ghxsts bio picture


Welcome to my blog!

Hello my name is: Icicle Audacity. All I see are ghxsts. I'm the misguided stride for self improvement - a sadistic, futuristic machine. A hollow cold emitted through vibrant lights, it’s a warm as wool winter but I’ve got a chill I can’t shake. This is what I am & I think I’m fine in my own misguidance. My bones are frozen, my marrow has turned to ice - my body is just a body, a corpse without a head. I'm just a vessel & my brain has long been dead.

Dylan McAmmond
En Vogue Photography

"That's really the only thing that matters to me, is that I make art for a living. And if I make art for a living... I win."

smiles neatly painted on a robotic face

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somebody that i used to know

I reach for burning truths to warm myself in this coming winter cold but you’ve stamped them out, and all that remains is black suit tombs for memories, ashen victims whose faces still show traces of surprise.

I pulled out time today, unrolling it like an enormous rug, twines running into twines haphazardly forming something beautiful. But, beauty has nothing to do with appeal, and I was looking for the pain buried in it. Mistake, mistake, regret, regret; I wonder if these things actually exist in the context of the whole. I don’t know, and since it’s stitching is always growing, I’ll never know. I looked and I saw happiness in the strings of those who had not gone down the advised path; I saw misery in the yarns of wise choices. I saw satisfaction and I saw disappointment,  and they came in all colors and could be found in every stitch. I saw that right and wrong have little to do with the type of string and stitching used, and more to do with its correct placement. I saw strings converge and diverge, and I saw that there was no way to control this, and that I wouldn’t if I could. I saw unhappiness flourish into joy; I saw joy unravel into misery.

I saw choice vibrating through every brilliant strand across history, weaving a cloth through an endless array of action, directed and directionless. I saw hesitation; I saw foolishness; I saw bravery; I saw cowardice; I saw arrogance; I saw wisdom; I saw submission; I saw control; I saw confidence; I saw doubt. I saw beauty.

I looked at the end of the rug, where new weaves traced new patterns with new and old threads alike. I was looking for answers: I was looking for truths. I found none but one, traced out in quiet whispers of colour and shapes from the start, running through every pattern, and culminating at the edge of what was old and what was soon to come.

No matter how things may appear upon close inspection, every string fit its place perfectly in the whole.


This is the ultimate fear: growing  in the wrong direction, irreversibly. There is no difference between here or there except I swallow one like a placebo for good health and the other like cyanide. There, I’m reviving; here, I’m on my death-bed. The poison is administered by believing it’s toxic, and there can be no safe-haven for the man who refuses to make anywhere his home. The challenge is not to dispel it like an illusion, for it is real – that is the fatal under-estimation those who battle ideas make.

However, victory is realizing it is not a truth – with this recognition, one gains back the most invaluable weapon – that which is the mortal foe of evil ideas: hope.

Hope is the understanding of a direction one should travel in.

Now, walk.

I’m starting to think I never learn what I need to learn.

“I’m now a lone flame searching for a purpose, setting fires everywhere I go, can’t avoid the burns.”

I’m staring outwards now at words being written on a page by ghxsts; the questions make the world unreal.

For you, to be is to un-be; so fill yourself with their praise. You’re hollow, but appear satisfied, despite your crystallizing envy over those who are free to be what they want & are loved despite it. They just don’t appreciate the danger they are in, but you’ll make them understand. It’s difficult, matching step for step – the trail already blazed by someone. You are determined to become. Keep walking towards the end of someone else’s path.

It feels like I’m sitting in the back of my skull watching my mind work from the outside as it watches me. These layers of perception become measures of distance between me and you. It’s where I wind up naturally: I, which has nothing to do with me, retreats at the slightest shadow like a field mouse from the hawk. I wrestle with it, violently; freedom awaits it upon my exhaustion which comes consistently as is its nature. And then I, imprisoned, wait for the freedom of morning so I can fight once again.

