Reputation

What will people say about me?

What will my story be?

The interviews with the people in my life, the people I’ve influence, the people I’ve touched.

Will I have made a difference?

“What was she like?”

She takes a long breathe. A deep inhale of knowledge. But through her thin cigarette. “That’s what she was like. She was a hit. A drag of smoke, a nicotine inhale. She was elegance and honesty and harsh beauty. Nothing about her was flawless, and so all together she was perfection.” She takes a swig from her whisky, letting the spice run over her tongue. “Everything about her was mysterious, yet completely on the surface. She was wise, and intelligent and deeply anchored in everything that she believed.”

“And what did she believe in?”

“Oh you know,” she swept a curl off of her forehead, “she believed in change, in the sweet escape of imagination. Above all she believed in the beauty of broken things.”

“Was she herself broken?”

“She was the epitome of terror. Of cracked and broken dreams, that’s why her resolution was so firm. Her skin so tough and her wall so thick.”

“But you say everything was on the surface?”

“Well,” another sip, “she was honest. Clear and true and bright as the full moon. But she had so many secrets. I don’t think anyone knew everything about her. There were rumours and whispers and echoes of time that followed her endlessly, but she walked forward still. Onwards and upwards she would always say.”

“Did she accomplish what she wanted?”

“Yes and no. But anything she missed she’ll catch the next time around.”

Who am I?

365 Days of Creativity

I realize that I am not updating everyday like I said. But fuck it, my blog, my rules.

I also finally got some terrible votes on my blog! About time! "Fame or infamy, either one is better than being forgotten."

day fifty one

Who am I?

I am everything you've never wanted to be.

Every dare, every sin, every bad influence you've ever had.

I'm that kid with the drug connection.

I'm that girl with the sex addiction.

I am every broken home, every forgotten dream, every loner, stoner and shameful boner.

I am your daddy issues, I am the skeleton in your closet.

I am your alcohol, your nicotine, your guilt, your fears, your violent wet dreams.

I am your obsession and your disgust. I am your bulimia and your mistrust.

I am relapse, I am self loathing.

I am nightmares and tears, and wolves in sheep's clothing.

I am temptation, your gluttony, your sloth.

I am your need to win at all costs.

I am a razor, shiny and sharp. 

I am your gateway, into the dark.

Kakashi

365 Days of Creativity

day fifty

Xmas present for my brother; Kakashi from Naruto

Ingestion

365 Days of Creativity

day fourty nine

INGESTION

Hungry hungry

artist's gut.

Watching, staring

eyes wide shut.

Empty mind

and starving soul.

Pixel pigments

take their toll.

Flustered hands

and searching eyes,

hear them fed to

gigabytes.

Wonder, wonder

give me more.

Life attuned

to no one's score.

Safety lies in

walls of rules.

Walk outside

to misconstrue.

Images of

honesty.

Blood and tears,

an odyssey.

Loyal patron

eats it up.

Ask for seconds,

fill your cup.

Blue light, red light.

Stop and go.

Entertain me,

with your show.

Teach Me Master

365 Days of Creativity

day fourty eight

Master sits on stilts so high.

His robes a forest, eyes the sky.

I kneel before this old young man,

take his knowledge, take his hand.

Words of wisdom, never said.

Innocence, enters my head.

Eras gone, the gods do perish.

Bold and brave, new worlds to cherish.

And he's lived all, a soul through worlds.

All of space, his to unfurl.

Weaving threads, through maps and time.

Singing songs, with muted rhymes.

Lessons learned and lessons lost.

This is my dawn. My birth. My cost.

A Gift For My Darling

365 Days of Creativity

day fourty seven

An ink / water colour for my soul mate and closest friend.

Never worked with water colour before, not a great piece of art, but the words define something I thought no one could.

Rebirth

365 Days of Creativity

day fourty six

Try to forget.
Attempt to remember.
Everything's blurred when seen through the embers.

Through eons and eons and eras of pain,
I've suffered through hell and risen again.

Tortured and wallowed in pits of despair.
Life is a game,
rigged and unfair.

Last night the moon set,
and with it I died.
I lay down my weapons,
surrendered and cried.

But whens the sun rose,
and heat hit my ashes,
a quick spark did stir,
igniting my passions.

The great flames arose,
for a phoenix can't die.
Spread wings of new hope,
reincarnation of flight.

Today is a birth,
like days long ago.
Christened with flame,
and cradled in smoke.

With vision and dreams and strengths set anew.
The phoenix will fight,
and break into the blue.

