my heart swells and sighs for the people i see, everyday reducing themselves to hate. i watch them directing, misdirecting their compressed confusion, their distilled disgust every which way but up. i watch them in traffic, in line-ups, on sidewalks releasing their inner demons, unabashedly belching out their frustration with a boss, a job, a lover, a fucked up world.
i empathize with them. i allow my energy to shift so that i resonate with them. and instantly, i feel my heart starting to ache, swollen with a depth of sorrow, of despair that wants to overtake me.
but then i take a step back, i take a deep breath, and i really watch. i watch very carefully, and i can see how these people are suffering because they are addicted to their ugly behaviour, in ways they haven't tried to understand. in ways i'm only just now beginning to understand. i know that for the majority of these people, their intentions are not ugly, nor are their souls. they mean well, and truly believe they want beauty in their world. but they don't take the time to watch themselves, to recognize how they perpetrate frustration and ugliness in their lives, letting it well up in them until they unleash it on any innocent (or at least unrelated) bystander.
and i realize that my propensity toward taking on this confusion, this anger, this sadness: this is my own behaviour addiction. addicted to their drama of sorrow and anger under the guise of an empathy that makes me ache, not act.
but i'm weaning myself. avidly focusing my energy on transforming that negativity into something positive, into a goal to strive toward. i'm reshaping my life so that all my energy - work, play, rest - is directed toward harmony. peace. compassion. that's the behaviour i want to become addicted to...
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
Tuesday, July 24, 2007
lucky me
the other night:
a fellowship of four
at the lotus
(is it still called that? is it called something newer and trendier?)
i stood grinning stupid
and the sexy friend approached
and giggled.
what are you so happy about?
she shouted,
her subtle smile elevated to blaze
in this tooloud room.
she needed to ask!
i gasped:
look at you.
we watched together the other two -
thrusting, laughing, twisting, churning,
giggling,
being,
on the dance floor.
isn't it beautiful? i rhetoricalized.
she nodded happily.
glide.
glide.
glide for a moment
on the sigh of the music
and the now
and the yes.
so much yes.
too much.
such great glorious yes yes
i geekily giddily overexplained:
i could never watch this long,
never take in
every
gorgeous
gyration
if i was other.
but being me, i can stand here,
grinning, staring,
taking you all in -
and you let me!
you invite me!
right now
right here:
i'm the luckiest grrrl in the world.
she cannot argue.
she watches
sighs
smiles at me happily.
and slides back into the stage of my creation.
a fellowship of four
at the lotus
(is it still called that? is it called something newer and trendier?)
i stood grinning stupid
and the sexy friend approached
and giggled.
what are you so happy about?
she shouted,
her subtle smile elevated to blaze
in this tooloud room.
she needed to ask!
i gasped:
look at you.
we watched together the other two -
thrusting, laughing, twisting, churning,
giggling,
being,
on the dance floor.
isn't it beautiful? i rhetoricalized.
she nodded happily.
glide.
glide.
glide for a moment
on the sigh of the music
and the now
and the yes.
so much yes.
too much.
such great glorious yes yes
i geekily giddily overexplained:
i could never watch this long,
never take in
every
gorgeous
gyration
if i was other.
but being me, i can stand here,
grinning, staring,
taking you all in -
and you let me!
you invite me!
right now
right here:
i'm the luckiest grrrl in the world.
she cannot argue.
she watches
sighs
smiles at me happily.
and slides back into the stage of my creation.
Thursday, July 12, 2007
sherendipitous shuffle
when i hit shuffle, iTunes immediately launches into "i dreamed a dream," Fantine's hard luck song from Les Miserables. i already know i'm in for it.
the next song is "black is the colour of my true love's hair" (Nina Simone). it's followed by "sweet dreams" by Patsy Cline.
my gut is throbbing and my shoulders are sagging. i'm still unable to go a single day without some intense thought about him. anger, sorrow, pity, confusion...
and i'm thinking.
and thinking.
and grinding.
and churning.
and then i hear the choir ushering in "you can't always get what you want" by the Rolling Stones.
i can't help but laugh.
i laugh at iTunes and i laugh at me and i laugh at him and i laugh at the world. i laugh it all off and thrust my hips around the apartment.
the shuffle demon rewards me by playing "bus to beelzebub" by Soul Coughing. i laugh some more and jump jump jump, flailing my hair and arms around. the KLF confirm that the mood is broken: it's going to be a good day.
life really is quite amusing and wonderful.
despite itself...
the next song is "black is the colour of my true love's hair" (Nina Simone). it's followed by "sweet dreams" by Patsy Cline.
my gut is throbbing and my shoulders are sagging. i'm still unable to go a single day without some intense thought about him. anger, sorrow, pity, confusion...
and i'm thinking.
and thinking.
and grinding.
and churning.
and then i hear the choir ushering in "you can't always get what you want" by the Rolling Stones.
i can't help but laugh.
i laugh at iTunes and i laugh at me and i laugh at him and i laugh at the world. i laugh it all off and thrust my hips around the apartment.
the shuffle demon rewards me by playing "bus to beelzebub" by Soul Coughing. i laugh some more and jump jump jump, flailing my hair and arms around. the KLF confirm that the mood is broken: it's going to be a good day.
life really is quite amusing and wonderful.
despite itself...
