running tech errands for a small production company I worked for off and on. Lamenting to my friend Ashton in Michigan how much being in Vancouver feels alien to me and the city I had thought of as home didn't feel like it anymore. The road, we agreed, feels more like home than anything else we'd encountered. 

Luckily a barrage of work hit me in the last few weeks, twenty hour day after twenty hour day hauling and pushing gear. My new roomates never saw me for more than a minute or so here and there. It was great because it kept my mind off some things that had been bothering me recently.

My hostile personality and adventurous spirit had alienated many of what I had considered good friends away from me. My absences on the road and locked in a controlling relationship had allowed other people to fill in my spot in my social circles, and my friends to forget why they had me around in the first place. I stopped getting phone calls for gang vocal sessions with friends who would have normally called me up first. Success in some of my friends lives, as deserved as it was, had pulled them away from me and they were now socializing with a more "elite" group of individuals. The "scene" had struck while I was away and I called "Bullshit" and was suddenly excommunicated.

So when roused from sleep at nine AM one Sunday morning, groggy and sleep deprived as usual, I was eager still to head to work and forget. A brief break in the day then sent me at the very last second to do a load in at a club for a few bands. I arrived uncharacteristically late, sweaty and generally looking like a pile of shit. The universe was kind of being a dick.

Until moments later...

White Folding Chairs

In white folding chairs, we begin.

Parents pace, and wonder.

In chairs made of metal and plastic.

In folding chairs that hurt our backs

We grow, we see, we learn

In chairs that define our place

In white folding chairs we succeed

Mentors celebrate and rejoice

The chairs that lead to our future

In chairs with arms and deadlines

We work and prioritize our lives

Chairs that demand of our time

With White folding chairs, we dance

And bind our two young souls

The chairs that waltz around us

In chairs of Oak, we plead

We bargain from every angle

The chairs that we don’t own

In white folding chairs, we wait

I pace, and I wonder

About the chairs that you grace.

In chairs of Leather and hair

We reflect upon the years

Chairs that will embrace us

In white folding chairs, I watch,

The tears soak my lashes

The chairs that take you away

White folding chairs.