today was one of those sham-wow moments. it was everything i wasn't expecting.
i woke up having missed my first and only class. a joke, clearly. especially when i have all the readings down packed where most people haven't even bought the book. so no biggie.
after a deep 25 minute discussion with myself trying to rationalize what it is i am going to do with my day - sleep vs. something, i cave towards being useful.
so i hustle my gun to school late for my therapist appointment that takes place at the same time everyweek. her name is debra. she's awkward, says "makes sense?" a lot, and loves to travel. it's been a great experience with her all considering why i in fact go there.
turns out she had an emergency at the time of our appointment so my tardiness worked out perfectly.
the session ends after 30 minutes as opposed to the hour. i spent thirty minutes saying i was happy with how things were going, there was a lot of waiting for a lot of things but i have com to terms with it, so there wasn't much to discuss. great feeling.
following that, i spent the rest of my day at school covered in paint trying to get my painting assignments done (completed 2 of 4). with run ins from the arctic monkeys, discussing how i plan on being the female version of julien casablancas (minus the drugs, smokes, drinks, and overall ass attitude), my best friend talking about my cycle with her boyfriend (yet remembering i once did a stand up act at camp about God? should i be touched? ), future firefighters and potheads, i left. ran into dear friends whom were going apeshit on my new locks of love. we took the metro together, and here's where it gets interesting...
I was planning on going to heartbux to work on my essay for arts and ideas. that is at mcgill metro station. but my two friends are getting off at peel (one metro stop away). we were having an in depth discussion about the dangers of the big city. mainly that two stabbings or shootings have taken place in the past month and four in the past month and a half. so out of interest, i ride the metro with them. once we do say our goodbyes, i simply turn around and take the metro back to mcgill. one metro station.
this is when it all happened. as i exit my metro booth, i hear this piercing whistle from not to far. i see a man in his late 60s; living in his wristles and years, with half the body outside of the metro shouting to someone to come back. but who?
i continue walking for after having lived in montreal's heart for over 6 months, the crazies have become as common as city itself.
i get closer to see something is off. a kid about my age give or take a couple of years bolting up flights of stairs as if running for his life. soon to disappear in the currents of civilizens trying to get home during rush hour.
my eyes turn to the whistler, now having walked out of the metro booth with three women closely bundled around him. i catch puffs of the conversation- words like "crazy" "no reason" and "911". my eyes focus. the eldest women seems stunned as she gets dazed into the chest of the whistler.
i see him clutching what was once his nice stripped white& blue dress shirt - holding his left side as is trying to keep something from coming out. as natural as lava the vibrant red seeps from between his fingers slipping down the white and blue stripes.
this man was stabbed.
for no reason or logic, during rush hour on a metro line in a packed booth, this man was stabbed by a ruthless punk of my age.
i couldn't put it together. neither could the rest of the world going about their business. after about a solid 45 seconds, this mad lib was getting filled. i exited the metro for reception and called the police giving as much information about the situation. they told me 3 police cars were on their way and to please go back to the metro to talk to the police.
even they seemed flustered just to how this happened. it didn't make sense.
the whistler now lying on what was once a simple bench with a resperator and a police officer clutching down on his chest above him was swarmed by more police officers and curious cats. i notified a police office i saw what happened and i called 911. they had a clan of witnesses and had them be the ones to follow. after having given my name and number in case of anything else, i was on my way.
just like that. what do you do after something like that? when you see a life possibly being ended like turning off a light switch?
i woke up having missed my first and only class. a joke, clearly. especially when i have all the readings down packed where most people haven't even bought the book. so no biggie.
after a deep 25 minute discussion with myself trying to rationalize what it is i am going to do with my day - sleep vs. something, i cave towards being useful.
so i hustle my gun to school late for my therapist appointment that takes place at the same time everyweek. her name is debra. she's awkward, says "makes sense?" a lot, and loves to travel. it's been a great experience with her all considering why i in fact go there.
turns out she had an emergency at the time of our appointment so my tardiness worked out perfectly.
the session ends after 30 minutes as opposed to the hour. i spent thirty minutes saying i was happy with how things were going, there was a lot of waiting for a lot of things but i have com to terms with it, so there wasn't much to discuss. great feeling.
following that, i spent the rest of my day at school covered in paint trying to get my painting assignments done (completed 2 of 4). with run ins from the arctic monkeys, discussing how i plan on being the female version of julien casablancas (minus the drugs, smokes, drinks, and overall ass attitude), my best friend talking about my cycle with her boyfriend (yet remembering i once did a stand up act at camp about God? should i be touched? ), future firefighters and potheads, i left. ran into dear friends whom were going apeshit on my new locks of love. we took the metro together, and here's where it gets interesting...