Thursday, May 24, 2007
bjork!
so i went to see bjork, and it was...
well...
even before she walked on stage, there was a sense of reverence in the air.
we'd cheered and giggled at the neon-bubbles-adorned-with-red-flags that were the horn section/choir. we'd cheered (perhaps a little lacklusterly) at the men - one drummer and, what did she call them? electronists? digitalists? some weird new word... and we'd whooped for the serious keyboardist.
but when the man in black nodded off-stage urging her entrance, i felt it in every pore of my being: i was about to be in the immediate viscinity of true greatness.
bjork is even grander in person than in her wondrous videos and fabulously freakish photos. how can she be so many things at once? so large and so small.. she's a cute, tiny little being with gentle delicate features. like her hands - i was reminded of the e.e. cummings line: "nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands." but then, defying all tiny, was her voice, her titan voice. it seemed almost to drain and pain her at first, requiring vigorous vocal exercises between the first few songs.
in those moments, those desperate gasping breaks she took, she seemed like an orphan needing nurturing. did anyone else feel an urge to rush up and rock her gently, feeding her spoonfuls of honey? was anyone else shocked back into standstill when suddenly, she would smile (i was close enough to see her dervish dimples). i watched in glowing wonder as she would grin and flick her arm; even the most half-assed thrust would elicit a rush from the audience, entrancing us completely. i was reminded, again, of another line from that cummings poem: "in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me." she was suddenly no tiny orphan, but a giant, a goddess - and we were hers, hers alone. even the others on stage seemed closer to us than to her, straining to serve her, to make her smile, to make her proud. she stood alone in her aura of awe.
the music started slowly, with such sweet soft songs like Hunter and All is Full of Love and Pagan Poetry - the latter eliciting a spring of tears that slid along my smiling cheek. i was moved by the beauty, by the power, by the intensity. god, those notes, that music..
by the time they launched into the grandiose, sweeping Bachelorette (whose waves i swam with eyes closed, smiling brightly), i knew she had different plans for us. already my hips were swaying, and the poignant Hyperballad eased us from swaying hips into stomping feet. well.. i say "us" but sadly, not many people were dancing. not around me anyway, and i was only about 20 people back from Bjork!!! in fact, the uptight bitch next to me kept throwing me sidelong sneers everytime an energetic dance thrust would see my right arm gently brushing up against her left arm. (and understand, i was not dancing even remotely vigorously, but the odd sway would wrench itself from me, how could it be helped?? IT'S FUCKING BJORK, SISTER!! whatfuckingever.) she eventually sidled up to her boyfriend, leaving me space to sway in peace. poor thing..
it wasn't until the last song (pre-encore), Pluto, when Bjork fucking lost it on stage in a tangle of freakish thrusts and twists and flails, that most people let themselves sink into the music, letting it coarse through their limbs and souls.
it's interesting. the very hot canadian "electrivist/whatever" kept trying to get the vancouver audience to.. i dunno, wake up! we were EXCESSIVELY mellow. ok sure, maybe it was the stellar bc bud, but i don't think so. it wasn't quite that..
whatever it was - you would have thought people weren't really "feeling it." until the encore. there were no lulls, there was no shyness, no quietness - it started when she left and raged until she returned, a roar that was energetic, loud, even a smidge frenzied. we wanted more more more!
and she gave us more - but only just a little bit more. bjork, ever the petulant goddess, tossed us a few crumbs before trotting back to her retreat, clutching her already half-enjoyed glass of red wine.
yes, it seems she had better things to attend to... but it's ok, we'll happily forgive her any transgression.
well...
even before she walked on stage, there was a sense of reverence in the air.
we'd cheered and giggled at the neon-bubbles-adorned-with-red-flags that were the horn section/choir. we'd cheered (perhaps a little lacklusterly) at the men - one drummer and, what did she call them? electronists? digitalists? some weird new word... and we'd whooped for the serious keyboardist.
but when the man in black nodded off-stage urging her entrance, i felt it in every pore of my being: i was about to be in the immediate viscinity of true greatness.
bjork is even grander in person than in her wondrous videos and fabulously freakish photos. how can she be so many things at once? so large and so small.. she's a cute, tiny little being with gentle delicate features. like her hands - i was reminded of the e.e. cummings line: "nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands." but then, defying all tiny, was her voice, her titan voice. it seemed almost to drain and pain her at first, requiring vigorous vocal exercises between the first few songs.
in those moments, those desperate gasping breaks she took, she seemed like an orphan needing nurturing. did anyone else feel an urge to rush up and rock her gently, feeding her spoonfuls of honey? was anyone else shocked back into standstill when suddenly, she would smile (i was close enough to see her dervish dimples). i watched in glowing wonder as she would grin and flick her arm; even the most half-assed thrust would elicit a rush from the audience, entrancing us completely. i was reminded, again, of another line from that cummings poem: "in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me." she was suddenly no tiny orphan, but a giant, a goddess - and we were hers, hers alone. even the others on stage seemed closer to us than to her, straining to serve her, to make her smile, to make her proud. she stood alone in her aura of awe.
the music started slowly, with such sweet soft songs like Hunter and All is Full of Love and Pagan Poetry - the latter eliciting a spring of tears that slid along my smiling cheek. i was moved by the beauty, by the power, by the intensity. god, those notes, that music..
by the time they launched into the grandiose, sweeping Bachelorette (whose waves i swam with eyes closed, smiling brightly), i knew she had different plans for us. already my hips were swaying, and the poignant Hyperballad eased us from swaying hips into stomping feet. well.. i say "us" but sadly, not many people were dancing. not around me anyway, and i was only about 20 people back from Bjork!!! in fact, the uptight bitch next to me kept throwing me sidelong sneers everytime an energetic dance thrust would see my right arm gently brushing up against her left arm. (and understand, i was not dancing even remotely vigorously, but the odd sway would wrench itself from me, how could it be helped?? IT'S FUCKING BJORK, SISTER!! whatfuckingever.) she eventually sidled up to her boyfriend, leaving me space to sway in peace. poor thing..