I’m two people, one more alive than the other – which is a parasite but through well-crafted words has convinced the first that he is as vital as a beating heart. I want to end the division and be constant, but the lies have tricked me into wondering whether they are truth. You think that there are lies worth dying for but they are only fears worth living with, and as you cast stones across a lake, you find ripples are not waves.

trashy day dreams

“Lifestyles of the young and the reckless, checked in the real world that don’t ask questions. Dodging on bullets like a fucked up western, dragged you on a rope til you’re choked out senseless.

Who’s to judge who’s insane? Watch it all wash away. Save us from what we’ve made it. It doesn’t die, it only fades. If I can’t feel there isn’t pain. Another day and it’s all the same. I always pray, I never change. It seems to me we’re all to blame. Get your matches, no more rain. Burn this fuckin’ world today.”

Sometimes, I can see life through a mortal filter & it’s finding and losing. I feel the gravity of the soul, compelled by the static centre upon which is anchored both time and meaning: a frantic pull. A compulsion to relish constantly: agony over this impossibility. Every lake envies a river like silence envies sound, all because the circumference of earth fails to not offend.

My past runs out behind me like ribbon, thoughts & feelings rippling in the recoil of the struggle to shake loose – like an insect in the web, or a man on fire, but it clings to me: a thousand molted skins, a thousand aged faces that sometimes whisper.

I wish I didn’t care which stars you compared me to with all that love in your eyes.

It’s impossible to have no regrets without ignorance.

caveman is still alive behind those robot eyes

“Silence. this is the most obscure sound I’ve ever heard. Those lonely giant spaces between your every word. And maybe I’m totally crazy for holdin’ on but just because I’m insane doesn’t mean that I’m wrong.”

Everything’s falling down like yesterday becomes today, like a smile grows discolored by sadness, and time smooths away the edges making memories all the same shape. There’s no right or wrong, just clusters of determination; I’m stunned by the new sense of proportion. I ache for one way streets and deadlines, and for a child’s sense of meaning. I keep asking the same questions about whether I or the world turns, and all along its been both,  a clumsy dance of the love-stricken, tuneless but paced by symmetry – sometimes we touch and it’s thrilling.

The edge absorbs unchanged the fury of the mediocre: to be so is to burn from the inside out. This infinite stretch of tired eye’d starlight blazing against the shadow  – I see it in your eyes.  The darkness shifts in subtle misdirection like ambition for ambition’s sake, and here all of life is but helpless flailing in the blackness of space.

Bob the Tomato - You need to make more hard to understand, metaphorical posts. Been a while. p.s. get a haircut (:August 1, 2011 - 4:45 pm


If you’re a Canadian, who are you? I know who I am, but I’m looking to get past the obvious.

What are some truly Canadian things, which are universal across the country? Before you answer this question, remember that Beavers aren’t a part of many people’s lives today, a lot of NHL teams are American, and there are other countries in the world that make beer. So what makes the 33-million of us all Canadians, eh? If you have an answer to that question I would love to hear it, because I don’t. And I mean the whole enchilada, all 33 million of us, not just people living in Vancouver, Calgary, [insert prairie city here] and the provinces of Ontario and Quebec. What keeps us Canadians? And here’s a scary one; what holds this country together?

Successful countries need glue. Lots of glue. So much glue that you could make a line of sticky glue from here to the East Coast, splitting us from the United States. (When tourists come here, they would never want to leave!) Canada is a country made of ten provinces and three territories with a really small amount of glue. Sure, the prairies are stuck nicely to one another, and the Maritimes float in a sea of glue, but nation-wide we’re split up. Quebec is even threatening to rip off from the country it was stingily glued to.

Naturally, to start my quest for good old Canadian glue I looked at what makes other countries stick together. Just try it yourself. You have an American friend? Ask them to name something American. Then try and get them to stop. Stars, stripes, baseball, American football, apple pie, jazz, life, liberty, and of course, the pursuit of happiness. I collected all those myself just now – I’m a Canadian who knows more American things than those of my own country. The only national symbols I have left to rebut those with are a queen who lives across the Atlantic, and a leaf of a tree that usually piles up outside my home.

