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Initiallyyours - Archived Blog Post

I was playing Amanda Palmer's song "The Point of it All" on the piano and I realized one of the verses was very much like something that happened to me.

Maybe a week in the tropics would help to remind you how nice life can be
We propped you right up in a chair on the deck with a beautiful view of the sea
But a couple days later we came back and you and the chair were nowhere to be seen
You had magically moved to the closet eyes fixed on the spot where the dryer had been

If you've read my previous blog entries, I broke up with my first (and only) boyfriend last year after he told me he wasn't able to come out -- ever, apparently. I still introduced him to my friends as my boyfriend but even in those moments, he was never really able to be himself.

Instead of wanting to keep coming out to people leading an honest life, he chose to stay in the closet. Ultimately, coming out is a personal choice, and I understand that. I thought that after he had a glimpse of life with someone who truly cared for him, that it might be a life worth pursuing.

I guess I was wrong. I guess that's the point of it all.


 
Something that happened today. Wrote this not too long after it occurred.



The Beautiful Boy



I first saw him not at the video exchange but on the bus. He sat next to the doors on the back, and I first noticed him through the spaces between the bars as I slowly walked into the interior of the vehicle. His eyes were focused on something outside the window, as if seeking solitude, but the empty seat beside him said otherwise. As my eyes stayed on him when I walked past, I yearned for him to look over at me, and just before passing, he did. I can only describe him as absolutely beautiful, and I almost felt humbled in his presence.

I took a seat facing outside the window, perpendicular to him, so that I could observe him without being obvious. He wore a grey-bluish t-shirt, jeans, Adidas sneakers with a backpack on his lap. It was only when he reached up with him right hand to scratch his head that I noticed the hair on his arms and the tan on them too, slowly fading into his natural skin colour at an invisible line just below the sleeves of his t-shirt. As he continued to stare out at the world, the fine facial hair on his cheeks down to his chin were inviting me to walk over and touch them, to spend my entire day brushing them with my face as we kissed. He was so beautiful.

But then it began again. That little voice in my head that everyone has, only mine is more pronounced than others because I listen to it.

“What’s the use? He’s not going to notice you, and you’re too chicken shit to go over and talk to him, loser. Pathetic. Truly, pathetic.”

The words seeped into my mind despite my efforts to dig them out and throw them away. It was the truth; I didn’t need a fortune teller to tell me this scene was going to play out the way it always did – with me thinking about him the entire day while I wallowed in sadness about how I had the chance but didn’t grab it.

Then the tears came. But they never flow. I didn’t allow them to, but they collected in my eyes, evidence that those hateful, truthful words meant something.

Suddenly, I felt a familiar stirring in my nose and sneezed. He turned to my direction when I opened my eyes, and my mind jumped to conclusions that awere beyond belief. I wondered if he knew I was staring at him the whole time. I could not read his face, so I assumed he was merely glancing over.

He finally turned his head again, but didn’t look back out the window. He sat staring straight ahead, slightly angled in my direction, and this was all the proof my foolish, naïve mind needed to assume he had some attraction to me, or at least curiosity. I could have smiled, but I didn’t think he would have noticed.

It was my stop. I hated to leave, to leave him on that bus with that empty seat beside him, where I should have been, talking to him about recent movies, his favourite music, and where he was going. I should have been there. But I wasn’t. Instead, I shouted a quick, “Thank you” to the bus driver before stepping off. After a few paces, I looked back at the bus. His head was turned in my direction again, but I couldn’t be certain he was looking at me. I memorized his face like a blind man and Braille – every bump, curve, and wrinkle locked into my mind. Still, my hopeful mind believed – believes that I will see that beautiful boy again, and that time, the empty seat next to him will be filled by me.
 
There are only so many words I can describe last night. I wrote a short film last year in film school called On the Bus, and have been submitting it to festivals EVERYWHERE (and I mean everywhere). I had never been able to attend any of the screenings because, well, they were outside of my city -- in other countries.

Last night, the short film I wrote screened at the Vancouver Queer Film Festival, in front of an audience of about 300 people. It was only during the lead up to the start of the program that I got really excited. Sure, my film had been screened at VFS before, but this was at a real, public theatre with a large audience. Holy crap!