it wasn't until the last song (pre-encore), Pluto, when Bjork fucking lost it on stage in a tangle of freakish thrusts and twists and flails, that most people let themselves sink into the music, letting it coarse through their limbs and souls.
it's interesting. the very hot canadian "electrivist/whatever" kept trying to get the vancouver audience to.. i dunno, wake up! we were EXCESSIVELY mellow. ok sure, maybe it was the stellar bc bud, but i don't think so. it wasn't quite that..
whatever it was - you would have thought people weren't really "feeling it." until the encore. there were no lulls, there was no shyness, no quietness - it started when she left and raged until she returned, a roar that was energetic, loud, even a smidge frenzied. we wanted more more more!
and she gave us more - but only just a little bit more. bjork, ever the petulant goddess, tossed us a few crumbs before trotting back to her retreat, clutching her already half-enjoyed glass of red wine.
yes, it seems she had better things to attend to... but it's ok, we'll happily forgive her any transgression.
Monday, May 07, 2007
fishbone and eddy
so a few weeks ago i went to see Fishbone. i'm not a huge fan, in that i don't own any of their albums, but that did not stop me from loving them. do you know Fishbone? they're... they're incredible. how to describe their music? in my scrawled scribbles from the night, i wrote "they're like the lovechild of Frank Zappa and Motorhead - though i probably say that because the image of Zappa's stache melding with Lemmy's chops pleases me greatly."
in truth, Fishbone is... well... people might be tempted to harken to Rage Against the Machine or Red Hot Chili Peppers, and they'd be right though they'd be reversing the influence flow. Fishbone's more primordial than them bands. they're like Zappa and Sabbath and Sun Ra and Slayer lovingly nurtured in Parliament Funk's ferocious grip.
favourite moments of the night include my friend Jessica mouthing/acting out that charming date-rape-to-anal-rape-in-prison ditty, with the lyric "that's when things got out of control!" i watched in wide-smiled glee as she did what we all do in our bathrooms or living rooms: she *became* the star of a rock video. it was brilliant!
i was also deeply impressed by the fact that, although there were.. what.. 60 souls in the place when we showed up, Fishbone were rocking as though there were thousands. no half-way for these motherfuckers, they were full-out, full-on, and i fully respect and admire them for that.
it was not my first time seeing Fishbone. i will sport always a dented scar on my knee from the last time i saw them. that was... 6 years ago? 5? i was with my punker-lover Eddy Kolasinski. sweet Eddy... we dropped acid and drank rivers of hooch and stumbled through the Commodore and stumbled through the streets of Vancouver, pulverized by Fishbone funk. it was a beautiful night.
i was remembering that night, watching Fishbone strut their stuff once again. i was not with Eddy, nor did i search the crowd in hopes to see him. not that i wouldn't have loved to see him - though romantic love didn't work out for us, i'll always love him. (i'll always smile when i remember how Eddy felt guilty for being heterosexual, worrying our boy/girl relationship was inherently patriarchal. ah, sweet Eddy!) but last summer, Eddy died of heat exhaustion. i knew always he was a tender and fragile soul, but who knew a 30-something year-old man could die of heat exhaustion in Edmonton? and yet, it seems fitting.
last december, i found myself sitting at a calgary table, sharing drinks with one of Eddy's heroes, Ford Pier. Ford remembered Eddy fondly, and we raised a glass to him.
hey Eddy, Fishbone was great. sorry you couldn't be there...
in truth, Fishbone is... well... people might be tempted to harken to Rage Against the Machine or Red Hot Chili Peppers, and they'd be right though they'd be reversing the influence flow. Fishbone's more primordial than them bands. they're like Zappa and Sabbath and Sun Ra and Slayer lovingly nurtured in Parliament Funk's ferocious grip.
favourite moments of the night include my friend Jessica mouthing/acting out that charming date-rape-to-anal-rape-in-prison ditty, with the lyric "that's when things got out of control!" i watched in wide-smiled glee as she did what we all do in our bathrooms or living rooms: she *became* the star of a rock video. it was brilliant!
i was also deeply impressed by the fact that, although there were.. what.. 60 souls in the place when we showed up, Fishbone were rocking as though there were thousands. no half-way for these motherfuckers, they were full-out, full-on, and i fully respect and admire them for that.
it was not my first time seeing Fishbone. i will sport always a dented scar on my knee from the last time i saw them. that was... 6 years ago? 5? i was with my punker-lover Eddy Kolasinski. sweet Eddy... we dropped acid and drank rivers of hooch and stumbled through the Commodore and stumbled through the streets of Vancouver, pulverized by Fishbone funk. it was a beautiful night.
i was remembering that night, watching Fishbone strut their stuff once again. i was not with Eddy, nor did i search the crowd in hopes to see him. not that i wouldn't have loved to see him - though romantic love didn't work out for us, i'll always love him. (i'll always smile when i remember how Eddy felt guilty for being heterosexual, worrying our boy/girl relationship was inherently patriarchal. ah, sweet Eddy!) but last summer, Eddy died of heat exhaustion. i knew always he was a tender and fragile soul, but who knew a 30-something year-old man could die of heat exhaustion in Edmonton? and yet, it seems fitting.
last december, i found myself sitting at a calgary table, sharing drinks with one of Eddy's heroes, Ford Pier. Ford remembered Eddy fondly, and we raised a glass to him.
hey Eddy, Fishbone was great. sorry you couldn't be there...