Princess Mononoke & Haku

365 Days of Creativity

day fourty five

The Road Home

365 Days of Creativity

day fourty four

red lights

glitter rain

deep bass beats beats into my brain

soft voice

engine thrum

my life is taken by the drum

wet streets

fever ray

this mind awakes at end of day

white noise

silent hill

i raise the speed to taste a thrill

black sky

open soul

tumble tumble, endless hole

The Man With the Matchstick in His Hand

365 Days of Creativity

day fourty three

This one’s for those with fires in hearts

I’m calling to those that reach for the stars
clutching the flame, a trillion small parts.
they pulse and they burn, destruction is art.

We follow the man with matchstick in hand,

his lantern of dreams alone in the land,

it eats up and burns the Utopian sands,

a blind man can see the lies on demand.

This one’s for those with fires in hearts,

who lash out and scream and break through the bars.

pulsing to sin, with demons depart.

A tip of the hat to souls who have scars.

The reaper of light, he exudes pure command, 

leads us away from the holy land.

but neither is hell part of his plan.

he travels to limbo, taking his stand.

This one’s for those with heat in their eyes,

the spirits who in the darkness they thrive.
Never to follow, they grasp their own light.

Lone werewolves and soldiers posed for the fight.

 A master of men, a leader of troupes

he gathers the weak, broken and abused.

Under his cape he hides broken slews.

He’s darker than night, this Nosferatu.

This one’s for those with heat in their eyes,

the arrows of lightning, not fearing to die.

with dagger of flame we fight through the night

alongside the demons, defeating the blight.

 This man who has stolen all of the used,

he comes upon those who have broken through.

With all flames in hand, his face can be viewed.

the tales of his sins, on his face are tattooed.

Romanticism Done Wrong

365 Days of Creativity

day fourty two

The only bullet in a barrel of six,
the way his eyes see through my tricks.

The match that lights a body ablaze,
the woman that walks into the haze.

A lone wolf that stalks his pitiful prey,
The weapons used to finish and slay.

Skin tattooed with art as ink,
the mind that teeters upon the brink.

A pale horse that rides in times of dusk,
The deep scents of angels covered in musk.

A song that bares the soul for taste,
the blood that’s spilled in fractured haste.

The tree with hands of skeletons,
the water through the desert runs.

These things I find as beautiful,
as painted lips on porcelain skull.

Clever words are my disguise,
trust not who romanticize.

All Hallows Eve

365 Days of Creativity

day fourty one

Welcome to all hallows eve,

when the demons roam the streets.

We dress as ghouls and peeves,

so we blend in with the fleet.

The crack of fireworks above,

like shotguns to the teeth.

I take this coloured candy,

just to know what walks unseen.

The flashing lights are noted with,

the running children's screams.

The parents drink their alcohol,

as teens sweat to the beat.

A night of guise and masquerade,

true natures seen apparent.

For every monster dressed in false

another's seen transparent.

The veil between this world and theirs

is nothing but a net.

The holes between dimensions

fail before they catch.

A knotted night of twisted fears,

when chants are sung, and kids eat peers.

There's nothing that holds them at bay,

just run until the light of day.

The Predator

All right, it has been much too long since my last post, and I sincerely apologize to my avid readers, (all one of you) but I'm trying to get back on track.

365 Days of Creativity

day fourty

The only thing less settling,

than my cursed indecision,

is my new naivety-

my lack of self sufficience.

Never have I wavered,

faltered, frayed or fled,

but in the strange new circumstance,

my diamond nerves are dead,

More solid than the mountain

and vaster than the sea,

my rock hard resolution

has yet abandoned me.

The more I switch and falter,

the more my patience dies.

I can't stay calm or civil,

when there's fire in your eyes.

And thought they burn as bright as blades,

I do not feign away this gaze

for I deliver no less heat-

worlds collide when our eyes meet.

The strangest day has yet to come

for when you look upon the sun

lakes will burn with fields of clover,

a ferocious man, this supernova.

With wicked smiles

and vicious tongue,

the panther waits, and bates for fun.

An onyx cat from darkness came,

with blazing eyes and ashy mane,

lips tossed back, a hungry grin,

embodiment of lust and sin.

He runs on waves of death and soot,

Killing babes dropped underfoot,

I find myself clutched in his jaws,

He's saved me from those poison paws.