I was planning on going to heartbux to work on my essay for arts and ideas. that is at mcgill metro station. but my two friends are getting off at peel (one metro stop away). we were having an in depth discussion about the dangers of the big city. mainly that two stabbings or shootings have taken place in the past month and four in the past month and a half. so out of interest, i ride the metro with them. once we do say our goodbyes, i simply turn around and take the metro back to mcgill. one metro station.
this is when it all happened. as i exit my metro booth, i hear this piercing whistle from not to far. i see a man in his late 60s; living in his wristles and years, with half the body outside of the metro shouting to someone to come back. but who?
i continue walking for after having lived in montreal's heart for over 6 months, the crazies have become as common as city itself.
i get closer to see something is off. a kid about my age give or take a couple of years bolting up flights of stairs as if running for his life. soon to disappear in the currents of civilizens trying to get home during rush hour.
my eyes turn to the whistler, now having walked out of the metro booth with three women closely bundled around him. i catch puffs of the conversation- words like "crazy" "no reason" and "911". my eyes focus. the eldest women seems stunned as she gets dazed into the chest of the whistler.
i see him clutching what was once his nice stripped white& blue dress shirt - holding his left side as is trying to keep something from coming out. as natural as lava the vibrant red seeps from between his fingers slipping down the white and blue stripes.
this man was stabbed.
for no reason or logic, during rush hour on a metro line in a packed booth, this man was stabbed by a ruthless punk of my age.
i couldn't put it together. neither could the rest of the world going about their business. after about a solid 45 seconds, this mad lib was getting filled. i exited the metro for reception and called the police giving as much information about the situation. they told me 3 police cars were on their way and to please go back to the metro to talk to the police.
even they seemed flustered just to how this happened. it didn't make sense.
the whistler now lying on what was once a simple bench with a resperator and a police officer clutching down on his chest above him was swarmed by more police officers and curious cats. i notified a police office i saw what happened and i called 911. they had a clan of witnesses and had them be the ones to follow. after having given my name and number in case of anything else, i was on my way.
just like that. what do you do after something like that? when you see a life possibly being ended like turning off a light switch?
i just didn't know what to do with myself.
instinctively, i told everyone at work and called my closest loved ones. after about an hour or so of that, got to work.
i got increasingly distracted as i always do when surrounded by interesting people. especially with something like that, it seemed only logical to talk about anything with anyone i cared about.
it hit close and i left. i said by to sab, steven who passed by, and adam who were getting ready to "dine on some sandwiches" when sab tossed steven a "hispter shit" as she called it. a zine. i died. i quickly stole it from him and read it. telling the stories of a 20-something who was leaving her teaching degree with only 25 days left until that diploma was hers. more pages of sneezing information and pictures of the 1950s. i loved it. with a website on the back? http://www.theroseandthepeacock.com/? i am so there.
so i get home, start to unload, check the many social networks,
facebook,
twitter,
and type in the site.
look at previous posts,
scroll down,
and double take.
i know this person.
I KNOW THIS PERSON.
MEET THE FACE OF THE PERSON WHO GOT ME INTO ZINES.
who made me a mix cd, who i thought as the coolest person in the world and thought "hey! if this awesome kid can become a teacher, why can't i?".
what. the. ____________ (swear word).
SERIOUSLY?
all too much. all of it.
but now it's okay. i'm going to make a zine for my final project, message her, and everything will be great.
just nuts, folks. nuts.
what will my zine be about:
- my dreams maybe?
- the monster i draw when listening to specific songs?
- an additional disk with songs that i would have written and sang?
- art in action ideas and concepts that i will try out?
like this one?
or maybe just a blank sheet of paper.
who knows.
but wow.
what a day.
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