Friday, May 04, 2007
walking through the downtown eastside
white-bearded skinny man stands on street corner, clutching a small yellow feather with his left hand, brandishing a blue pack of matches with his right hand. he waves the matches around slowly. he stares fixedly, murmuring or chanting words my headphones block out.
i nod slowly as i walk by.
we're all fighting off the demons as best we can, brother.
i do it through tireless self-analysis.
(though it may in fact be my biggest, nastiest, fiercest demon.)
i nod slowly as i walk by.
we're all fighting off the demons as best we can, brother.
i do it through tireless self-analysis.
(though it may in fact be my biggest, nastiest, fiercest demon.)
Friday, April 27, 2007
recurring theme
what else should i be
all apologies
people keep telling me "you have to write about this!!" when i'm recounting of the thousands of fabulous and fantastic experiences i keep being blessed with every magnificent day. these stories, tall and short, beautiful and trivial, are abundant though they have been left untold on this screen. and i'm sorry for that, if there actually is anyone out there checking in and craving updated anecdotes. what can i say? come find me, i'm the one huddled in amongst the old men around a dimly-lit bar, drinking cheap beer and sharing dreams and memories and philosophies and quips.
it seems my life away from computers, coupled with my intense need to process my experiences through retelling, is turning me into a barstool storyteller of great repute! (seriously, i walked in the other day and was greeted by a chorus of "kaen" from the characters around the bar. all began asking of my day's adventures. it was wild. i felt like.. someone between "Norm" and Bukowski...)
all apologies
people keep telling me "you have to write about this!!" when i'm recounting of the thousands of fabulous and fantastic experiences i keep being blessed with every magnificent day. these stories, tall and short, beautiful and trivial, are abundant though they have been left untold on this screen. and i'm sorry for that, if there actually is anyone out there checking in and craving updated anecdotes. what can i say? come find me, i'm the one huddled in amongst the old men around a dimly-lit bar, drinking cheap beer and sharing dreams and memories and philosophies and quips.
it seems my life away from computers, coupled with my intense need to process my experiences through retelling, is turning me into a barstool storyteller of great repute! (seriously, i walked in the other day and was greeted by a chorus of "kaen" from the characters around the bar. all began asking of my day's adventures. it was wild. i felt like.. someone between "Norm" and Bukowski...)
giggle
shootin some darts with Jessica, talkin some shit. we get to talkin about Jack White (White Stripes, Raconteurs). i say "i'd fuck him." she says, "really?" i say, "if he was a twin, i'd fuck him TWICE!"
Friday, April 06, 2007
she said sigh
he says he has this property, a wild and ragged stretch of untamed beauty.
he says he'd like to take her camping there.
he says: "you'll be wild and cool and wonderful. you'll see things i'd forgotten.. it will be great! --you already do that."
she smiles, and melts a little...
he says he'd like to take her camping there.
he says: "you'll be wild and cool and wonderful. you'll see things i'd forgotten.. it will be great! --you already do that."
she smiles, and melts a little...
Wednesday, March 28, 2007
who needs green beer?
so on st. patrick's day, i heard talk of a parade. i heard this from murmuring lips as i was leaving my flat to go to work. my ears perked as my shoulders drooped: a parade! downtown! right in my fucking 'hood! and i have to go to stinkin work! what a fekkin drag, man. i love my job, but fuck man, i LOVE parades!! i sighed slightly and made my way to work...
flash forward to the next morning. though i had enjoyed a friend's birthday bash (happy st flick!) the night before, i had deliciously avoided the green-beer-hangover. hurrah! so when i was awakened by strange siren sounds coming from what seemed like my deck, it wasn't a nuisance but a mere point of lazy curiosity. it was that sound they make when they don't quite turn on the siren - that half-blurb of whoop. you know? i just shrugged, rolled over and started drifting back to sleep.
and then the bagpipes started.
i know people for whom waking up to bagpipes would be downright nightmarish. not so with me! i instantly bolted up, loudly exclaiming "no fucking way!!!" and raced to my gorgeous deck. below me stood hundreds of people waiting to start a parade. at my doorstep!! under my smiling gaze, the marching bands and stepdancers and irish wolfhounds and leprechauns unfurled in the throng-lined streets.
i felt like a queen, entertained by loving and loyal admirers. and i loved them right back.
flash forward to the next morning. though i had enjoyed a friend's birthday bash (happy st flick!) the night before, i had deliciously avoided the green-beer-hangover. hurrah! so when i was awakened by strange siren sounds coming from what seemed like my deck, it wasn't a nuisance but a mere point of lazy curiosity. it was that sound they make when they don't quite turn on the siren - that half-blurb of whoop. you know? i just shrugged, rolled over and started drifting back to sleep.
and then the bagpipes started.
i know people for whom waking up to bagpipes would be downright nightmarish. not so with me! i instantly bolted up, loudly exclaiming "no fucking way!!!" and raced to my gorgeous deck. below me stood hundreds of people waiting to start a parade. at my doorstep!! under my smiling gaze, the marching bands and stepdancers and irish wolfhounds and leprechauns unfurled in the throng-lined streets.
i felt like a queen, entertained by loving and loyal admirers. and i loved them right back.
Thursday, March 22, 2007
wonderful
wonderful
wonderful
busybusybusy
wonderful
i love my life.