Sugar Skull

365 Days of Creativity

day thirty nine

Crushing Dragonflies to Dye My Clothes

365 Days of Creativity

day thirty eight

The corpses of ladybugs crunch beneath my feet.

Shattered wings and soiled blood,

and mysteries beneath.

The azure of a dragonfly,

crushed up into a paste.

I wear the hue of stolen lives,

they compliment my taste.

In my hair I tie the wings,

of butterflies, delicate things.

Woven braids of gossamer,

nothing so quaint, do you concur?

The apple of a fallen tree,

lands far from where it ought to be.

Even ants dare to be bold,

when mother nature takes a hold.

The secrets that this lady keeps,

why crickets cry and willows weep.

I borrow all the colours of,

miss nature's unrequited love.

The ladybugs I stomp and shatter,

crimson shells, on lips they flatter.

The dust upon a bumblebee,

I brew each day to make my tea.

Though I steal from crystal clouds,

I practice grace, leave with a bow.

For when the world comes crashing down,

it's mother earth who wears the crown.

Ambition

365 Days of Creativity

day thirty seven

Ambition

dreams cast tempting nets.
webs that pull and catch
ambition kills reality,
we take what we can get.

but not one thing can satisfy
when humans get the hungry eye.
ambition is a faulty lie
no hope or need to try

the want for more disguised as passion-
filthy, dirty deeds.
ambition is no great romance,
it’s nothing more than greed.
the notion is a nasty dance,
devouring sweet dreams.

cannibalize and terrorize
the hopes of fellow man
nothing can survive itself
when cat devours lamb.

nothing tempts more hungry souls
than a helping hand.
the man who aids another,
lays buried in the sand.

the eagerness of selfish bliss,
we call hard work a virtue,
but ambition is a fickle friend,
it’s greed can only hurt you.

Despair

365 Days of Creativity

day thirty six

Hope or Despair

Mise-en-scene is an expression used to describe the design aspects of a theatre or film production, which essentially means "visual theme" or "telling a story" - both in visually artful ways through cinematography and stage design, and in poetically artful ways through direction. 

The Jackasses

365 Days of Creativity

day thirty five

You've got your poker face,

I've got my icy ways-

What a pair of jackasses we are.

We toss and turn,

Rattle and burn-

Neither one willing to lay down their cards.

You bluff, I cheat,

Together we're beat-

But nothing can touch us when we are apart.

As singles we stand,

Both aces in hand-

Our dignity's stab like poisonous darts.

The deadliest team,

Love wolves don't scream-

They stalk and they prowl, shades in the dark.

I bet and you raise,

The battle of days-

What a pair of jackasses we are.

Candy Land

365 Days of Creativity

day thirty four

I paint my eyes

so I can see,

the world as I

want it to be.

There's nothing deadly as a virus,

but for an onyx circled iris.

I wish that I could dye my skin, 

and flavour everything within.

Cinnamon heart,

vanilla lungs,

chocolate bones,

strawberry tongue.

With painted eyes and flavoured skin,

I'll sink inside my tasty world.

Come visit me and be my sin,

And I'll be your strawberry girl.

Solitude

365 Days of Creativity

day thirty four

Solitude

The thoughts I hear are not my own.

They speak of pain and twisted bone.

A memory of false risque's

echoed lives

and made up days.

I can't recall this life I've lived

Is it true or it is myth?

The voice whispers,

tells me to cry,

urges me to rot and die.

I can't give in,

words of my mind.

That place is dark,

and I am blind.

Though deaf does not ail me the most,

the sounds it brings, lips of a ghost

These notes are those, bid me ill will

they want only, to make me still.

Alone is when the spider sings,

spinning rhymes and sticky things.

Alone is when I flay my soul,

razor blade my self control.

Escape does not come cheap or free,

though you may want it desperately.

The cost of leaving your own thoughts

will leave you broken,

half distraught.

Abandon hope of getting peace,

when demons visit in your sleep.

I Came From the Shadows

365 Days of Creativity

day thirty three

Fiddling in photoshoop

A Hangover Sunday

365 Days of Creativity

day thirty two

            The buzzing blared its way into my dreamless sleep. Alarm, snooze, repeat. I cut it close today, but dragged my ass out of bed. I pulled on clothes and put up my hair. No time for a shower so I looked like a photocopied version of myself from the night before. A thin layer of sparkles still dusted my chest, and I retraced the eyeliner that had faded in sleep. Classy. No time to eat so I grabbed bread and eggs to cook at work.

