Jamie Jane

To wander about….

The observation of clouds

After hours of the whirling words in a dark library, I come outside to darkness. It would be quite a site; as I watch the Nephelognosy set into the the plains of my vision, the thickness of fog took over. I could not see beyond the steps across campus. The dense fog was only illuminated by light of the campus stadium and through windows of classrooms, still full of students. It was as though there was still daylight. Quiet. Silent. Watching the clouds pass by me. 

Worship of machines. 

I spew my green tea back into my mug a little bit after coming across this word. I’ve gone through many, many rants about my love/hate relationship about my laptop: the machine that holds the entity of my existence that would be broken down into bytes and pieces and to be translated back into a poetic sequence of 1 and 0s. 

I love you, with all of your tattoos & scars. Forever together. 

Songs, plays, and writings have been produced that are so beautiful bring tears to our eyes, over the simple yet complex emotion of love.

You know when you’re in love. You know when you’ve fallen out of love. 

Nothing feels more painful, or more joyous to be in such ways that you can’t even find the words to describe the feelings of which we all look for in another being. It is nothing that makes your heart soar, or become much heavy-weighted on something that is never sure, or never static. Let it only be organic and nurtured into bliss. 

David, 

It has been been over a year since I’ve met you (1.33 to be exact). Our blossomed relationship has become something of an epiphany for my inspiration of creative writing. You have been my muse to the words that have sprung my daydreams slowly being immersed in bytes and pieces of my heart, and soul for everyone to see. 

As what have become of this, I’ve learned so much more about myself because of you; creating such a wonderful journal and history of myself. Opening opportunities for myself - I can only thank you so much for that. 

The realm of possibilities is endless, just as how my dashboard drives endlessly, scrolling to seem as though I will never find the end of the destination of this infatuation. Nor, do I want to find it. With good friends in the backseat, Such as Topher & Megan, let us submerge ourselves in the blue horizon of positivity and endless potential to be something more than the sum of individuals. No, a sum of leaders. 

Thank Tumblr. 

Thank you Friends. 

Thank you David. 

Love, 

A follower. 

A blockish or stupid head.

This instantly reminded me of Charlie Brown. Always living in a world where it feels heavy on your shoulders, calling you ‘blockhead’ with a non-sarcastic stone. I would need pay the five cent fee just to release all that pain and constant strain on your self worth. Where all he heard is constant numbing noise from adults, never understanding their advice and wisdom. Or anything at all. The only thing that rings truth are the voices heard from others, and their lived experiences. 

Screw the Lucy’s of the world.  

A Traveller. 

It has been over 40 days since I have seen the itinerarians on canadian soil. I do miss them dearly. My roommate Bryce has been on a journey to travel to South East Asia and Australia. I won’t be seeing her until autumn, many many months from now. I’ve only got to know her for a few months before she was whisked away by wanderlust; she left, taking Harriet & India with her. 

I can only imagine what she has seen and learned about the beautiful cultures. 

Insanity featuring cheerful delusions. 

Sometimes I wonder if I am a type of person who suffers from Habromania. The symptoms are hard to spot, when the emotions seem so real. So vivid. Can anyone be as happy and content to where there are in life without being submerged into their own subjective reality?Maybe everyone is suffering from this; the harsh blinding moments living for today, only to be greeted by the darkness of tomorrow. Would it be such a bad thing for that to happen? 

an epic meal time?

no, it is just a quick brunch,

my very hungover friend.

Obesssion with writing. 

An obsolete English word meaning peace; protection, safety, security. 

For the last few days I have been cleaning and organizing my personal space: my bedroom. It consisted of sweeping, storage use, and finding a way for a place of minimalism. I have been placing more mementos around the home to try it to make it my Frith; my home away from home. 

The act or an instance of exercising.

My body has never felt so old. The two hours of yoga exercitation set my body to feel as if it has lived beyond its years. Muscles that have been worked for years felt rusted and stiff. The difficulty to move my limbs feel as though they have been moving large stones to build a temple of my own doing. Ohms felt like Oww h after the 2nd hour. Maybe I’ll find my peace by downing cupcakes, rather than the downward dog. 

Granting permission to depart. 