(as soon as i get a chance, i have to tell you about the parade that unravelled right before my balcony! i felt like a fucking queen. whee!)
wonderful
wonderful
wonderful
wonderful
busybusybusy
wonderful
i love my life.
(as soon as i get a chance, i have to tell you about the parade that unravelled right before my balcony! i felt like a fucking queen. whee!)
wonderful
wonderful
wonderful
Saturday, March 10, 2007
flirting
he smiles slyly: "you like to flirt with danger, don't you?"
she laughs raucously: "flirt?? i fuck it! and then i don't give it my number in the morning..."
another loud and beautiful night in vancouver.
she laughs raucously: "flirt?? i fuck it! and then i don't give it my number in the morning..."
another loud and beautiful night in vancouver.
Tuesday, March 06, 2007
stumbling distance
i am LOVING my new home. deep in the city's guts, it is stumbling distance to everywhere i want to be.
stumbling distance to the pita pit where the other morning, sputtering through the haze of another-last-night's beer and tequila and champagne, i tripped into its too-bright lights and too-bright signs. i averted my eyes in pain and they fell upon the pierced, dreadheaded countergrrrl. "please, make me something," i pleaded gently, "i eat anything." she stared blankly for a second before stepping up to my challenge. "ok," she said, and went about making my mystery breakfast. grilled chicken and condiment choices i would not have made blended into a delicate, subtle taste explosion. clearly, she was a Mistress of the Pita, and i let her have her glorious way with me. thank you, Mistress.
stumbling distance to the megaplexotheatre where last night, riding a whim of sudden freedom, i met up with a friend for "Black Snake Moan" - a great movie with a lamentable ending. but a great movie and oh how i crave already to see again that scene, with Samuel L. Jackson singing some dirty bastard blues and Christina Ricci (alarmingly skinny but still sexy as ever) writhing among a mob of sweating smiles.
stumbling distance to some of the city's finest diner dining, where this morning i skipped through a sunny spring morning to sit at a weathered table and enjoy sweet sustenance while reading words like "Holy flowers floating in the air, were all these tired faces in the dawn of Jazz America." (yes, i'm *still* reading Kerouac - i've been busy dammit!!)
stumbling distance to that classic lounge where the dirty-haired hipsters muse and marvel. old school whiskey shack with sly-grinned servers and addictive characters, like the captain who inspired a fascinating fable and my wild-strawberry-and-swiss-alp-haired brit.
and where shall tomorrow's stumblings take me? i wonder, i wonder... la la la-la...
stumbling distance to the pita pit where the other morning, sputtering through the haze of another-last-night's beer and tequila and champagne, i tripped into its too-bright lights and too-bright signs. i averted my eyes in pain and they fell upon the pierced, dreadheaded countergrrrl. "please, make me something," i pleaded gently, "i eat anything." she stared blankly for a second before stepping up to my challenge. "ok," she said, and went about making my mystery breakfast. grilled chicken and condiment choices i would not have made blended into a delicate, subtle taste explosion. clearly, she was a Mistress of the Pita, and i let her have her glorious way with me. thank you, Mistress.
stumbling distance to the megaplexotheatre where last night, riding a whim of sudden freedom, i met up with a friend for "Black Snake Moan" - a great movie with a lamentable ending. but a great movie and oh how i crave already to see again that scene, with Samuel L. Jackson singing some dirty bastard blues and Christina Ricci (alarmingly skinny but still sexy as ever) writhing among a mob of sweating smiles.
stumbling distance to some of the city's finest diner dining, where this morning i skipped through a sunny spring morning to sit at a weathered table and enjoy sweet sustenance while reading words like "Holy flowers floating in the air, were all these tired faces in the dawn of Jazz America." (yes, i'm *still* reading Kerouac - i've been busy dammit!!)
stumbling distance to that classic lounge where the dirty-haired hipsters muse and marvel. old school whiskey shack with sly-grinned servers and addictive characters, like the captain who inspired a fascinating fable and my wild-strawberry-and-swiss-alp-haired brit.
and where shall tomorrow's stumblings take me? i wonder, i wonder... la la la-la...
Friday, February 23, 2007
oh what a world!
wouldn't it make a lovely headline:
"LIFE IS BEAUTIFUL"
on the new york times.
thank you to rufus wainwright for "Oh What a World" - a beautiful and joyful song that had me beaming through the hazy, thick-lidded morning. (and from whence come the lyrics above.)
and thank you to martin tielli and bjork for following on his heels, proving his point.
and thank you to my iPod's shuffle feature for knowing exactly what i wanted to hear.
and thank you to the bright-eyed, floppy-eared dog who greeted me on the sidewalk.
oh, what a world we live in.
: )
---
has it really already been a week? oh what stories and adventures! necking in dimly-lit, high-backed booths. rhubarb sugar. the secret shuffling of numbers. youtube binging with a fun, young yank. firm words with a dim-bulb-of-a-soon-to-blessedly-be ex-landlord. mystery valentines. deep and wonderful conversations and explorations. and art - oh art! if you haven't already (and especially if you like or love photography and/or theatre), please be sure to go to the vancouver art gallery for Herzog, and "Photography as Theatre." really interesting. wonderful. spectacular!
"LIFE IS BEAUTIFUL"
on the new york times.
thank you to rufus wainwright for "Oh What a World" - a beautiful and joyful song that had me beaming through the hazy, thick-lidded morning. (and from whence come the lyrics above.)
and thank you to martin tielli and bjork for following on his heels, proving his point.
and thank you to my iPod's shuffle feature for knowing exactly what i wanted to hear.
and thank you to the bright-eyed, floppy-eared dog who greeted me on the sidewalk.
oh, what a world we live in.