             I raced through the side streets, waking up the 'burbs with the sub in my car. If I have to be awake right now, so do you. I parked the car out back of work and slummed my way up the stairs. The stench of stale alcohol hit my nose and I held back a dry heave. God damn bottle recycling is kept outside. After successfully stifling my gag reflex I pushed into the staff room. My well stained apron slumbered in the locker. Two tums and a cup of OJ helped me prepare for the long day ahead. 

             I spread the toast out over 30 minutes, so I didn't shock my beer-abused stomach into showing it's inner self.  One customer, a regular. We spoke of movies and tv shows. Another customer ordered a beer at 10:30 am. I served it with a ten foot pole. Then nothing. I stood around and massaged the crick in my neck for the better part of an hour. Made an omelet with the eggs I brought. An inch away from taking a bite a group of seven walked in. 

            Big groups are generally good for business. They drink more, eat more, tip more. Not these guys. And why? Oh well they just happened to be from Kelowna. Because I really needed to be reminded of that city today. I served them quickly and hid in the back to eat my food. I zoned into the eggs and the onions and peppers and thought nothing of the town I had quickly left, or the boss breathing down my spasmed neck. 

           But as much as I tried to get lost in the cheddar cheese, my thoughts kept getting coaxed to Kelowna. To the people I had left behind. To the places I hadn't seen in months, voices I hadn't heard in weeks, faces I would never see again. Suddenly I wasn't so hungry any more. I was thankful for the lack of customers, even though at the end of the day I made only 16 dollars in tips, an insult. 

           I drifted through the day. My mind wandered the empty streets of Memory City. 

Hungry for sleep that I can't have, I let myself rest while others talk. The sound of a voice that isn't my own is more comforting than any bed. I crave noise. Not words really, just the waves of volume that engulf me and remind me that I'm not alone. Music, movies, traffic, rain. The proof that the world is real, that things keep moving even when I'm not. That the world will go on even when I'm dead. 

Simply Different

365 Days of Creativity

day thirty one

              The tunnel is dark. I wear shades to block out the brightness creeping on from one side. I don't want to go towards the light. I want to sink into the brick wall; merge my way into another universe. The Grey World, that's where I'd go. I'd leave this place where black and white are things to be separated.

              There's much to be said for the need to label good and bad. To alienate and judge others. One life is not better or holier than another. They are simply different. Not by giant contrasts, but by the slightest shades. You walk, I run. I run, he drives. Either way we're all headed to the same place.

              Throw off the chains that bind you to the light. Take a walk on the dark side of the moon. It's not a one way street. I make a suggestion; let's all shrug off the bonds and walk with each other. Let's meet on the equinox. We can live in the border between lands, the place where hatred is smoothed and religion actually does what it claims to be about.

              Come with me to this sweet paradise. You may be scared to leave others behind, but believe me, once you get there you won't care. We can live in this perfectly balanced utopia. Do good or bad, fight for something hard, and love even harder. Taste both the bitter honey and the sweet poison, meet the people you're about to judge and try the things you want to condemn. Come with me, and realize there is a place without light and dark, and it's called Freedom.

Put Your Middle Fingers Up

A self portrait for directing class.

365 Days of Creativity

day thirty

This image represents a sense of rebellion. The need to act out against rules and disobey authority. The girl in this photo is someone who is comfortable with her sexuality and doesn't care what people think. The background is blank, much like that girl's opinion of society. 

Hi Friend

First off I need to apologize for my being MIA. I had a rough weekend and I'm working toward some big changes. But I'm back with a vengeance. I'm going to jump back into the creativeness.

365 Days of Creativity

day twenty nine

A photo for a friend. (click to enlarge)

Insomnia, My Dark Angel

365 Days of Creativity

day twenty eight

         Some people claim to have spirits that stay with them. My demon is Insomnia. Insomnia is a creature, a living entity that has followed me my entire life. I have learned to function on minimal amounts of sleep. With anywhere from 2-5 hours a night, coping with life's daily tasks can sometimes seem mundane and petty. Being late, being ditched, being hungry, it doesn't matter. Everything is going to happen eventually. On really bad days almost nothing could work me up. Every sense is dulled by the heavy weight of missed out sleep. 

         Years and years of sleep deprivation is broken up by few precious months of steady sleep. All it takes is one night. One night where my brain can't shut down, and I'm back in the cycle. Somewhere between weeks three and four of little to no sleep, I start to contemplate the need for sleep. Why rest when we can push ourselves to keep going? I can get so much writing done in 20 hours that it seems cruel to stop for my own human needs. Life is wasted on the living. 