A ton of Canada lives in Ontario. The Prairies are unlike any other area in the country, for better and for worse. Quebec is distinctive to the extreme, the First People in the north are unique to that region, and the Atlantic provinces aren’t like the rest of Canada either. It’s hard to think of yourself as being in exactly the same boat as, say, the Inuit peoples, or that Vancouverites and Torontonians *gasp* might have something in common. In fact, we do all have something in common; we’re all just as commonly Canadian as each other.

It looks to me like our huge diversity is threatening to make baby countries out of Canada. So my country lacks glue – what else is holding it together right now if that mythical substance isn’t there? Not much at all. Something needs to make the connection for us if we want to feel like a solid country.

Now I’d like my fellow Canadians – actually, anyone, in any country – to try something. Think about the nation you’re in, think about why you came there, or why you stay there. Also, what makes you proud of where you live? Now connect to other people you know who live in your country. Why do they stay here? What makes them proud of where you/they live? Clearly they must have great reasons too. Are any of them the same as yours?

Congratulations. You’ve made some glue.
Now all we need over here in Canada is more of it.

life is just a big second guess, a broken staircase of mistook steps

Tomorrow is the artist of today. Now breathes later in deep, gasping gulps, summarized by the virtue of consequence. We measure ourselves by that explosion, what is lost and the crater it leaves and the people who live in that hole after we’re gone. Light a cigarette and breath in the emptiness of the sky through your eyes, and sense the loneliness of fire, the exhaustion of ash, and watch smoke escape like a ghxst racing towards heaven.

I’m cursed to never know the line that those who live comfortably walk without hesitation.  The illusion of natural and unnatural intention as distinct. Release is like free-fall. Control is like the grave.  Neither is real. Anxiety and fear are just desires which have transcended their boundaries, broken proportion, and upset the equilibrium. Not all desires are evil, however; all great desires are. That is perhaps loves greatest beauty: in its most extreme, purest form it remains a virtue. Love, if real, can only make one self-less. Perhaps though, it is only fools who speak of love as something akin to desire.

This and that, buried in the catacombs of self-delusion: sprucing this place up for you. Because I could not tolerate being alone, I shined my shoes and wore a tie.

In finding myself, I locked the door to the world. It opened with lies, not truth.

Words of wisdom

“You may not be her first, her last, or her only. She loved before she may love again. But if she loves you now, what else matters? She’s not perfect – you aren’t either, and the two of you may never be perfect together but if she can make you laugh, cause you to think twice, and admit to being human and making mistakes, hold onto her and give her the most you can. She may not be thinking about you every second of the day, but she will give you a part of her that she knows you can break – her heart. So don’t hurt her, don’t change her, don’t analyze and don’t expect more than she can give. Smile when she makes you happy, let her know when she makes you mad, and miss her when she’s not there.”

“Only once in your life, I truly believe, you find someone who can completely turn your world around. You tell them things that you’ve never shared with another soul and they absorb everything you say and actually want to hear more. You share hopes for the future, dreams that will never come true, goals that were never achieved and the many disappointments life has thrown at you. When something wonderful happens, you can’t wait to tell them about it, knowing they will share in your excitement. They are not embarrassed to cry with you when you are hurting or laugh with you when you make a fool of yourself. Never do they hurt your feelings or make you feel like you are not good enough, but rather they build you up and show you the things about yourself that make you special and even beautiful. There is never any pressure, jealousy or competition but only a quiet calmness when they are around. You can be yourself and not worry about what they will think of you because they love you for who you are. The things that seem insignificant to most people such as a note, song or walk become invaluable treasures kept safe in your heart to cherish forever. Memories of your childhood come back and are so clear and vivid it’s like being young again. Colours seem brighter and more brilliant. Laughter seems part of daily life where before it was infrequent or didn’t exist at all. A phone call or two during the day helps to get you through a long day’s work and always brings a smile to your face. In their presence, there’s no need for continuous conversation, but you find you’re quite content in just having them nearby. Things that never interested you before become fascinating because you know they are important to this person who is so special to you. You think of this person on every occasion and in everything you do. Simple things bring them to mind like a pale blue sky, gentle wind or even a storm cloud on the horizon. You open your heart knowing that there’s a chance it may be broken one day and in opening your heart, you experience a love and joy that you never dreamed possible. You find that being vulnerable is the only way to allow your heart to feel true pleasure that’s so real it scares you. You find strength in knowing you have a true friend and possibly a soul mate who will remain loyal to the end. Life seems completely different, exciting and worthwhile. Your only hope and security is in knowing that they are a part of your life.”

