Completed Journal

PAC

Hey everyone.

My name is Irene. I'm here tonight for the same reason you're here: to give voice to my thoughts in hopes of protecting what matters to me.

I've been at this school for my entire high school career and Byng has come to matter a lot to me.

And I know that byng matters to my peers, and when I say Byng I mean not only the community but the reputation of Byng too.

As Myim mentioned before, our school has a certain reputation. A reputation for being lively and open and accepting. While for me, I've grown to see Byng as comfortable and homely, there are students that see Byng as a respite from their home life and a step further there are students here who see Byng as a haven, who have dropped everything to come here.

The reality of it is that Byng is a safe haven for many LGBTQ students.

When PAC published their open letter I saw that what I want to protect is exactly what my peers' do as well. There were social networking campaigns to spread word and raise awareness, students came to me as the Gay Straight Alliance President to express they stand by an equal and accepting Byng. Not only that but I have had Byng graduates, in the midst of preparing for finals get in contact with me to say the same things. When they see Byng's name brought up online, in news articles, attached to views that are contrary to the promise of safety they felt when they were here themselves, they worry for their siblings currently attending Byng.

When they come to me, I want to reassure them, and I guess in part myself, that’s there’s nothing to worry about, but I’m not sure I can.

I hope in your discussions tonight, you will keep in mind the repercussions many Byng students are experiencing even now, and the effect PAC is having on potential students.

Body Stuff

Three weeks ago I started using this ah-mazing new grapefruit body wash.

Two days ago I realised it's actually a body lotion.

Oops.

View Finder 3

1.
The clear film over her face makes it look like she is, because she is, wearing a clear, shiny mask. At first, the children weren't sure why mommy's face was all gooey and strange looking, but daddy explained later it had to do with the big red mosquito bite on mommy's cheek.

2.
Her second skin was coming in nicely. Each one of her pores were slowly opening to the gel smear, drinking it in, sucking it up, merging seamlessly with it. The lustrous shine of youth will soon be hers again.

3.
It had been so long since they had seen water that when it came again neither Tom nor Elise knew what the transparent stuff was. The two gathered around the pool of sloshing clearness, tentatively touching and probing at the surface. It was slimier than they remembered.

Broken Glass (The Tears I Shed)

Grad Song

INTRO

Tuesday, Nov. 14

7:00am, brushing my teeth

From downstairs I hear my dad calling

“Hey, Irene. You awake?”

Little does he know,

I’m awake.

Yeah, it’s a Tuesday. It’s a school day.

Walking to school

Backpack half full of food

Do I have books? Only two

And so it begins that we start a new day

Grade 8 in our path we press on anyway

Cause there’s places to be

and essays to slay

At school

No body thinks that we’re cool.

VERSE 1

First class of the day

Wait block flip? It didn’t say

This hasn’t happened since grade 8

They say the grad hall is so great

With tv sets fun theme days

But it’s too crowded, now I’ll be late

I forgot I had a test

For most the questions I just guessed

Whatever, mom. I tried my best.

CHORUS

‘Cause there are 43 weeks that we spend at school

But have you ever thought what they meant to you

I bet you haven’t

But you probably should.

VERSE 2

Now it’s lunch, time to roll

Off to clubs here we go

My social life it’s out of control

It gets better when I get home

Doing my homework all alone

Can’t be bothered I’m in the zone

Go to sleep at half past one

Stay up late to watch reruns

Rise up early with the sun

CHORUS

VERSE 3

Although our school is really pretty awesome

We all have experienced some hashtag byng problems

Like have you noticed all the prices in the caf exploded

We’re teens not queens. Do they think we’re loaded?

Yeah we’re broke, we’re pretty poor

But we brush it off and walk through the door

To byng reach

Where it seems I wasn’t teached

In history

‘Cause Mario was too busy saving Peach

What’s with the thermostat?

I’m super cold all day

But then I walk into CIV

And the heat has gone way up

Down, up, down, is usually how my day goes

Walking to the different floors is really quite painful

My thighs are burning, marching up the stairs

They told me to take PE but I just took a spare

Yeah that’s right I did take that spare

Back in grade nine I remember them saying

There were boys in the quad rapping, word playing

I wanted to join them but I knew they couldn’t handle

My mean street slang since all they do is ramble.

But in all seriousness we were just kidding

We don’t throw down harsh insults that would be bullying

And we’re not bullies we’re pretty cool friends

If you want to hang with us, then I guess it depends.

Like do you even know our names?

CHORUS

You Make My Heart Happy

Too Lazy To Move

When the summer sun cuts through your curtain,

Blinds can’t hold it back. The room is filled

With sweltering heat, sweat dribbles and drops

From your brow to the ground, sticky and hot

You roll from your sheets, naked and flushed

Cheeks bellow in protest –the window stays shut

The wasps they buzz, busy bodies they buzz.