The festival co-ordinator called up the directors of the films to introduce their them. I wasn't sure if my director was there, but I didn't feel like I should go up there since I wasn't the director. She, in fact, wasn't there, and looking back, I probably should've gone up to the front to talk about my film. But alas...

When it got to my film, I was still surprised and taken aback with the big letters on the giant screen:

Vancouver Film School presents

Wow. I could hardly believe it.

It had been a while since I watched my film, mainly because I found it hard to watch. Not that it was bad or anything, but because I was so closely associated with the film and had seen it multiple times before that I knew it too well.

And when I saw it last night, it was a different experience. Maybe the fact that it was on a big screen. I'm sure that had something to do with it. But as the film progressed, I felt emotionally connected with the characters, particularly Jeremy. Though his experience in the movie is based on something I personally went through, I felt very... emotional as Sean dug at Jeremy. That's the effect of the film that I had never felt before, but was told it had happened to other people.

In short, I have a new appreciation for my film. I really, really like it. It's as if I've rediscovered how strong it truly is.

The comments I got after the screening was great as well; one young man told me he really connected with Jeremy's character, that it was something he also did during high school, being queer and not being able to talk to guys. I'm really glad about that. I'm so glad to hear people were able to relate to the characters and feel a sense of familiarity in the story.

Outside the theatre, there was a table where you could vote for your favourite short film and some people were filling them out. My friends and I filled out some too... how great would it be if my little film won the award? Haha. I think the winner will be announced on the closing night, 5 days away. I honestly think I have a good chance of winning it (a lot of the other short films were experimental and kinda weird...) but we'll see.

All this was a few hours ago. I'm tired now and my throat hurts from trying to talk over the music at the afterparty, but it was a great night. This has pushed and inspired me to continue to write and make films. This was just what I needed.



Aaron
 
Sigh.

Before tonight, I had never experienced self-pity, or at least wasn't aware enough to realize I was pitying myself. But tonight, I thoroughly pity myself... my sad self.

During high school, I made a bet with my best friend to ask somebody before the end of the year -- or get asked out. My friend made a guy ask her out because she couldn't do it (he's now her boyfriend after all these years). I, on the other hand, was absolutely terrified and nervous about asking a guy out. For all I know, I could get the crap beat out of me if I asked the wrong guy. Even though I was out, no one in school really noticed or cared, and I still did not know anyone else who was gay.

Eventually, I didn't do it. Since then, I've asked several guys out from online; some said yes, some said no. With the internet, I no longer had to guess a guy's sexual orientation. It was almost like it was a level playing field, where I couldn't screw up. If guys didn't respond or said no, it wasn't because they weren't gay.

About a month ago, I finally did what I had been freaked out to do. The organization I volunteer for had a new staff member who I thought was incredibly cute, intelligent and charming. His name ran through my mind an entire weekend, and I constantly thought of him. It was as if I had the mentality of a high school teenage girl. So embarrassing.

Ultimately, it bothered me so much I went into the office and just asked him, "Would you like to go out for milkshakes sometime?" Knowing that he was gay (or actually, assuming so), I felt slightly more confident that he would say yes. But then the issue of relationships between staff members and volunteers came up, and he said he would get back to me.

And unfortunately for me, the answer was no.

I wasn't really surprised, but I felt alone and unwanted (even though it wasn't really his fault but policy), and sad because of another rejection. It's just like me to like someone who I thought was special but not have it go anywhere. Always, it seems.

And tonight, I went with my friend to some bowling night with a bunch of other university students (I go to a different school so I knew none of them). There was one guy who caught my eye when I first saw him -- really cute, Asian, and a good conversationalist. I talked with him a bit and when it was time for me and my friend to go, I wanted to ask him out, but 1. thought it was highly unlikely he was gay (or bi) and 2. was too shy to ever ask him. My friend and I were going to take public transit home and he apparently was going to get a ride. So we left.

I texted my friend when I left her at her bus stop saying that I thought Kevin, the guy I liked, was really cute and thought about asking him out. I was on the bus when someone tapped the book I was reading. I looked up and saw Kevin.

Immediately, my mind thought, "Holy crap! Second chance!" and it turns out he lives on the main street that I do, just farther down south. As the we got closer to my stop, I realized I really had to ask him, if I was being given this second chance.

"I have something to ask you. Do you want to go out sometime?"

