Come under my blanket, literally or metaphorically.
Share my words, and time, beneath this moonless sky. Breathe
deeply. There is warmth here; we have a place to discover,
to dream, and to make this world a little smaller.

You are not like me. Obviously. The voice is foreign. Your skin
is different; or maybe it is mine. But let’s put those differences
on the table and sit, as equals, as strangers, as humans, under
the canopy of night, united by what makes us the same.

How different can we be? You are here. So am I. Should we all
not be allowed a place for art, for dancing, and dialogue, and
just allowing things to happen. Shouldn’t this city, this place
of all places, allow for a naturally-occurring random acts of belonging.

We belong here; we are all here, more likely than not strangers.
Regardless of where we come from, or where we have been,
there are more commonalities than differences. There has to be,
we are the same. We are all right here. Right now.

Can you let go of what you are used to? Can you imagine
becoming comfortable with the uncomfortable? Can we
as a species, as a people, as a force, take back the negativity
that exists outside this blanket? Can we try?

Communication, unhindered by race, or faith, or morals and
mindset, should be the easiest way to absolve the madness
that occurs daily on this planet. If poetry is the language,
it matters less about the accent and more about the intent.

You have a voice, and it is lovely, and unique, and has
a purpose. Speak up. Share, let others know how you feel, and
what you deal with daily, weekly, and now. You belong.
Come under the cover, and make room for others.
© 2014 j.g. lewis

Thank you Maziar Ghaderi, for the opportunity of performing in Korsi at The Gardiner Museum during Toronto’s Nuit Blanche last Saturday. Korsi, a reinterpretation of the Iranian tradition, truly fostered a sense of belonging.

           Should I stumble, as I am most certainly to do, pay no attention
        to the rip on my trousers, or swollen bruise on my knee. I have many
   more scars,     and they have become a better part of who I am.     As if
       character marks on the surface of the antique table, or the
 cumulative incidental nicks and scratches on a ’61 Telecaster
                                    lessen the intended beauty and purpose.
       If I fall, and you discover me in the gutter, I will not need assistance
 returning to my feet, but would appreciate
        a hankie to dust off my skin, and perhaps a fresh bandage
        to mask the blood spilling from within.
              When, at a street corner, I seem stalled or uncertain, please
              pass me by. There is no need for directions, as
   I am probably just deciding if it is choice or a chance. We come
   across many paths, and they all move forward. I have an idea
 where I am going, and might later become sidetracked,
     or choose a cross street. You would be best thinking
     I will someday find my destination, than feeling you had led me astray.
 It’s not that I am above asking if uncertain, but
                           I would find it more purposeful
 to step ahead unknowingly, than to have you feel a burden
 or responsibility.
                     Should we cross paths again, and you find me in repose, or
           a terminal state of confusion, you would be better off continuing
 along the cracked sidewalk. It is not that I wouldn’t enjoy the company,
 it’s just that I cannot answer your why. Share a smile, however.
                                                 I do collect moments, as souvenirs,
                                  and what better way to remember anybody
                                                than to know you shed a little light.
                        Later, when you catch sight of me in a park; on the bench;
                 under a tree, near that fountain, with my camera, or a journal,
        please leave me to my silence. Know that poetry
 is having its way with me, and I have already shared
 the crusts of my sandwich with the pigeons.               Generosity comes
                 in many forms, and I am grateful for each of life’s experiences.
      As you take in this fresh autumn chill, do not be concerned
      for my welfare. I will find the warmth, as I always do.
 Yet, should you feel cold, or uncomfortable, do not hesitate taking
 my sweater to cover your shoulders.                             The garment,
 like me, may be tattered and frayed, but in it you will find comfort.
              Return it to me when it is no longer useful.     I have others.
      If I were to unexpectedly bump into you at the market,
            and we are as surprised then as we had been when,
                           remember how we once shared something,
                                 and we are both better off because of it.
                                                     We were not strangers, not then, not now.
© 2016 j.g. lewis

An extended weekend of amazing live music and wonderful weather; well, musical performances so great that you forget about the rainy Saturday sandwiched between Friday and Sunday.

The Toronto Urban Roots Festival — in the middle of the city at the tail end of a long hot summer — welcomed performers from across the planet with enthusiastic crowds. With four stages stretched out at Fort York Garrison Commons, the diversity of the line-up meant there was something for every mood, every age and style. There was not a single disappointment to the weekend, not even the rain.

If a picture is worth a thousand words, I’ll just let the photographs tell the story.

Pictured below: The Hives, James Bay, Explosions in the Sky, Whitehorse, Lake Street Drive,  The Sheepdogs, Matt Mays, The Sadies, Matthew Good, The New Pornographers.

All images © 2016 j.g. lewis

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

What more can a phone do?

Every year consumers, and the industry, wait for Apple to provide an answer to the burning question and tell us exactly how far it has pushed the boundaries of wireless communication.

Last week, as it has done each September, the company released its latest products, including the iPhone 7. And the announcement was met, initially, with lukewarm response. News reports that night almost ho-hummed the whole affair, speculating a certain drop in stock prices the next day, as if the company had nothing new to offer.

