May is going to be a tough one. May 2nd marks one year since my grandmother has passed. Without question this has been the most difficult year in my life. It’s been a challenge to find sure footing through the tumult of depression. My grandmother has been the person in my life who was always able to set my compass to true. I’ve felt pretty lost this last year so I’ll be talking about the ups and downs we all encounter as we go through the stages of grief. May 22nd is my birthday and it’ll be the first one I have to have without her.

When I think about it it’s probably why I scheduled the tour and book release at this time… something to keep me busy as I work through it. Luckily I’ll have a stage to help carry me over the finish line. As I said I’ll be hitting up Ashland, Eugene, and Portland before doing 2 nights in Seattle at The Triple Door. After that it’s on to The Vogue in Vancouver for May 24th. I can think of no better place to put a period on the end of this very long chapter of my life. I’m not suggesting that grief is done with me, but I think we look to time as a measuring stick… it shows us that there’s distance between us and our pain, and that we’ve taken steps toward something new. I’m not sure what that is yet, and I’m not sure the ache of loss is something we’re ever meant to leave behind entirely, but this month I’ll leave a piece I wrote reflecting on it. The poem of the month is called Year One.

VIDEO: https://youtu.be/ZXcnZ2VgksU

A little bonus for you this month as there’s an accompanying video. Not long ago I was asked by BC housing to write a piece that addresses the crisis we’re facing. I didn’t just want to write a piece that talks about why being homeless is difficult, but to address some of the reasons why we’ve arrived where we are. When people think of the homeless many of them believe that drugs and addiction are the only reason they end up without a place to live, but there are many reasons a person can lose their home. Somewhere along the way the world started to see housing as an investment opportunity rather than a fundamental human right. Now we have homes that sit empty while the population of people with nowhere to go continues to rise. A few months ago I was doing a residency and a workshop in Vancouver at HCMA, as part of it I did a small Q and A along with a reading of this poem. Mark Busse and Inder Nirwan took the lead on putting this video together and I hope you’ll find space to share it with people. It’s a personal subject for me. I was lucky. I found community in Vancouver early on, and when I found myself struggling to make ends meet I had that safety net there to catch me. This is not to say I haven't spent more than a few scattered nights trying to wait out the dark inside of a 24 hour restaurant, or thinking if I could just hold myself a little tighter the cold wouldn't be so bad. It doesn't take more than a few days on the street to reach a tipping point in your mental health. When homelessness becomes a reality for someone, and when that reality really sinks in... it can feel as final as a coffin nail. It can wipe away hope from the blackboard, and it can whisper surrender to our fight so often that it can feel like giving up was our idea all along. As housing becomes a more prevalent issue for all let's remember that compassion is a better cure than indifference.

It’s a big one this month, and it’s personal. This one is titled “Origin” and you might be able to guess what it’s about. I spent the past few years reconnecting with my Dad, who’ve I’ve not seen since I was 11. Three decades is a long time to go with silence trapped between anyone. As a kid I always felt anger toward my father for never being there, and for not trying to reach out over the years. What I learned about forgiveness is that the people who deserve it most are usually the same people who feel they don’t deserve it at all. I spent a long time carrying around that anger… I was so wrapped up in my own hurt that I forgot about the pain he must have carried all this way. In discovering my own origin I was able to ask him about his, and there was so much I didn’t know because it was more convenient for me to hold onto those hurt feelings. I think when we’re hurt our tendency is to nurture the wound… it helps to justify our feelings about it… it gives us permission to hate. My Dad answered my questions with honesty and courage; I’m only sorry I waited so long to ask them. The title of the book (The Basement In My Attic) comes from a line in this poem (Origin) that I had to edit out. I wasn’t happy with how it fit into the piece, but thought it was a fitting title for a collection of feelings. Both the ones that somehow became antiques I’ve had trouble letting go of, and the ones that became treasures I found anew after wiping away the dust.

This months poem is titled “Ephemera”. I thought it was fitting given the nature of what I’ve been going through. Sometimes there’s a small comfort in knowing that nothing is forever. The seasons remind us of this all the time, but we seldom reflect on the truths nature is always offering. I wrote this piece while working with my friend Dave Mai on his ice climbing documentary of the same name… you can check out the trailer for it here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bRJ056h22Rk

What I discovered through 2018 is that some goodbyes are necessary. Loss has a way of sharpening the parts of our lives that were once out of focus. When we finally start to see the patterns in the way some people treat us it can be like spotting the scratch in the paint, or the chip in the coffee mug. There’s no way to keep pretending that everything is okay… that the jagged smiles don’t cut.