He laughed a bit. I think he thought that I thought he was gay, which actually isn't the case. I was sure he was straight -- well, in my mind, everyone is straight unless they're really flamboyant and he wasn't. So no, I didn't particularly think he was gay. I just wanted to ask.

"Um... no, sorry," he replied.

"Okay."

"Thanks though." I guess it's good he took it in good spirit and didn't get offended but quite frankly, even if he did, I would've told him it wasn't a big deal.

I got home and didn't really think about it but then got sad again. I knew I was going to get a no, so why did it make me feel so bad?

It doesn't matter if I know it won't work out. It always hurts.

I'm told how I should keep trying, that it's what I should be doing. But I can't just keep ignoring rejection like this. It's found a place in me.

Sigh.




Aaron
 
WARNING: This is a long rant which you may or may not care to read but it doesn't matter to me because I'm only venting.

Near the start of the school year, I came up with a concept of "tagging" and "crashing" that I wrote in a poem (I don't have the poem with me right now or else I'd type it out).

What I realized was that I try, and have been trying since I came out when I was 14, really hard to find someone special, someone who I could possibly see myself with, and it never leads to anywhere. And the more it doesn't work out, the more I think about it and the more it makes me sad.

I'm not a bad person; I don't think I'm horribly unattractive; I type pretty much all my sentences out grammatically and I really am a sweet, romantic guy, despite now being jaded.

I used to be a member on several online gay dating sites where I would send off messages to people who I thought were decent people (ie. not people who use naked pictures as a profile picture or have the "cock" or "fuck" somewhere mentioned in their profile description) who had intelligently typed descriptions of themselves and what they were looking for. And for the most part, people didn't reply. I often wondered why that was.

I try to hang my tag of frazzled hope onto people and but they don't want it, and I end up with it in my hand again.

When you try over and over again to reach out to someone and all they offer you is their back, it gets you down after a while.

There are those who crash into each other and hang on, who find each other somehow, some way.

The other day, I was downtown in a coffee shop and I spotted two cute guys talking at a table. I assumed they were both gay (my lack of gaydar told me so) and thought...

"Those two will never have to use the internet to find someone."

And it's true. There are some people who know enough gay folks around town or have friends who know other friends who know other gay guys to meet that dating is never really hard for them. Aren't they lucky.

I've read in stories, fiction and true stories, of the similar guys. Ones who are super closeted in high school and have the hot jock give him a kiss in the locker room; ones who have sleepovers with other guys and "discover" things; hell, I've had a friend tell me he saw this "really hot guy" at a business meeting. They went out for drinks after where the hot guy proceeded to ask my friend out on a date, which astounded my friend because of hot guy's apparent hotness.

And after hearing and reading all these stories, I think,

"Huh. Nothing remotely close to that has ever happened to me."

I came out when I was 14 years old. Sure, it was only to my friends at first, but when I graduated, I'm sure more than a handful of people knew. Still, nothing happened for me. Nobody came up to me and said, "So you're gay? Me too..."

No, none of that.

People don't notice me. That's what I've noticed. I'll be staring at a cute guy on the bus who won't even see me. I go out and perform music; I go out and make films; I'm on lots of gay dating sites (used to be on more, but only 2 or 3 now). And still I feel alone.

One of my friends always tells me to keep trying, that if I don't, I won't be any closer to finding Prince Charming. And yeah, he's got a point, but at the same time, how can I simply ignore guys who I thought were genuine people, ignoring me? I can't let that go so easily.

This friend set up an account for me on Plenty of Fish. He told me lots of his friends got messages from other guys and it was where he met his current boyfriend. I didn't think too much of it -- after all, what did the other sites bring me? A couple of friends and a relationship that was doomed before it even began.

After he created the account for me, I did what I usually do; browse and send to semi-interesting people. I think I end up typing a bit too much at times, which may put people off, but I can't help it. Also, sometimes my humor is off-beat-ish and people might find it weird. Not my fault though.

Anyway, out of 6 guys that I've sent messages to, one responded, and he's not even in Vancouver. And I know they've read my messages too. My friend says not many people respond to him either, that it's normal.