: )
---
has it really already been a week? oh what stories and adventures! necking in dimly-lit, high-backed booths. rhubarb sugar. the secret shuffling of numbers. youtube binging with a fun, young yank. firm words with a dim-bulb-of-a-soon-to-blessedly-be ex-landlord. mystery valentines. deep and wonderful conversations and explorations. and art - oh art! if you haven't already (and especially if you like or love photography and/or theatre), please be sure to go to the vancouver art gallery for Herzog, and "Photography as Theatre." really interesting. wonderful. spectacular!
Wednesday, February 14, 2007
happy valentine's day!!
oh ducklings, how are you on this soggy love day? i hope your hearts are shining and full of compassion and joy. with heraldic spread-winged voice, i call unto you to spread smiles, spread love. i just opened an inbox full of sweet love greetings from friends across the country, and my heart is swollen with warmth. thank you to all my lovelies, and angela: for you, i am making psychic angels all day, every day in that fluffy toronto snow! : )
so, in the two weeks since i last posted i have worked close to 150 hours in 3 different amazing and fulfilling jobs, moved into a home, been asked-not-too-subtly to leave for being a "partyer," found a newer better home right smack-dab in the throbbing heart of downtown (i'm so fucking excited, just a few more weeks!!) and.. well, stuff a lady doesn't talk about. grin.
it's been jam packed full of fruity goodness, and i want MORE MORE!!!
but how to find time to tell you of the panoply of smiles i've been dazzled with; coy, beaming, shy, lewd.. how to find time to tell you of the not-one-but-two! great short story collections i've begun working on. or the profoundly amazing and inspiring plays i saw at the PuSh festival.
how to find time to tell you about the sweet delicious moments that make each day sparkle? like how Burcu gave me that hat off her head - a gorgeous black velvet fedora. or how that sultry juno-chick watched me changing the set between acts, and thought i was hot! or the big bad machines that i must stop to contemplate every day, charting their progress with light delight. or that man this morning walking ahead of me, with the pink argyle socks and strange little hat.
how to find time to tell you about the big beautiful souls who keep crossing my path? like the former punk rock bass dude who works in the downtown east side. or the gothic devil man who has a tiny dog and a big kiss for me every time we meet. or how i'm reading kerouac's "on the road," and spending hours of my days literally on the road with a reincarnated dean moriarty (as he was in the beginning of the book, not the mad/sad/broken-down version of the last chapters.)
how to find the time when i am living away from computers, nestled in the breast of experience and human warmth?
shrug. i dunno. all i know is that right now, i must work. a small theatre company full of bright shiny souls is depending on me! (insert superhero theme music here)
so, in the two weeks since i last posted i have worked close to 150 hours in 3 different amazing and fulfilling jobs, moved into a home, been asked-not-too-subtly to leave for being a "partyer," found a newer better home right smack-dab in the throbbing heart of downtown (i'm so fucking excited, just a few more weeks!!) and.. well, stuff a lady doesn't talk about. grin.
it's been jam packed full of fruity goodness, and i want MORE MORE!!!
but how to find time to tell you of the panoply of smiles i've been dazzled with; coy, beaming, shy, lewd.. how to find time to tell you of the not-one-but-two! great short story collections i've begun working on. or the profoundly amazing and inspiring plays i saw at the PuSh festival.
how to find time to tell you about the sweet delicious moments that make each day sparkle? like how Burcu gave me that hat off her head - a gorgeous black velvet fedora. or how that sultry juno-chick watched me changing the set between acts, and thought i was hot! or the big bad machines that i must stop to contemplate every day, charting their progress with light delight. or that man this morning walking ahead of me, with the pink argyle socks and strange little hat.
how to find time to tell you about the big beautiful souls who keep crossing my path? like the former punk rock bass dude who works in the downtown east side. or the gothic devil man who has a tiny dog and a big kiss for me every time we meet. or how i'm reading kerouac's "on the road," and spending hours of my days literally on the road with a reincarnated dean moriarty (as he was in the beginning of the book, not the mad/sad/broken-down version of the last chapters.)
how to find the time when i am living away from computers, nestled in the breast of experience and human warmth?
shrug. i dunno. all i know is that right now, i must work. a small theatre company full of bright shiny souls is depending on me! (insert superhero theme music here)
Tuesday, January 30, 2007
larger than life
i've just read a great quote, by anais nin: "life expands or contracts according to risk taken."
if you've been following these past few weeks, you'll know i suffered a heartbreak.
and as tempted as i may be to beat myself up for ignoring the many (and tireless) voices of wisdom that urged me these last 2 years to walk - and sometimes, to RUN away, i won't. the spirit behind my tenacious infatuation with him was inspired by beauty and passion. and as ms nin points out, it is our ability to embrace challenges and take risks that make life worth living. sometimes, we really fuck up. but sometimes, whole new worlds unfurl before us and frankly, that's what it's all about...
and anyway, i'm the one who said a few years back, in my silly profile, that i'm "larger than life." shit, with the amount of risks i take, i sure wasn't kidding!
sigh
if you've been following these past few weeks, you'll know i suffered a heartbreak.
and as tempted as i may be to beat myself up for ignoring the many (and tireless) voices of wisdom that urged me these last 2 years to walk - and sometimes, to RUN away, i won't. the spirit behind my tenacious infatuation with him was inspired by beauty and passion. and as ms nin points out, it is our ability to embrace challenges and take risks that make life worth living. sometimes, we really fuck up. but sometimes, whole new worlds unfurl before us and frankly, that's what it's all about...