It didn’t seem to matter that a new camera system was added to the now-dual camera device, or that screen size was increased slightly and the power and capacity nearly doubled. New colors were added to the sleeker aesthetic, and an improved operating system is to be included. Headphones will go wireless.

But it didn’t seem to matter to the media, as if it was boring, as if they were planning on it. Like they were expecting more.

Again, what more can a phone do, and more importantly, what should a phone do?

Right now an iPhone, or most cellular devices for that matter, can do more than what could be predicated in the comic strips and cartoons of yesteryear. George Jetson or Dick Tracy would certainly be impressed. Mobile devices can transfer data, text, images, and voice, with greater speed and more efficiently than our desktop computers from a decade ago. The new iPhone 7 will do more.

But, apparently, that wasn’t new enough, according to the media.

We all want something new.

New is, many times, the prime reason for packaging and promoting any consumer product, whether food, fashion or footwear. Or even consumer electronics. The automobile industry may well have been the original merchants of ‘new’ as it began the custom of releasing annual models of the same car.

The same could also be said of vacuum cleaners, televisions, or even the “new and improved” baked beans or tinned soup that have been pictured in media advertisements for years.

If you can’t boast of anything else, you can always talk up the new. Fashion trends, and styles, in any season, are always caught up in the much hyped new.

We are sold new. We welcome new. We expect new; so much so that we quickly tire of the old. We now replace the old, with new, almost on whim. It is society’s way.

We eat at the newest restaurant, because it is new, and for no other reason. We guzzle the new beer. We may even ditch an old favorite because we are told the new is better, or different (there’s a combustive combination: new and different).

At one time — it wasn’t that long ago — even in my lifetime, there was this thing about quality. Things were built to last. As long as it lasted, you didn’t need new. And things lasted longer. They were built that way.

Technology has changed that. We all know there has been greater technological advancement over the past 10 years than there has been in the balance of our lives (and it doesn’t matter if you are 20 or 60, for that change has been that fast, and that remarkable).

In the process of all that change, there has been an incredible amount of stuff that has been produced which becomes obsolete quicker than ever. Think Junk 1.0, then Junk 1.10, or Junk 2.0, and so on. The new stuff becomes the same old junk. Perhaps brighter colors, or faster features, but after it has served its short space, it is all headed to the landfill.

We always seem to want new; a new job perhaps, or we get tired or grow indifferent to a partner or lover. We want something new. That new always seems to be waiting in the wings, but after a while doesn’t it always become the same old, same old?

Some of us don’t want new, not always, or not as often as it is available.

I’m still pleased with my iPhone 6; it’s a Plus (that was new; a larger version). It took me a while to fully change over, or become accustomed to the changes from an iPhone 5, but it was welcome. Just as I’m sure the 7 will be appreciated, but I’m also sure I’m going to wait for the 8 (my contract says I have to).

The iPhone 8 will be released next year, on the 10th anniversary of the original iPhone (then so new it didn’t even need a number). By then, I’ll be ready for something new.

 

The highway may have many lanes, but you can only travel in one direction. I choose forward. There are things to see, things to accomplish, there is only a future.
My past, the parts that hurt, is behind me. What’s ahead is unknown.
There will be times, there always is, where you feel you are running on empty. You are not. If you keep your heart full of love and your mind full of gratitude, you can move forward through anything.

I wrote this passage in a journal about two years ago, as I was preparing to drive to what is now my home. I was leaving behind a city, one with many solid memories, but was departing at the end of a September full of grief.

There is something about September that gets you thinking. It could be that flipping the page on a calendar alerts you to what is about to come. At any time, summer’s heat will succumb to frost, and the leaves will turn and then fall. Autumn is close, winter arriving soon thereafter.

It is the life cycle we have become accustomed to. It is organic, and true.

It might also be that the most influential years of our lives are marked by this month. The return to school was as natural as the killing frosts. Even as parents, our clock is more set to the ninth month, and the return to school, than the other 11.

September spells change.

Almost two years ago I made a major change. After shedding material possessions that were simply weighing me down, I packed my car with what would fit: my art, a few books, clothing, a computer, stereo, and some of my records. These were the things that would sustain me, but not all that mattered.

As I wrote in my journal “All I really need doesn’t require space in the car; only space in your heart and your head.”

I arrived in a new city with hope, plans and dreams. It was time for a change, and I knew it. I knew I needed it

Two years isn’t a lot of time, but in that period I have accomplished goals, or found many of the things I believed I needed, or was looking for. There are still a few wants, or desires, but I am more patient now than I was even then.

It’s not that a made a list (I probably should have) but I’ve managed to check off a few boxes. I am comfortable with a new city, but becoming even more comfortable with my self.

I have learned to approach things differently, and while shedding many of the patterns that may have held me back, I have managed to continue (if not further) the practices that keep me growing artistically and, above that, personally.

No longer do I place the same limitations on what I can and cannot do, and perhaps I have discovered why I am driven to certain extremes. These extremes are no longer uncomfortable. These extremes are where I live.

It’s funny how September forces you to reflect. I did today, and I did so with love and with gratitude. That’s not a bad way to either end a season, or begin another.