         Even days when I have time to sleep in, I can't. My soul is restless. It needs to move, to change, to be free. I get bored extremely easily. Souls are more delicate and flexible than birds, they can fly higher and see sharper. I realize how much time I waste just sitting around. I don't want to stop, I need to go, to run, to speed, to get away. 

       I hate Insomnia, my dark angel. But it's shadows have showed me that wasted time equals wasted lives. My own curse is one of my biggest sources of power and inspiration. 

       The only thing I miss are the dreams.

The Tiger

365 Days of Creativity

day twenty seven

The tiger crawls around it's cage,

waiting to be free.

Full of nerves and pent up rage,

here comes the killing spree.

Audrey Hepburn as Drawn by Me

365 Days of Creativity

day twenty six

I apologize for the crappy picture quality.

The Stranger Who Cared

365 Days of Creativity

day twenty five

         I was so absorbed in my own life, I didn't even see the leaves change colour. Fall crept in like a curious atheist into a church. Winter was galloping towards me on the steeds of Sir Jack Frost's army. Here and there a spike of cold would nip at your nose and snap at your heels. The hounds that Frost sent ahead to hunt down his next victims. I used to run, I used to hold onto the hope that summer would last, maybe it would just be a chilly autumn this year. But winter always came. I stopped wishing for things that could not be so. Instead, I bent over and let winter give it to me up the ass like a good little boy.

         This year is happening fast. Rain comes down in sheets and washes away every trace of summer. The cold winds sweep up happy times and blow them halfway across the world. Smiles grow sadder and faces longer. People stretch themselves thin trying to escape the depression of the end of the year. They don't realize that each faked smile chips away at the enamel of their happiness.

        The bench at the park was wet, but I sat anyways. Trying to stay dry in Vancouver was like trying to stay wet in the Sahara. I flicked open a pack of cigarettes and lit one up. The rain that fell was considered a drizzle here. Smoke puffed and swam around the rain drops. The water caught the plume on the way down, washing the chemical residue down to the sewers where moldy toads awaited their nic-fits.

       I watched each drop of rain that landed on my hands. The water formed minuscule rivers and streams as it followed the lines of my skin. I turned my palms face up and let two small pools form in the bases of my lifelines. The liquid overflowed and slowly dripped it's way into my jacket sleeves.

       I didn't hear her footsteps. She sat next to me, sliding in quiet as autumn. A thin white unbrella clutched in her right hand, yet her brown hair hung in soggy strands. I looked at the umbrella. She was holding it over my head, not her own. Her blue eyes, electric as the sun, caught mine for a moment. It was no more than a second, but this perfect stranger cared. Actually cared about me. The sizzling sound of the cigarette hitting the ground echoed in my ears as I stood. I got up and I ran. I ran from this strange girl who cared about me, who actually gave a damn. I ran from the alien sight of human empathy. I ran as fast as I could, winter snapping at my heels.

The Quote that Changed my Life

365 Days of Creativity

day twenty four

Not much time today. Very very much beginners calligraphy:

The Bruise

Short story for my creative writing group this week. Theme is Dawn.

365 Days of Creativity

day twenty three

I looked at her face, swollen and bloody from angry fists. Her lip split, her eye the colour of crushed blueberries. She was as beautiful as ever. The pain must have been unbearable, but she didn’t cry. She never cried.

“What was it this time?” I asked gently.

Jodie swept her hair behind her ear and shook her head. “It was my fault, I forgot about the crusts.”

“The crusts?”

She smiled sadly, “I forgot to cut the crusts off the bread.”

I exhaled, bewildered. “You didn’t cut the crust off a sandwich? That’s what triggered this?!”

“It’s ok!” She put her hand on my knee, “I should have paid more attention.”

I brushed her away, “It’s unbelievable, I won’t stand for it.”

Jodie’s hands twisted her shirt hem nervously. “What are you going to do?”

The window was open wide. Soft cotton curtains buffeted in the wind. A crisp blue sky was broken up by popcorn clouds. Air was never found sweeter than it was on the mountain. I moved to the window sill and gazed at the green sea of shimmering grass.

“I don’t know.” The breeze tousled my hair.

Jodie stood up and walked to my side. Her breathe was sweet as summer rain. “I’m going to make some coffee, you want some?”

I shook my head. My stomach could never keep anything down after Jodie got a beating. There was nothing I cared for in the world more than her, yet I was always witness to her pain. Jodie was that deadly combination of loving and strong. Someone who would eternally carry the burden of other’s pain, and bear the weight with a smile.

