Paradigm Shift

Moving is a melancholy affair. Some memories never loose their vividness - or their sting. I hate to include a cliche, but it feels like theres a new chapter starting in my life. I'm just really unsure of it all; it seems so radically different from before or now. How much of the past will continue on in to the future? Everything around me changes; I evolve, and yet, a core remains.

To be is to be perceived. (Berkeley)

Language

Words bespeak a sadness; they are used to soak up the emptiness of unbridled time. We have all had that desire to go further, deeper than words, the feeling of wanting only to be done with all the talk, knowing that being allowed to live coherently erases the need to formulate coherence. (Zerzan)

Ergh

Every day feels empty. Too much on my mind. I need to medicate.

Murder

I feel like I am just discovering who I really am. All those deja vu moments of pristine clarity are slowly culminating into a tangible reality. Is this the end of the dream? Or has it even begun? I find myself trapped in the past - clinging on to things that define(d) me. Whose memories are these? I am caught up in a melancholy transition of my life perception. The paradigm is changing; my future holds innumerable possibilities. Do I take the leap?

Murder the ego. Death to the self. Live in true expression.

Molt

What do I really want in life anymore? Maybe it's time to shed my skin. So much is unsure.

A Name

Kyle and I are moving to Esquimalt in less than two weeks. Finally going to get Black Bloc Studios off the ground, and hopefully create a sweet art-music jam space in the process. Anyways, we need your help naming the new house, so punch in your vote or leave a suggestion.

Identity

I'm not the man I used to be.

Why is that?

Bomb Hills, Not People

This is what we do at night. Kyle ripping down "Big Smooth" at 55km/h. We'll get a 70km/h run on a decent camera next time. Checkout the Jolly Rogers Bombsquad page for more info on our meetups.

Apocalypse

Do you ever get the urge to just destroy it all? To revel in the ritualistic destruction of everything you know and love? To fan the very flames of obliteration? To watch it all crumble into ash and dust? And feel incredibly right doing so? That urge permeates to the very core of me; it consumes me.

Empty

I do not recognize the face in the mirror. My heart hurts and I cover it up. I am a multiplicity of persons, but I do not particularly like any of them. I hurt the people closest to me. I am weak and needy. I am an individualist who lacks independence.

I do not know what my purpose is. I am hollow.