Sometimes walking away is the best choice you can make for yourself, but that’s not to say it won’t hurt. Pain is the cost of loving anyone. I think maybe that’s the last compliment you can pay someone who hurts you… to let them know that it hurts because you loved them. Sometimes you have to walk away just to let them know that your heart is not a joke you’re giving them permission to keep laughing at.

This month’s poem is called After Math.

The holidays are the toughest time of year for a lot of people. I don’t make myself an exception to that rule. This will be my first holiday season alone. I can already feel the dread of it creeping in… like one of those spiders that takes up squatters rights in your home when autumn hits. Around this time of year my grandmother and I would usually just spend quiet days together. We’d watch whatever we could find on TV that wouldn’t remind us the world outside was still unraveling.

I don’t think there’s much more I can say about my mindset at this moment. I’m doing my best to look forward to the coming year. To see it through an optimistic lens that may grant some small measure of clarity.

Oh my goodness… what a bummer this letter is turning out to be. Sorry. As I said… I’m not immune to the heaviness this time of year offers. So let’s get on with some of the good news. I’ll be hitting the road in January ( I know right!?! Why are you touring at such wretched time of year, Shane? Because… I got shit I need to say).

So what’s on deck for poem of the month, Shane? Well, I thought about doing something festive, but I’m just not there. So I thought I’d offer up something about the disguises we wear. I’m not talking about Halloween costumes, but rather the way we change who we are to fit the needs of others. We take it upon ourselves to become an advertisement for who people want us to be. It can take a long time to walk away from that self imposed prison, but sometimes it’s exactly what we need to do when we finally realize we have to fight for who we really are. This month’s piece is called The Costume Party

I wish you all a safe, and happy, holiday season. Many blessings in whatever you celebrate or don’t. Remember to be compassionate with yourself through any difficult days ahead, and I hope to see you in the new year. Thank you all for your continued support.

September will be an interesting test drive. I'm simultaneously looking forward to leaving the house, and dreading what kind of state I'll be in performance wise. There is still so much to unpack, and the emotional weight doesn't seem to relent. The tour is small and will keep me in BC which is where I need to be right now. I guess I'm mostly just hoping that this working excursion will answer some questions for me. No matter what choices are made it's important to let everyone know how loved and supported I've felt through this process. Thank you all for your continued encouragement and hope. There are days that feel bearable and there are days that don't. Either way, it's a tremendous help to have so many people behind me wanting me to pull through all of this.

It's clear that I have some big choices ahead of me. Lately, I've put a lot of that on hold as I try to get a better grasp on my life. I haven't felt like I've been in the best frame of mind to be making choices, but the world doesn't give us much of a chance to catch our breath, and recently I've felt winded by a reality that's as solid as the ground it's thrown me down on. I guess I wanted to write about choices... so this all started on a napkin and snowballed into this piece. The working title is Every Day, but that may change. Just wanted to share this with people as I know many of you are staring down paths of your own. We can be pretty flippant about decision making when we're already drowning in the stresses of our everyday lives... we reach out for anything that keeps us afloat, but they're usually temporary things... nothing we can anchor ourselves to, or build a foundation from. At some point it starts to feel like anything that resembles dry land is what we should be swimming toward... sometimes we swim for what's closest... other times we kick toward a horizon. Whatever we choose becomes our inheritance. Sometimes we see that as consequence and sometimes we see it as reward, but either way, none of it is coincidence... your whole life is a result of your choices. I've been feeling that a lot lately so here is this months offering. Tour dates, as always, are listed below. If you can make it out, come say hi.

In gratitude, Shane

I have had an extraordinarily difficult time sitting down to write. In May, as I set out to film a small series in Penticton, my Grandmother’s health rapidly diminished and I lost her only days before we started filming. Not knowing how to cope with the grief I continued on with the project. I knew that isolation would be the wrong path for me at that time. I spent long nights working with a talented crew and muddled my way through as best as I could. After wrapping the project everyone went home to their lives, and my world became a vacuum. I continued working on music for the project, but began to withdraw from social activity. As my circle became smaller and smaller I began to feel the gravity of my despair pull me closer to dangerous behaviour.