At times, I feel like it's a racial thing why I can't seem get people to respond. I'll message white guys and majority of them don't respond. I don't know why. If they're not into me, I understand that. But if they don't want to take the time to get to know me simply because of all the connotations there are with being Asian/Chinese (there are a lot of Asians in Vancouver, for those who don't know, and with that, comes many different types of Asians) like English not being their first language or automatically assuming they're some sort of "Honger"... and if that's the case, then that makes me sad. I'll message other Asians and majority of the time, they'll respond.

One of my other friends tells me that those guys aren't worth my time. But in a way, I'm not worth their time if they don't even want to get to know me.

If people aren't interested, I'd rather they tell me than say nothing. Apparently being friends with me isn't worth it either.

I did, however, get 3 messages from other guys. One was from a 41 year old guy who was "newly coming out" and was "looking for a smooth Asian boy" -- I think I groaned out loud when I read this. Hooray for being fetishized.

Another one who responded was a 55 year old named was Allen. That's all he said. I realize some Asian guys are into older, caucasians but not all. It gets really disheartening when the only guys that message you are ones who only like you for being young and a certain race. Sigh.

The last one was actually around my age for once and we had talked on another site once. We exchanged a few messages but nothing more.

There are days when I get really sad thinking about all this and sometimes I cry. I don't know what to do.

Maybe I've just had no luck. Maybe I should word my messages differently (ie. dumb myself down or something)

But maybe it's just meant to be. Maybe I'm supposed to be lonely like this.


Aaron

PS. Sorry for such a long post if, anyone actually managed to finish this.
 
A few entries ago, I had posted some lyrics of a song I wrote and now, I have an adequate video of it! So here it is:




And if you're wondering, the song is still untitled. Any suggestions?



PS. Special thanks to Sam who made me feel infinitely better with his comment on my last blog entry. You have all my hugs in the world. Thanks. (*8*)
 
It's my birthday today. And I just finished crying.

And not happy tears either.

Writing and music is the only way I feel I can cope with feeling sad, so here goes. As you (whoever may read this) may know, I dated my first guy last year and when we broke up in June, I felt pretty shitty for a few months. When my birthday rolled around in December, I half-expected him to at least wish me a happy birthday but he didn't, and I kinda made me sad. I don't think he even knew it was my birthday.

A year later, I'm still wondering if he knows. I doubt it. The only way he'd know is by the little reminder on facebook and he's no longer my friend on there (I unfriended him last year because I didn't want to be reminded of him).

This combined with listening to a song that always makes me cry, well, made me cry. Here it is:



Though we don't really talk anymore (small talk on MSN every now and then, mainly about how he's always busy from life and tired), a small part of me really does miss him. I also realized that it's almost been two years since I first met/talked to him.

I'm 21. Sigh. He was 21 when we first met. Life goes on.

I know having someone (ie. a boyfriend) would definitely help make me feel better, but that hasn't happened. I don't know if it's because I don't go out to clubs/bars or have half-naked pictures of myself on gay dating sites (probably both) but I still feel a little vacant.

Sigh.

I'm gonna go play some melancholic tunes and drown myself in the sorrow of treble and bass clefs.

A very un-merry birthday to me.




Aaron
 
Ugh, here we go again. Yet another guy I have a crush on. I feel like a teenage girl who reads Twilight. Eww.

Okay, so technically, I've seen the Banker before; last October, I opened a bank account at my local bank and he helped me with the whole thing. I remember when he asked me about my marital status, I said, "Single" and sighed loudly. He laughed and said he was as well and I almost said we should get together so we wouldn't be lonely and single.

After that, though, I didn't see him around. He has a little office/cubicle thing inside the actual bank, and the times I go in, I don't really see him. Yesterday, he gave me a call and told me to phone him back, which I did today. I jokingly thought he was going to ask me out or something but obviously that wasn't the case.

I went into the bank to see him briefly about an hour ago and he still looked as handsome as I remember. He's not Classically handsome, ie. an underwear model. He just seems like a regular guy, and I think that's why I like him. There's an air of genuineness to him, not to mention he's interesting and easy to talk to.

When we were done with stuff, he asked me, "That's it. Is there anything else you need?" and it didn't occur to me until I left that I could've flirted with him and said, "Well, what can you do for me? ;)" But alas.