and anyway, i'm the one who said a few years back, in my silly profile, that i'm "larger than life." shit, with the amount of risks i take, i sure wasn't kidding!
sigh
Wednesday, January 24, 2007
thank you thank you thank you, life!
i know, i've fallen back into remission - a whole week without posting, after that orgy of words. but what a week; it was phenomenal!
so, when i left whatshisface back in august, i suddenly found myself back in vancouver and was amazed by how clearly the gods favoured my return. temporary homes lined up like obedient children, work bowed before me like an adoring servant. it was brilliant, and it was very clear to me that the gods wanted me in vancouver.
but did i listen? noooooo. i went running back to whatshisname for a final month of misery. luckily for me, my gods are generous gods, and they have paved my re-return home with platinum and daisies! (i was going to say gold and roses - more popular images of abundance - but platinum and daisies are my personal favourite precious metal and flower.)
i have found a great home in the heart of the very fabulous mount pleasant neighborhood - reputed for its funky little restaurants and shops and its overall dramatic (but not tragic) hipness!
i've found two great jobs! one for the pocketbook, one for the theatre girl who lives inside me, and both for the soul. one job is with a tiny and amazing non-profit organization populated with smiling friendly people out to change the world's vibrations, the other is with a funky little theatre company whose last play rocked my world. and in a couple of weeks, i'll be doing some stage managing with a crew of beloved friends - the old crew from the cultch days. ahhh!
during my interview yesterday, the fella asked me how long i'd been back. "two weeks," i replied. "wow," he whistled, "you don't waste your time." funnily, it's actually because i've wasted the last two years of my life, trapped in a pathetic limbo of lies, that i'm so energetic to get it all finally STARTED!!!
i'm feeling calm. happy. centred. awake. and also a bit fuzzy! (a bit warm and fuzzy, a bit bc pot good'n fuzzy!) and good. so so good.
thank you vancouver gods for giving me another chance!!
: ))))))))))))))))))))
so, when i left whatshisface back in august, i suddenly found myself back in vancouver and was amazed by how clearly the gods favoured my return. temporary homes lined up like obedient children, work bowed before me like an adoring servant. it was brilliant, and it was very clear to me that the gods wanted me in vancouver.
but did i listen? noooooo. i went running back to whatshisname for a final month of misery. luckily for me, my gods are generous gods, and they have paved my re-return home with platinum and daisies! (i was going to say gold and roses - more popular images of abundance - but platinum and daisies are my personal favourite precious metal and flower.)
i have found a great home in the heart of the very fabulous mount pleasant neighborhood - reputed for its funky little restaurants and shops and its overall dramatic (but not tragic) hipness!
i've found two great jobs! one for the pocketbook, one for the theatre girl who lives inside me, and both for the soul. one job is with a tiny and amazing non-profit organization populated with smiling friendly people out to change the world's vibrations, the other is with a funky little theatre company whose last play rocked my world. and in a couple of weeks, i'll be doing some stage managing with a crew of beloved friends - the old crew from the cultch days. ahhh!
during my interview yesterday, the fella asked me how long i'd been back. "two weeks," i replied. "wow," he whistled, "you don't waste your time." funnily, it's actually because i've wasted the last two years of my life, trapped in a pathetic limbo of lies, that i'm so energetic to get it all finally STARTED!!!
i'm feeling calm. happy. centred. awake. and also a bit fuzzy! (a bit warm and fuzzy, a bit bc pot good'n fuzzy!) and good. so so good.
thank you vancouver gods for giving me another chance!!
: ))))))))))))))))))))
Wednesday, January 17, 2007
breathless
i am exhausted!!
i've just duplicated, sorted, labelled and filed away every single blog post i've ever written. although i didn't take the time to read through every post formally, i skimmed them all. what i got was a snapshot of the last 2+ years. and holy shit: drama drama drama!
reading it, in one big chunk like that, was a lot more overwhelming than living it. though of course, some of those moments also felt pretty fucking overwhelming...
i remember when a new lover read my blog. he was really testy when i saw him that night, and he finally revealed it was cuz he'd read my blog. he'd found it exhausting, tiresome, repetitive. he criticized the endless cycles that i seemed doomed to repeat again and again. (and he didn't want to be one of the endless stream of fellas who broke my heart. which is admirable and understandable, but total bullshit considering he went on to say some of the meanest things anyone's ever said to me, and to push me around - figuratively and literally. so of course, he joined the ranks of assholes and heartbreakers.)
but anyway, i have to agree that in one sitting, it's pretty draining. man, i don't do things half way, do i? i should put that on my resume...
and in addition to the weight of all those words, i got to relive all that wasn't written about. i know what was happening in those silent months a year ago, between raving about love and leaving toronto. i know what bullshit i was sifting through when i was stuttering through the summer. so many words left unposted for fear of retalliation from lovers or strangers, coupled with a desperate desire to stop talking, writing or thinking about it all.
i took a real shit kicking this year. and yes, of course i'm responsible for some of that. i made some really stupid decisions. again and again and again. but the spirit behind those decisions is something about me that i cherish, though it fucks me up every time. passion, a belief in love, a desire for something meaningful with another human. those are nice things... (i just keep falling for mad poet geniuses or supervain actors or conflicted sculptors. damn: enough of these artists!! next person i love is going to be a fucking accountant!!)
so i will not judge myself too harshly. i'll just keep working on ways to embrace that passion, while finding ways to protect myself. you know, not make quite as many stooopid decisions...