– Bob Marley

Unknown - LOVE x8161892949197269001726639050186162994050571617949June 16, 2011 - 2:39 pm

Salt on everything

In the sea, I’ve spent this lifetime convincing myself to never cease the motions keeping me afloat.

Looking for meaning in the individual act of being alive is like looking for a face in your shadow. Life isn’t something that’s just naturally imbued with purpose that will just find itself draining out of us like blood from our veins or hitting us like an ethereal spark to our building charge. Life is an opportunity, an option, a subjective reality of which we are the one who makes the choices. All meaning in life comes from what you put into it, from what you decide to add to it and rip from it. Life is the sun, which exists for the sake of itself & its sole purpose & the worlds found their way around it. We can’t live our lives of “gentle” waiting for answers to things that are not questions – but are choices. The truth is that so many of us waste away being afraid to pick one of our options, & construct ideas of waiting for the revealed path – the phantoms who become parents who don’t love us reassuring us that there is no need to worry & the answer will be revealed with time. The only answer is a realization, & that realization is that meaning & is something we choose to have.

This life will roll in & out like the tide & waves choose to crash or not against the shore.


“For everyone who thought I couldn’t do it. For everyone who thought I shouldn’t do it. For everyone who said, ‘It’s impossible.’ See you at the finish line.”

I am attuned to the metamorphose. Proportion unwinds us. Memories, always through a prism: a boy who loved the stars for their contempt of darkness; the determination of the cocoon; change as consequence, not cause, like music is only the space between differences; love learned from the day and night. Try to live on second-hand sunlight and watch faith dew on your bared skin. There’s so much potential between “why” and “how”. But, with a look on your face like falling snow, you whisper, “Sometimes, the desert is the mirage.”

It’s not something that you can grasp, slipping through your fingers as you struggle to contain it and kill it in the vice-grip of your desperation. Cultivating it is more the art of raising a child: it has to be free, to be and not be, to fail or not fail – not manufactured through circumstances you treat like an injection, satisfying you at your discretion. Look for it, and it’s gone. Acknowledge it and it starts to fade. Rejoice in it without judgment, it can live forever. Like the sun, to gaze into its full force looking for light can only lead to blindness.

“So lets go out west and bask in the overcast and walking through the rain we’ll see the beauty in life again.”

Joy is a shy child looking for love: let her into your heart without question and she will do the same; greet her and she’ll flee until you’ve turned your eyes from her again.

time will change me

“To reflect is to regret, throwing it all away. And apathy my one way street, it took so much from me. Separated by this divide I created through my fears, and in your tears you tried to show blind eyes and tell deaf ears. If we can make it through the landslide standing, we’ll lift each other up to see the bliss on the horizon. Been looking in from the outside lately – I’ve seen who I used to be and it’s not me.”

A man can get to know himself too well; listen closely to your own rhythm and it grows disjointed, then stops. Bereft of them, you ache for the otherwise unnoticed patterns of existence, like the return of a hello, or the sound of your own voice beyond the echoes in your mind. Clear blue skies are beautiful for their scarcity, but only a stilled pendulum understands that life is the raging against the cloying of the soul. When all these distances dissolve and we fall inwards into convalescence, we’ll rain everything into this emptiness and I’ll find you again for the first time, fingers touching like sunbeams that have traversed the universe to learn – it ends where it begins.