I have this crazy idea of bringing him maybe a small pack of chocolates for Valentines Day (it would have to be the 13th, since the bank's closed on Sunday) but I don't know how he would take it. After all, we've seen each other all of two times and he probably sees a lot of people working at a bank. And most importantly, I HAVE NO IDEA IF HE'S GAY. Sigh. This is when the use of a gaydar would be really helpful.

This is like the time I asked a cute guy out, completely ignoring if he was gay or not (of course he turned out to be straight). If I do something like give him chocolates, I can already imagine an awkward conversation:

Him: "Oh, thanks. Why'd you get me these?"

Me: "Umm... uh... because I think you're really nice and cute...? Andit'sValentinesDay! Yes."

Him: "Oh, I don't know what to say... thanks. Also, I'm not gay."

[insert AWKWARD SILENCE]

Me: "Yeah... so I'm gonna go now."

Him: "Yeah, good idea."

[Aaron walks home, depressed]


On the other hand, I could just do nothing. That would be much easier.

Any ideas what I should do?
 
As probably one or two of you know, I was with this guy 2 years ago for a few months who was in the closet and then one day told me he would never come out. After we broke up, we would speak to each other rarely, and as far as I knew, he was still not out. His parents are religious and strict and whatnot, and that was one of the main reasons why he was afraid of letting them -- and anyone, for that matter -- know who he was.

Earlier yesterday, I had a quick chat with him on MSN that made me really upset. We were talking about sex and he seemed taken aback that I suck other guys' dicks other than his now.

Here's how it went:

Him: naw i don't do [sex] anymore
Me: do what? sex?
or sex with me?
sex with guys?
Him: sex
Me: so you're celibate now? forever?
Him: no but when i'm in a relationship
Me: but if you're never going to come out, you realize your chances at a real relationship are going to be a lower, right?
Him: well maybe it's not going to be a gay relationship
Me:....
i can't believe you actually said that. but i can't say i'm surprised

So I got really angry and upset after he said that, and I wasn't sure why. I guess I never expected him to be the kind of person to lie to everyone his entire life, that maybe he'd find the courage or the decency to tell someone and not get a beard so that his mom won't become disappointed in him.

Right now, I fucking hate closet cases. I used to have an open mind, that I could say, "Hey, everyone has it hard and should come out in their own time." And I definitely still think that. But if you're never going to tell anyone, or intentionally bring someone into your life to hide behind and ruin theirs, that little lie, that secret has become more than yours. You're sharing it with others, whether they know it or not, and it's not fair, and it's not right.

And then later that day, I meet some guys online, one of whom is also in the closet (a few friends know, which is a start) and wants to meet me in a washroom in public somewhere to make out and jerk off. Oh, and he's also looking for a relationship, should that happen. How the hell is that supposed to happen? To be fair, in his case, if he's out to his friends, at least he could introduce his bf as actually his bf (as opposed to me where I was just another friend). On a separate note, that was kinda strange and no, I did not meet him in that washroom. Eww.

I want to tell my ex, "I may suck other guys' dicks, but at least I know what I want. I will have a husband one day, whom I will have a meaningful, honest, and open relationship with, and just being out is more than you could say for yourself. By the way, I'm not going to cover for you anymore. If someone asks about you, I'll use your real name, and if someone asks how I know you, I'll say you messaged me on a gay online dating site. Have a good life. I hope it's everything you ever want."

But that would spiteful.... would it? I kinda actually want to do the part where I no longer lie for him or make sure I don't use his real name (since his name is fairly distinct and since he goes to UBC, it can be clear who he is).

Thoughts? Opinions? Scathing backlash about how insensitive I am?

 
Story of my life. Sigh.


For the Boy On the Bus

10 minutes ago,
I saw a boy on the bus
blush-cheeked,
tinny music pouring into his ears.
my sight sniffing out stimulating nuggets to not break the ice,
but to set foot on the glassy surface.
insipid questions forming from a burning mind,
building precariously leaning towers of delusion
seeping past the filters I’d installed long ago.

My eyes, bloodshot passion, a drunkard’s
and I look to his for a similar affliction
but there is simply stern neutrality – a flatter-lipped Mona Lisa.

A good guess, albeit a stupid one:
one glance does not tip the scales.

His image, frozen in memory,
more vibrant and destructive than a photograph.
because moments from now,
the only way you’ll pan through the mud for the words to say
is by writing ones he’ll never see.
 
