Golden (and grey)

Fog burns away
Hills come out for the day

One year after 1848
Everyone moved out to the Golden State

Golden hearts
Chasing dreams,
The sea reflected glimmers, gleams
Remnants of the golden rush,
King Midas’ golden touch

Not a single cloud in the sky
Because the air is so damn dry
There’s mountains and valleys, sea and sky
Deserts and cities, open and high
Fresh and hip and new and cool
Full of the hipsters who dropped out of school
The next big thing around the bend
Everyone’s a fucking Godsend

So many people, we can’t breathe
Can’t move or speak,
Can’t feel the wreath
Tied around our necks
The price of beauty
Plastic surgery in purgatory

//

Born in 1998
now I’m here at the golden gates
Sixteen, on my own
Don’t have to wait
Make it alone, despite the hate

Golden sunlight, golden hills
Dead grass & thrown away pills

Golden skin, golden girls,
Sun-bleached salt-drenched golden curls,
Golden sand and golden sea
Golden streetlights, electricity

I’ve never seen a sky so big
Never seen a sunset so beautiful as over the pacific

Open roads and open sky
In the parks, people getting high
Sixteen, in the passenger seat
Sunsets and streetlights viewed through the heat
Reflected in the rearview mirrors
Late nights, golden lights, fallen tears

After the sun sets
The sky turns black
The brilliance fades
the grey comes back

colder than anywhere else
to my bones
California in the summer
No one’s at home

I’ve never felt colder in Canada
than I did in California

//

but there’s vignettes of the idyllic halcyon days
the golden feelings that go away
the golden boys who stole my heart
but who now live a world apart

I don’t belong, don’t feel at home
At the end of the day, I still feel alone

Art

Art is communication

Self-expression

Connection, not perfection

Sharing our experiences as best we can

One of the greatest virtues of man

Allowed for by our consciousness

Our drive to create

The same thing that makes us

formulate & fornicate

//

Art is communication. It’s all forms of self-expression. It’s sharing who you are (which is composed of your experiences & your consciousness) through what you’ve created. It’s the method through which people share themselves with the world around them.

This includes talking, writing, drawing, singing, painting, filming, playing the violin. Any legitimate expression of oneself is art. Love, literature, film, photography, sex – anything that captures any part of you and shares it with the world is art.

The best art is determined by what you’re able to connect with. What makes you cry, what makes you feel, what’s real – this is what makes true art. Art that deals with love and loss, passion and pain – ultimately, love and fear. They’re what motivate us to act. They’re what’s real and what’s beautiful about who we are.

Art documents the struggle between love and fear in people. It gives them a space to confront the fear and learn to love by realizing they’re not alone. Performing, sharing our creations, allow us to let out the fear and overcome it, by sharing it and learning to love.

Concept: a well-fed, emotionally healthy artist (not just tortured & starving ones). Would they create as well? Would they create better?

I would love to create a space where people feel safe to share, because the vulnerability is the most beautiful and terrifying thing. It makes us grow more than anything else when we’re able to love in place of fear.

Art makes you feel more significant, less alone, allows you to find meaning in the world outside of yourself. It allows you to create something bigger than yourself, to leave your mark on the world. To influence other people and share your feelings.

That’s why I think loving relationships are the most beautiful things you can create – it’s the deepest level of connection with another person. It makes everything feel worthwhile. It makes us and the world enough. It brings more love into the world than any other single thing. Human relationality matters.

inspirations for this post:

– Lorde’s Melodrama album

– Dear Evan Hansen (the musical)

– Bo Burnham