I have made a conscious choice to return to anti depression medication as I’m not able to navigate my life in any meaningful way without the stability they provide. I’m grateful for your letters of support, but at the moment I feel they aren’t able to penetrate the shell I’ve built around myself. The world does not put itself on pause for anyone’s pain, and continues to turn regardless of how much you want it to stop. I have found no comfort since all of this has come to pass, and whatever moments of solace I can find are only a brief reprieve from my reality. The minutia of day to day things mark the passage of time, but fail to dull any of the sharpness of what I’m feeling. I don’t know what to do with myself at this time, but know also that I’m not allowed to shelter myself from the world at large. Bills still need to be paid, the garbage still needs to be taken out, her room still needs to be cleaned. All of it feels heavy with meaninglessness, but collectors don’t relent… their condolences ring hollow when they follow them by asking when they can expect payment. I supported us both with writing and touring, and though I feel little motivation to do either right now I know that I have to keep living. I’ve spent my life working out the chaos of my heart on stage for others, so I don’t really know what else to do. Part of me hopes that the stage and an audience will bring some clarity. In September I’ll do a small BC tour… this was in the books before the world fell apart, and will keep me in BC while I make some decisions. I’ve cancelled a lot of other upcoming shows so I can focus on putting a life together. I don’t know where I’ll go, where I’ll live, or what I’ll do, but I can’t stay in a haunted house much longer. I’m sorry this isn’t a happier message. All of this has happened at a time when the world feels much darker… at a time when hope is needed with greater urgency. I’m just lost right now and trying to stay alive. Good spirits seem distant, but so does everything if you aren’t putting one foot in front of the other to move toward it. You can support me at shows which are listed below, Patreon (https://www.patreon.com/shanekoyczan), or through the store. I’m posting a piece called “First Time Again” which is the one thing I’ve been able to pull out of myself during this process. Any support is welcome and appreciated. Shane