When the summer sun cuts, it’s slow.

At the pit of the stomach, the lower half
Of the torso grows soft and softer still,

You refuse to open too. The outside

Clear skies beat unheard by your ears

Behind glass the fast rhythms of summer,

Of busy bodies with warm orange glows.

The wasps they buzz, busy bodies they buzz.

When the summer sun lays waste the will

To leave, to stay, to do, you stay –no retention

of guilt for days gone to waste. The sweat drops.

The air smells better beyond the closed door,

But permission is granted, lay back in bed
Back to window –how hot, still shut– don’t look!

The wasps they buzz, busy bodies they buzz.

Description Assignment

--------------------------------------------------------------1970-------------------------------------------------------------

 

 “Uhhh, Suze?”

  A moment passed without answer.

  “Suze?” Brent tried again, hiking his whisper up a notch, fighting to be heard over the sound of a cover band belching Take My Breath Away on the stage at the front of the gym.

  Suzy could feel Brent’s hands, slightly too warm, clasped around her waist as they swayed to the melody of the song. “Yeah?” she replied.

  “Uhm, I was thinking…

  “What?” Suzy craned her neck towards Brent, trying to catch the end of his sentence as the boy’s voice seemed to peter out again.

  “Oh, uh… Do you want to–”

  “I totally can’t hear you over the music, Brent! Do you want to, like, get out of here?”

  In that instant, Brent’s ears flushed a nearly comedic shade of red. Without a word he nodded his head five times quickly in succession.

  “Radical! Let’s book it then!”

---------------------------------------------------------------2013------------------------------------------------------------

  “Uhhh, Suze?”

  A moment passed without answer.

  “Suze?” Brent tried again, hiking his voice up a notch, fighting to be heard over the sound of the booming sound system. LMFAO’s Sexy And I Know It was pumping from each of the nine stereos positioned all around the gym. Suzy’s head swayed from side to side and her fists were raised into the air, she gave no gesture of having heard Brent.

  “Suze? Suzy?” the blood in Brent’s face started to colour his ears a bright red. Though she was right next to him, the pounding music and throng of bouncing bodies around them seemed to drown out any noise Brent made. He considered yelling her name but the possibility of attracting the attention of classmates nearby made him blush all the more. He didn’t want to seem salty or anything.

  Brent slipped his camera phone back into his suit pocket and mumbled under his breath “Maybe we can get a selfie later…”

Menus

   The shop looks different –it’s fuller. There are more employees than before. It feels strange to be here,

yet comforting. A pretty brunette behind the cash register, with her apron tied both around her neck and around her waist, stares down at my coupons with suspicion. It’s obvious she has never seen them before, but apparently she doesn’t care enough about 48¢ to call over the manager. I feel her eyes on me next, expecting a comment.

  “The menus have changed.”

Laundry

   Everything is packed now; stowed away in the black bag. I fit the bottle of detergent in at the end and tie off the knot neatly. I wish for the door to open or for at least a commotion, for something else to happen, so I can have an excuse to ask questions. The knot is secured thrice, then again. There barely enough rope left for me to use as a handle. I lean forward over my bag and rest my weight there for a moment, letting myself drip forward until my hair just about brushes the polished wood of the bench. Before I go I’ll buy something from the vending machine, something sweet to eat on my way back to Adam’s. Man, I need a little sugar in my system. The unused change I fished out from Adam’s coin jar sits heavily at the bottom of my pockets, and as I stand they clash and jingle.

   Making my way over to the vender, I pass by the lovebirds that came in earlier. They perch giggling in their corner of the store. The boy looms over the girl as he helps her measure the correct amount of powdered soap to use. Somehow, this is funny to them –really, really funny. I make it to the glass case, but not without peeping back at the two a few times. In front of me there are rows and rows of sugary treats, as well as crisps to choose from. Refreshingly enough, none of these packages advertise being a healthy alternative. I take my time looking through my options and do not notice the footsteps approaching me. My fingers insert the coins and order automatically, as I divert my attention to something else ­–someone is beside me, blocking the light coming from the rest of the store. Without my knowing, the couple had made their way up to the back door. They’re smiling at me now from the threshold. They’re smiling the smile that strangers do when you pass them on the sidewalk, a reserved but polite one as if to say “Hello. I don’t want to strike up conversation but I want you to like me for the two seconds we will smile at each other.” They do not wait for me to return the gestures before shifting into the back room.