Who would've guessed? The quiet, Chinese boy being the Other Man of a relationship. I don't know what to think or say. Let me rewind a bit...

I've been sorta seeing this guy off and on for since the end of December last year and by "seeing", I mean messing around with him. But it's been more than that -- we've watched movies, and talked quite a bit and even though that doesn't seem very substantial, it is, at least for me. I never considered him a fuck buddy although it might seem the appropriate term in this situation. I guess I didn't like how the term implied simply having sex, that there wasn't conversation and that it made me seem like I was a slut or something, and because I never felt like that with him, I didn't think of him as a fuck buddy. Makes sense, at least in my mind.

More than a month ago, I came across his downelink profile (a social networking site for Asian guys) and saw that his relationship status was "in a relationship". When I first met him, he told me he had just gotten out of a relationship but it was another year until we reconnected (the December last year, so a whole year had gone by). I didn't ask him about his relationship status and because he didn't tell me anything, I just assumed he was also single.

Upon finding his page, I looked him up on facebook and saw that his status there was "married". Ho. Ly. Crap. What've I been doing? Oh, I should note that he's about 28/29, so it's not some old married guy I've been messing around with. Anyway, I texted him and asked him about it but he never responded. I assumed he might not have gotten it or that he didn't want to talk about it.

Today, I met with my editor to finalize and finish my short film that I've been working on for the last few months. His name is Steve, and he's a friend of the guy I've been doing stuff with, Brian (not his real name). As he was waiting with me for the bus, he mentioned this other guy -- Tyler (not his real name either and I feel weird typing in their real names... also paranoid). Brian had never mentioned a Tyler before and when I asked who he was, I shouldn't have been surprised when my friend Steve told me, "He's Brian's boyfriend."

I will not forget how sick to my stomach I felt. Oh god... to be honest, it would've been wayyy worse if 1) I actually liked Brian enough to want to date him, which I was actually considering doing or 2) if we were actually together or saw each other a lot more. I tried to keep my composure as Steve told me how they met, how long they had been together and their place that they lived in together... a place I had gone to a few times and had sex. In their bed.

Brian told me he lived with his sister, which was true, but he failed to mention he also lived with his boyfriend or anything about him, for that matter. Brian doesn't seem like the kind of person to do this kind of thing (ie. have an affair. Oh god, I'm being linked to the word affair :() which I guess is why I feel so incredibly shitty and guilty. I don't understand... I don't understand why he would do this. I mean, it's not even like he was straight and I was something on the side -- he has a boyfriend! Maybe his bf doesn't satisfy him sexually. Maybe his bf is abusive. Or maybe Brian's just a complete douche and not the person I thought he was.

Brian's away for a few weeks and I already asked him (via facebook message... crap, I should've emailed him instead) when he was coming back and that we need to talk. For anyone even reaching this length, I actually considered posting this in Hot Topics so I could get people's opinions, but I was afraid people would tell me it was my fault, that it's "what I get" for having a fuck buddy, which is obviously not what I want/need to hear.

I'm the Other Man. Oh jeez. Why?!?!?!
 
Prodigal Boy

Who was the boy
that simply blinked away loneliness
with eyes gleaming like stars? Orion would be jealous.
Red lights he’d obey
A rare breed of clever young man.

Who was the boy
that waited for love?
Patient as a star-gazer
Only to have love come and leave a crater in his mind
spawning a darkness within him
a planet on a wobbly orbit.

Who is the man
That walks away from a foreign doorstep?
Gagging on the stench of yet another man’s body on his skin
He gets so close to the shore as the tides of lust drag him back into the murky ocean
Guilt creating confusion and white noise, static in his head
while he scrambles frantically to tune into a familiar channel.

Who was that boy and
when will he return?
The man begs to know when resilience will save him.
 
I am fluent in the language of misinterpretation

I am a neglected puppy,
skeleton-thin, starving for words,
and when they drop at my feet, I greedily feast
my unformed mind believing
they must be more than sweet careless rewards,
they must be more than stale pity.

I attach lead weights to a simple “hi”,
hoping they reveal more than cheap plastic toys beneath the chocolate shell
Though this is a formula I’m an expert with,
it still confuses me;
my heart flinches at pin pricks of silence
yet continues to beat.