That was the curse of having a kind heart. The willingness- no - the need to help others. To make a difference, to see the smile on the bullied child’s face, to hold the disturbed man and take the cripple as a lover. Jodie has it, my mother had it, and both are too quick to care. The troubled are not always worthy of love.

The grass was blown into waves, billowing ribbons that led away from the house. Even nature ran away from me. Everyone left, everyone ran, everyone but Jodie. It was her heart that held me together, and her heart that allowed me to tear her apart.

I couldn’t put her through it anymore. My thoughts were broken by the clinking of a spoon against ceramic. I turned and watched this beautiful woman. My strength.

I crossed the room and slid my hands down her shoulders. I wrapped my arms around her and held her softly. She sighed and leaned into my chest.

She wouldn’t leave me, she couldn’t. But I could leave her.

“Jodie...” I whispered into her cloud of hair. “I can’t stay here anymore.”

She spun around. “What?”

“I have to leave, I can’t keep hurting you like this.”

“But it’s not your fault! You don’t know what you’re doing!” Her eye’s burrowed fiercely into mine.

“You’ve helped me, carried me for so long. I can’t put that on you anymore.” I traced her cheek with a finger. My bloody knuckles left a crimson line on her pale skin.

“You’re sick.. you need me. How are you going to live on your own?”

“No Jodie,” I shook my head, “You need me. You need someone to help. What I need is to be alone.”

She sputtered, hurt and confused, “But it’s not safe for you to live alone! You could hurt yourself.”

I took her chin and tilted it towards me. “And that, is infinitely better than me hurting you.”

And that’s when Jodie knew I meant it. Her eyes went wide, her brow softened, and her lip slowly, ever so slowly started to tremble. I leaned in and kissed her, the blood from her wounded lips left a salty, bitter sweet taste in my mouth. As I pulled away I saw the glistening of heart broken tears on her face.

I smiled, “You were the only one who could ever guide me through the darkness, and it’s a new day now.”

Why Fight Club is So Important to Me

365 Days of Creativity

day twenty two

Fight Club

"I want you to hit me, as hard as you can." A viscous proposition made from a dangerous man; Tyler Durden, Fight Club. While there is no doubt that movies are powerful, nothing has done as Tyler said, and hit me as hard as this one. Very few films have ever changed my opinion on something, let alone stop me dead in my tracks. Fight Club did this and more. I was halted, spun, and shoved in a completely new direction. There are a plethora of things in this movie that rang true with me, but most of all was the idea of taking control while letting go.

Life is a slippery thing. It bounces all over the place and if you're not quick, it'll slide right past you. I always thought of myself as a spontaneous person, someone who would take a risk. Until I watched Fight Club, I never knew how much I was missing. What I thought was surprise and opportunity was always a safe bet. The jobs, the friends, the relationships. I never did anything that I wanted to unless there was some sort of reasoning behind it. I was quickly being molded into the consumer sheep that all of society is doomed to be. Then, like a kick to the throat, Fight Club was there. The film justified every adrenaline crazed action that I wanted to take, it urged me to get those tattoos, it supported my most feral impulses. The world made sense as soon as I heard one line;

"I don't want to die without any scars"

-Narrator, Fight Club

Poof, my worries were gone. My nerves, my apprehensions, all erased. I knew in that moment that I could do anything. I might fall, I might break, I might make a complete ass out of myself, but at least when I die I'll know that I've lived. That I took every crazy, risky opportunity that came my way, and didn't let anyone shit on me.

Fight Club has the kind of story that rings true in one way or another with almost every one. Whether it be that your possessions own you, or that you’re in a relationship where half the time you don’t know if your friend has been replaced with a completely different person. Most of the time I feel that I myself have been switched with someone else. Actions, words and self-destructive tendencies that seem to come from some alternate personality. Fight Club helped me realize that, like the Narrator, I kept projecting my problems onto someone else instead of realizing that I was merely manifesting my own issues.

Seldom is it that an action film is one to change lives, but Fight Club is a rare breed of storytelling and moral shaking. For me it was a wake up call, a reminder that living while you’re young is not a sin. This movie is what I think of every time I get nervous, every moment that I falter before taking a leap. Now I don’t hesitate to live past my boundaries, to take control, by letting my inhibitions go. This movie is the law of my life. I will never back down, never give up, and never play it safe, because I don’t want to die without any scars.