   I try to look past the couple, to see what is beyond the door, but the girl –so cleverly with her hair, so cleverly with her thighs– blocks my every attempt. The door swings shut with a smug click. I stand very still, so still, moving so little, breathing so lightly, that I think I can hear the others on the far side of the door. At first there’s only a low hum, something like busy chatter; then a clicking, or settling, perhaps chairs being rested in; a hum again, and now a soft thud accompanied by a crinkling. The humming repeats, then the click as well. I knit my brows together, pulling my face tight for a moment. What is beyond the door? What were those noises? Where are the fat man and the one who was flirting with the clerk? The clerk. The clerk must know what the door is hiding. Well she tell me? It’s not a secret, right? This is a laundromat. She’ll tell me. I’ll just casually mention it. Yes, when I pass by to leave. Yes, on my way out. I’ll ask her about something else first to not seem weird or out of the blue. Yes, maybe for a business card, their usual hours, if they have membership discoun-

   “Is there a problem with the machine?” The girl behind the counter is looking at me now; her magazine is closed and on the pile. She reaches for another from off the rack behind her.

   “I’m sorry?” I call back.

   Her face disappears in an old edition of US Weekly. “Did you get what you paid for?”

Heart-Mantra

TAYATA / OM BEKANDZE BEKANDZE / MAHA BEKANDZE RADZA / SAMUDGATE SOHA

OM:  the under-current tone of the universe

Bekhajye bekhajye:  do away with the pain of illness

Maha bekhajye: do away with the pain of illness (of the darkness of Spiritual Ignorance)

Samudgate: the supreme heights. (my prayer shall go to the supreme heights)

Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter, And Spring Again

"Say 'sorry'"

There's something so simple and elegant about an apology. Don't you agree?
There's something so simple and elegant about an admission of guilt.

View Finder (2)

1. Her face looked as tired and weary as a well worn leather shoe. Her cheeks dropped and her mouth was surrounded but a barrage of lines that seemed to connect every feature on her face. She wasn't particularly sad looking, but the way her eyes hung made her seem as if she could be.
   
   
   
2. They were knitted more tightly together than the threads of my sweater
   And between them were sharp lines that ran straight, deep, and firm.
   Those lines looked as if they would hurt to touch.
   
   
   
3. The ridges and valleys decorated the land. They crashed into each other and ran wild without regard for direction. I understood then how easily someone could loose themselves in the sandy coloured  ground that seemed to melted into a spare forest of grey.

Marvel or DC?

“So... Marvel or DC?”

I looked up from my little section of the new arrivals table and stared at the man across from me. “I’m sorry?”

“I said, Marvel or DC?” A smug smile formed on his face as he then announced, “I bet you’re Marvel, aren’t you? All girls are Marvel. It’s a thing! Well, I’m DC! Marvel can suck my–” I returned my attention back to the glossy covered comics in front of me and tried not to open up a whole can of kick-butt on this stranger and his pseudo-science.

Marvel or DC? It’s the inevitable question. No matter what comic book store or convention you go to, or related conversation you have, that question will arise. People expect you to align yourself with one side or the other and if you do not pick you will be treated as if you are some wishy-washy, indecisive outlaw.

If most people would agree that art is not a sport, then why do we approach this artistic endeavor with a sports mentality? Marvel or DC? So which team are you on? What? No. I am on neither team, because this is not a team sport. These are comic books! No one should have to choose between Marvel and DC; nor should they. It is impossible to prescribe the title of winner or loser in the world of art. There are no rules here to abide by and there is no set finish line to cross, no ball to carry to touchdown. That being said, even if there was some sort of situation in which you absolutely had to choose between one or another, do not choose between the companies that produce the comics, choose between actual content creators.

The comic book world is an anomaly. It’s similar to the video game world, in the sense that company names are very closely associated, if not more important than the product. Though then again, it’s not quite so simple. One video game requires dozens and dozens of programmers, animators, audio engineers, game designers and scriptwriters –who all belong to the company. In this case it makes sense for the company name to represent the efforts of all of the employees. However, for a comic book series, often only one writer, artist, and colourist are needed –all of who may not be exclusive to their current publisher.

Perhaps then, the comic world is more comparable to the literary one? Again, not exactly. The relationship an author of a novel has with his or her publisher is wildly different from one a comic author or artist has. When you think of the Harry Potter series, it’s not Bloomsbury Publishing that you credit for the genius story, but J.K Rowling. The same cannot be said for the Superman franchise (which is arguably even more well known). Rather than the names Jerry Siegel and Joe Shuster, readers recognize the DC brand, stamped on the corner of each issue, as the father of the Man of Steel.

I lingered a little longer in the shop after the stranger left. As I made my way around to his side of the table I picked up a few stray comics that he left out. I filed away Daredevil, tucked the Justice League into its original place and placed Green Arrow back on the correct pile. The girl behind the counter peeked over her computer screen and said, “Hey, you don’t need to do that. Just leave ‘em there I’ll get them in a sec.”

“It’s okay. I really don’t mind.”

“Ehhh. Alright, thanks, man. Hey! So, you thinking about getting the new X-men? I hear it’s pretty crazy.”

“Totally! Brian Michael Bendis is so cool.”