Video: https://youtu.be/D0G-MyLbenE

I know it’s been a while since you’ve heard from me, but rest assured that I haven’t disappeared quite yet. I needed a long overdue mental health break. I had a grand time touring in 2017 and met some incredible people/poets/artists/creators, but the mental cost of having to exist in the same emotional spaces night after night was very heavy. The stories and pieces I share are personal, and not everyone understands what may be hidden in those pieces… buried under metaphors that allow me to address certain aspects of my life indirectly. Of course I know what those moments actually are, and from time to time those memories or feelings will resurface to invade my psyche. Sometimes “The cup runneth over”, and that’s where I’ve found myself as 2018 begins. I wanted to start this year by talking about resolutions. Many of us made promises to ourselves as the clock clicked over into a new year. Some of those promises have since been abandoned by that whispering voice inside our heads that suggests “now isn’t the right time”. A voice that insists there’ll be a better time to quit further down the road. Most of our resolutions have to do with sacrifice, or at least what we feel is sacrifice. We believe that we are losing something that helps us cope with our pain. Let me be clear in saying that addictions survive by our making more and more space for them. The more space we give an addiction in our lives the more space it will occupy in our minds, and the voice meant to bolster our confidence, or determination, gets the volume turned down by an addiction that insists on playing it’s own music louder. I started drinking one year after a bad break up. I wanted to feel anything other than what I was feeling so I picked up drinking, and found that it allowed me to push other hurts out of my life as well, at least temporarily. I didn’t have to spend late nights wrapped in a cocoon of depression. Alcohol would blot out those stains in my memory, and it often felt like I was taking a coffee break from anguish. I should also mention that I live with chronic pain… a two prong existence on that front. One stemming from an accident in my youth where I was hit by a van, and the other coming from a medical condition that effects one of my legs. Alcohol would numb those aches as well, and I found that I could just pass out if I could drink through it. I felt like it was a solution to my problems, and night after night people would offer to buy me a drink after a show (when I first started out all I ever got paid in was drink tickets) so it seemed to fit into my life rather perfectly, and I became what many would consider a functioning alcoholic. I didn’t have a regular day job to work; in a way being an artist allowed me to camouflage my behaviour. I would never drink before shows, but was always eager to let the late night drinking begin afterward. Drinking became one of the ways I was able to come down after a show. I’ve had other addictions along the way… I think to some extent many of us have, it’s just that some are more socially acceptable than others (cellphones, social media, etc). The first addiction I managed to overcome was smoking, and I was not a casual smoker. Toward the end of my run with nicotine I was up to 2 packs a day. That experience is now several years in the rear view mirror, and after that I kicked soda pop out of my life… that one doesn’t sound like a big deal, but it’s a lot harder to do than people might imagine as it’s everywhere, and no one bats an eye about having a pop. I had struggles with Dilaudid (especially post surgery) that I’ve managed to overcome, and I’m now a year and half into my life without alcohol. What I’ve gleaned from my experience is that quitting an addiction is impossible if the only way we see it is as something we are losing. I’ve only been able to have success with quitting by adjusting how I see my addiction; I look for benefits of its absence… what do I gain by leaving this behind? If all we do is attach sacrifice and loss to giving up an addiction it only serves to reinforce our trepidation, and doubt as we make our attempt to scale that particular mountain. I need to be clear in saying that no addiction is easy to overcome, but it's easier if you can reinforce your will with positivity rather than listening to a siren that keeps singing you back down into the fathoms where depression resides. So for my first offering of 2018 I wanted to put forward a piece that addresses addiction. I wrote some very simple music that Tavis Weir than developed into something truly beautiful. Dave Mai is a film maker here in Penticton that I’ve had the good fortune of working with on a number of projects, and Endrené Shepard is the artist who designed the cover for A Bruise On Light… here she is using her skills to translate metaphor into imagery. I’m blessed to have worked with this trio of artists who all brought their considerable talents to a project that is deeply personal for me. This piece is called Resolution and if you’d like to support more projects like this you can find my Patreon page, or buy the track from the website. As always you’re support is greatly appreciated. I hope you’ll share the piece with anyone who may be facing this problem, or even with those who have a hard time understanding what someone goes through with addiction. I can’t say I’m cured, but I’m doing better… much, much better.

Resolution

Mostly we get hung up on the stopping

the suddenness of abandoning

a tether we both love and hate

love with a devoted affection

for the calm it sings to our chaos

hate

for the shame it haloes above us

like an unflattering hat

mostly we think that in stopping

there is loss

that our spines will feel the impact

of a vacuum we cannot imagine

but nevertheless dread

the truancy of our determination

decaying the foundations of our belief

we are crushed

under the swollen density

of a perceived disgrace

our resolve corrupted

by the whispering razors of suspicion

skinning our confidence

to make trophies of our ruin

we convince ourselves to accept failure

before sacrifice is required

there is in us

a solemn hysteria

but also

a stray seed

taking root in the womb of hope

growing a philosophy that insists

any triumph over vice

is proof of a daring that binds us to our might

that if we succeed

we must then surrender the relief our excuses provide

that there will be no alibis to rescue us

from the indictment of our proficiency

and that the discovery of our own strength

means we can no longer deny our ability to make change manifest

mostly we are afraid of the ending

panicked at the certainty

that a tombstone will suddenly flower atop

our buried obsession

and that our goodbyes to the mania we once cradled

will land like glass roses thrown against the casket

when victory becomes a funeral

a lament

for the poisons we thought were cures

mostly we shudder at the purity of a fresh start

we pause

like skates in worship of untouched ice

like a pen in praise

holding ceremony for the start of a new sentence

in a story

it is changing.

Video: https://youtu.be/ZXTTTj1zYHQ

First let me thank the other artists who helped me bring this project to life. Tanya Tagaq and Kym Gouchie laid down some incredible vocals that were mixed and arranged by the always delightful, Corwin Fox. The visual component comes from an exhibit happening right now at the Penticton Art Gallery, and was curated by Paul Crawford. The artists whose works are shown are Joseph Sanchez, Janice Tanton, and Jim Logan. Accompanying their works are some of the mass produced works Paul has collected for a show called “Velvet Indians”.

There exists a stark contrast between these collections as works from the “Velvet Indians” show became an easily digestible image for public consumption, while the works of Jim Logan, Janice Tanton, and Joseph Sanchez represent the reality of what was happening while those images were permeating the public’s conception of indigenous life.

