At my worst
I was struggling
Lost, alone
Angry
And spiraling through downtown Toronto
Working as a bike messenger
A guy in an elevator said
You guys are a different breed
you’re like a goalie
(in hockey)
Pucks shot at us?
No. Cars
Fearless? Reckless? Deathwish? Stupid?
No. Never stupid. Just in the zone.
At my worst. My most alone?
I struggled
And found satifaction I never thought possible in a bowl of pho and glass of beer.
At my worst?
I struggled every day. I battled daemons. I saw a therapist.
It wasn’t enough.
I bough clay.
I made masks
The energy had to go somewhere
At my worst?
Art was my lifeline
The anger I felt, the anxiety I experienced?
It all melted away as my hands moved the clay.
My pen to paper, the late night rants?
They fell away to smudges of clay
Make a choice. Change a choice. Keep working. Move the clay
When Laura was diagnosed?
Stage 4
Median survival time twenty two months
That was really my worst.
I punched the clay. Ripped it. Tore into it.
I screamed
Rage rage rage rage rage rage rage
The one I love was threatened!
Rage rage rage rage rage rage rage
The nurse offered me a pill
Rage rage rage rage rage rage rage
The energy had to go somewhere
I made masks. So many masks
My hands, covered in clay
My face covered in masks
Hi how are you today? Fineandyeswearefinethankyousomuchforyourconcernyourhopesandprayersandyourlasageneandsoupandsadeyesfullofpity
Oh my!
I made masks
And the terror of existence subsided
At my worst, art was my only way forward
And now?
It still is.