The monster called memory
reminds me of your quick shuffling steps,
the crinkles in your eyes when you smile are the delicate folds of an origami flower I planned to give you.
your curt laughs are bottles of expensive champagne I’ve saved to buy
The way you spoke of Zac Efron like a crush,
and now I speak of you in the same way.

I am fluent in the language of misinterpretation.
What is the translation for silence?
 
I posted this in the Hot Topics section but I'll post it here too, in the unlikely event people happen to stop by my page.

I recently made a short film/commercial on the topic of dangerous driving for a contest. There's a prize for Viewers' Choice based on the number of Likes on the youtube page.

If you guys could take a look at my short film and click on the Like/thumbs up button on the youtube page, that would be super awesome! Thanks so much! (And tell me what you think of it too!)

 
I give you more than a blackjack,
never believing the cards you hold
is a bluff.
Because why lie on a day a mere six calendar pages back when
you and I once walked on an overcast day, feet from the Indian restaurant on Main Street with the savoury samosas you like so much,
while my doubts cast their spell on me before I asked,
“So… are we boyfriends?”
And even after more than a fortnight of already sensing the answer,
I waited x number of days for you to reveal that we were in fact a pair.

Months later, when days out together fade into nights alone,
I stand still — at least still receiving words from you or your filtered voice celebrating us both for another milestone.
Countless twilights go by, and the worst thing you say stings my ears — silence.
I expected it before but not from you,
my loyal, warm husky.

Perhaps time is not on my side,
and the sounds and words that once trickled like honey from you I must play and bet to earn,
since anything between 30 seconds to 5 minutes
simply costs too much.
 
From my blog, here: http://aaronchanwriting.wordpress.com/2011/03/29/anybody-want-to-fund-my-next-short-film-project/

I have some really good ideas for some blog posts but I always get to posting something at around 11pm when it doesn’t give me much time to really flesh out the idea, read it over at least once, and make it seem brilliant. I should try and get my posts done earlier, eh?

In other news, does anyone reading this want to give me money to help me make my next short film? I have two pet projects I hold fairly close to my heart that I want to take ample time to film and make sure it is utterly… well, brilliant. They’re almost the same idea except told in different ways: the first is about a young man who meets a man claiming to be him from the future, who has come back in time to warn him about meeting a guy he will eventually fall in love with which would end badly. This one would be easier to make even though it is a few pages less in length but only 3 locations.

The other script is more artistically and experimentally presented. It’s about the same young man who is told, through images and scenes, that he will have to make a choice between love but ruin afterwards, or missing out on love but possibly never knowing it — a take on “it is better to have loved than to have never loved at all.”

I know I could try and make both of these without budgets but I actually have a couple actors in mind and am convinced that they would only do something like this if they got paid, not to mention everyone else helping out with the film. I haven’t made a film with any sort of budget so it would be a good learning experience (not to mention, yay! Money!).

Unfortunately, a lot of funding sources that I have looked at (Canada Council for the Arts, BC Film) require applicants to not be a full-time/undergrad student, of which I am, and I haven’t the slightest idea of how to find a producer who might be able to help (maybe craigslist…? Kidding!). If only I had richer friends… kidding! Well, sort of.

So if anyone does indeed want to help out a lowly filmmaker realize a project or two that he has great belief in (which is rare for him) or know of a producer with some money lying around, send him an email and you will make one usually unlucky boy feel actually lucky: evil_ice_dragon@hotmail.com.
 
After watching Howl, I really felt like writing poetry, and managed to scribble most of this at work later that night.

Untitled

I am not sitting in a bar
with a foggy glass of rusty scotch in my hand,
but I may as well be.
I am not hunched over
with open window eyes
peering into a shrouded forest,
full of strange calls,
but I may as well be.
I am not sucking and gnawing on the ice in my glass,
narrowly missing my tongue,
or dressed in skeletal-fitting cotton
to maximize the appearance of flabby muslces
a hand-sized crotch,
and dull words;
slurred words,
words created and dripping from “whatever mind you want it to be.”
Because even though I am not sitting on a faded,
cracked barstool–
cracked like a facade,
cracked as a porcelain vase,
with a cold, empty glass of what was once scotch in my hand,
bitter as gunpowder,
I am in company with the same ghosts of ghosts,
who constantly babble silence in my ear.
 
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