This year has been a polarizing one for Canada. While we celebrate 150 years as a nation we have also come face to face with our own dark history. I’ve spent the past few years reconnecting with my father, who has had first hand experience with residential schools. There has been a vast expanse of silence to traverse, and I’m only now discovering these missing chapters from my own origin. My hope is that this piece will continue the conversation. One of the things I’ve learned through this process is something about healing. To heal a wound you must first clean it… which is perhaps the most painful part. To clean a wound you must expose it to the stinging air. That is where we are right now; witnesses to the blood and pain. We face it now to heal it, or ignore it… letting the infection deepen and spread. Whichever path we choose the truth will not waiver. The cure will take as long as the sickness, and the sickness isn’t yet over.

– Shane Koyczan, July 2017

Inconvenient Skin

150 years is not so long
that the history can be forgot

not so long that
forgiveness can be bought with empty apologies
or unkept promises

sharpened assurances that this is now
how it is

take it on good faith
and accept it

except that
history repeats itself
like someone not being listened to
like an entire people not being heard

the word of god is hard to swallow
when good faith becomes a barren gesture

there were men of good faith
robbing babies from their cradles
like the monsters we used to tell each other about

ripping children out of their mothers arms
to be imprisoned in the houses of a god
who’s teachings were love

did no one hear?
did god mumble?

god said love

but the things that were done
were not love

our nation is built above the bones
of a genocide

it was not love that pried apart these families
it is not love that abandons its treaties
it is not love to not acknowledge these atrocities
to allow teenagers to freeze to death
after having been driven past city limits
and set loose to walk back in the winter cold

it is not love
when an entire culture is told
stop whining
by a country still lining its pockets
with the profits of these broken promises

this is not love

yet this is what’s been done since before year one

150 years
is just us putting birthday candles
on top of smallpox blankets, teen suicides
and missing murdered women

we can’t spin our history
into something easy to accept because it isn’t

it should never be

we the north
are not free to shed our history
like an inconvenient skin

we are not free to turn our backs on the children
still swallowing the hollowness of poverty

this nation is not so sturdy
that it can sustain the weight of this blind spot in our memory

as Canadians
we want to live up to what we believe ourselves to be
live up to each quality we value
kind
compassionate
honest
trustworthy
true
strong
free

if we ever become
who we hope we are
it will be because we see how far there is still to go
and we know that if we are not these things to everyone
than we are none of these things

if the world brings a challenge to one of us
it brings it to us all
we rise and fall together
the winds of change
do not show up in our weather reports
and yet they blow from sea to sea

we stand on guard for thee

funny
how those standing up for the water the land
and everything that sustain us
are told to stand aside
are told to make way for progress

we dress the future in such a pretty word
but without balance
these two wings of this same bird
cannot achieve flight

we hop about on the ground like a wounded sparrow

our fight is not meant to be with with each other
our fight is to be better
always improving
forever moving toward what we wish this nation to be

we can be better

we are a nation of neighbours who help neighbours
we are thinkers with hearts
we are feelers
we are problem solvers
and healers

and sometimes the medicine we need most
comes from remembering who we were

so we can reconcile it against who we wish to become

the drum is calling us in

like an anthem giving rise to a tide
these shores have been missing
like the vanishing languages of a stolen people

a nation forced to abandon their own good faith
beneath the steeple of a god who said love

I do not know the future
but I have read enough of history
to see patterns in its tapestry

I have seen resolve forged in adversity
and the voices we hear now
were once just seeds
that silence scattered amid a tangle of weeds
meant to strangle them away from sunlight

but some things fight the dark for so long
that they learn to grow inside of a shadow
and they are idle no more

at the core of our values
is dignity

and yet we strip mine a culture of its identity
allow our leaders to erode each treaty
and stab flags into the land
as if mountains can be owned
as if water is property

where is our dignity
if we cannot hold true to the promises we make?
what value does our word have
if all it ever does is break?

the choices we make today
will be felt across time

their consequences inherited
not by the echoes of who we were
but by the children our examples have taught

what future will they have
if our our only gift to them
are the lessons we forgot?

– Shane.L.Koyczan