There is a group of five of us who live in this home. Many assume that it is a house of four. One roommate acts such as a ghost: Heard, but never seen. Exists, but is absent of all hours of the night. She leaves hints of leaving somewhere, but hasn’t left a note and didn’t ask for Dimissory. No need for such thing, but we sometimes wonder where she leaves to. 

The act of lying down. 

Cubation is the most comfortable position one can be in at the moment. After many hours of dancing, drinking and drawing, I am awake only to be covered in florescent paint and soreness that whithers through my body. It was a blackout rave in which everyone wears white and under a black light and act as if you’re a ke$ha wannabe. But I do not feel as if I woke up, feeling like a rich black man who frequents name changes.

To Stammer.

How my heart balbutiates when I am near you. My studdering, nervous butterflies have flown towards my throat - difficult to form the few words I want to say to you. Postulating from the root of the bloom that you have helped grow with your nurturing soul. I love you. 

To be Self-evident or unquestionable. 

In a relationship of intimate and boisterous emotions with another human being, there is this innate sense of an axiomatic love in which heartbreak looks as though it is the last flicker of thought in one’s mind. A first love, like summer, feels as though it will never end, the sun will never set, and the feeling of warmth until the wee hours of the night. 

Taking a first year english course. Why? : 

1. I have yet to fill my major requirement.
2. My academic writing and reading should improved.

What I plan to do with this blog is to help me practice my academic writing skills. Sorry if I don’t sound like myself, but hopefully you’ll hear my voice in my writing once more. Isn’t that what writing is about? the metacognitive; not only what you write, but how you write it. I’ll find my creative streak once again. 

Terry Fox was a family. Teachers acted and bonded together as teachers to create a positive influence on students beyond their years. Last night, we lost an incredible man: Carey Lapa. He led our junior and senior football time to glory; being the support that was needed for our team to succeed. Treated everyone like family. Big, jolly old man was always the one who pushed us to our physical limits, to stride to be our best. 

We did not lose a teacher, but rather, gained an angel. 

May he rest in Peace. 

I wake up from dreams always wondering the same thing: What does it mean?

I see people, whom I’ve known (now or from my past) who show up in dreams. The most intimate of places. It’s telling of your character to how you react to them, frightened, confused, wary or angry. Wake up in tears, or in shock. Nothing can arbitrate your sleep pattern quite like vivid dreams.

There were 2 guitars strumming above me. It was coming from my roommate Clifford, and our new roommate Chris. He hails from the prairies who does frequent the west coast for school. This will hopefully be his last year in Victoria; his heart still lies with a girl back east, and so does the rest of his life. 

I hear them speak towards each other as if their guitar were lovers: chemistry brooding amongst the plucked strings of their hearts, echoing beyond their rooms and into the vents that lead to my room. I lay in my bed, listening to my midnight lullaby. 

I’m not sure if I am imagining this or not, but the music is pure and gentle. A nuance of a first love, just listening to each others’ heartbeat. 

Peter, 

I just wanted to drop a line and say thank you for your talent & generosity. The gift that you sent Casandra was much more than I had expected. The piece of art that you sent her was absolutely stunning, and she was quite stunned herself that her favorite artist has sent her something that is beyond beautiful. 

May your 2011 be bountiful of positive karma, Peter.

With much Love,
Jamie Carballo

no problem at all, it was my pleasure.

take care and enjoy the new year.

peter t.

It’s freezing. No wait, boiling hot. Wait, what time is it?

Mouth dry with an empty stomach. Haven’t slept in hours. My nose running like a leaky faucet with no plummer to help, with only generic drain-o to keep it from flooding my face, with a few implosive sneezes that fractures my ailment. 

2011 starts off with a cold, by the end of it, I wonder if I’ll end up with cold, dead feet. 

I received a last minute gift from tita (auntie) eva. There were 3 empty photo albums. I couldn’t ask for a more fitting gift. People say that they want to leave what happens in 2010, to stay in 2010. I’d rather not. 2010 had grown on me, like a struggling sunflower, buried underneath frozen memories of sadness and frustration. After all the good and bad memories, it has blossomed into something beautiful and unique. The past shapes you, haunts you, and can surprise you beyond what the future can hold.