for now, i get to breathe again. it's all finally over. no more "soon." no more "temporary." i'm in vancouver, i've found work, i'm looking for a home. i'm going to have plants and maybe even a fish. something that will be a token of my born-again domesticity. a home! a future! a career, a life! so much to look forward to!
for the first time in 2 years, i feel clear-headed. it's incredible how much energy i was spending just coping in the name of "love." but now, that energy gets to be MINE again! i have a focus that comes not from some "him," not from longing, not from heartbreak, not from "love." it comes from me - my resurrected, and my new ideas.
stand back, 2007: here i come.
i've just duplicated, sorted, labelled and filed away every single blog post i've ever written. although i didn't take the time to read through every post formally, i skimmed them all. what i got was a snapshot of the last 2+ years. and holy shit: drama drama drama!
reading it, in one big chunk like that, was a lot more overwhelming than living it. though of course, some of those moments also felt pretty fucking overwhelming...
i remember when a new lover read my blog. he was really testy when i saw him that night, and he finally revealed it was cuz he'd read my blog. he'd found it exhausting, tiresome, repetitive. he criticized the endless cycles that i seemed doomed to repeat again and again. (and he didn't want to be one of the endless stream of fellas who broke my heart. which is admirable and understandable, but total bullshit considering he went on to say some of the meanest things anyone's ever said to me, and to push me around - figuratively and literally. so of course, he joined the ranks of assholes and heartbreakers.)
but anyway, i have to agree that in one sitting, it's pretty draining. man, i don't do things half way, do i? i should put that on my resume...
and in addition to the weight of all those words, i got to relive all that wasn't written about. i know what was happening in those silent months a year ago, between raving about love and leaving toronto. i know what bullshit i was sifting through when i was stuttering through the summer. so many words left unposted for fear of retalliation from lovers or strangers, coupled with a desperate desire to stop talking, writing or thinking about it all.
i took a real shit kicking this year. and yes, of course i'm responsible for some of that. i made some really stupid decisions. again and again and again. but the spirit behind those decisions is something about me that i cherish, though it fucks me up every time. passion, a belief in love, a desire for something meaningful with another human. those are nice things... (i just keep falling for mad poet geniuses or supervain actors or conflicted sculptors. damn: enough of these artists!! next person i love is going to be a fucking accountant!!)
so i will not judge myself too harshly. i'll just keep working on ways to embrace that passion, while finding ways to protect myself. you know, not make quite as many stooopid decisions...
for now, i get to breathe again. it's all finally over. no more "soon." no more "temporary." i'm in vancouver, i've found work, i'm looking for a home. i'm going to have plants and maybe even a fish. something that will be a token of my born-again domesticity. a home! a future! a career, a life! so much to look forward to!
for the first time in 2 years, i feel clear-headed. it's incredible how much energy i was spending just coping in the name of "love." but now, that energy gets to be MINE again! i have a focus that comes not from some "him," not from longing, not from heartbreak, not from "love." it comes from me - my resurrected, and my new ideas.
stand back, 2007: here i come.
Friday, January 12, 2007
P-PuSh it real good
i've had a great couple of nights enjoying the fantabulous PuSh festival! i'd been hearing friends rave about it for years (when i was in toronto), and i gotta tell you, it is very much living up to its excellent reputation.
it's funny, because i was sad, leaving calgary, to be missing the High Performance Rodeo. (another festival of local and international theatre, music, dance, etc.) i'd looked over the program, and there were a number of shows i was interested in seeing. i was also sad that i would be missing the Old Trout Puppet Workshop's remounting of "Famous Puppet Death Scenes" at another calgary theatre, in february.
but lucky for me, the PuSh festival features some of the shows i'd been wanting to see at the Rodeo AND it also has the Old Trouts show. how very excellent!! so i don't feel i'm missing anything at all! (well, except for Pan Pan Theatre, the company from ireland whose director i'd met a few times before. it would've been great to share a pint or two with him again.) but otherwise, i think i even prefer PuSh.
it was interesting to compare the two festivals. in many ways, they're very similar. both are international, multidisciplinary, edgy. both feature more experimental-type performances. but the Rodeo is more... well... it's radical, like punk. but punk was 30 years ago... PuSh somehow seems a little more contemporary. hip. young. (i wonder if thats more a reflection on the audience, or the curators?)
for instance, last night i saw "Sonata for Violin and Turntables." it was an amazing musical performance by New York violinist Daniel Bernard Roumain (DBR) and DJ Scientific, and it blew my fucking mind. also noteworthy was that it was in the Chan Centre at UBC, a really beautiful theatre i'd only ever been to once before, for a friend's graduation. it was also nice to stroll the old grounds, a beautiful campus all dusty with snow. and to top it all off, i had killer seats - right beside the curator, so you know they're the best!! it was a perfect evening.
at the Rodeo, i would have seen Alejandro Escovedo, a very highly-reputed performer who's been perfecting his craft for 4
decades. i'm sure i would have loved Escovedo, but PuSh offered me a couple of young, urban hipsters doing something i'd never heard before. and it was SO good!! i wouldn't have traded last night for anything.
here's another example: i saw some of the PuSh opening night show, "Quizoola." in a 6-hour long performance, 3 british hipsters in clown makeup take turns asking each other questions (some scripted, some not), and answering them (not scripted). lit by naked lightbulbs. in a garage. it was really neat, with some truly deep and challenging moments, and some truly hilarious moments. and ok sure, a couple of boring ones too. but it was great, and again, it was something i'd never seen before. at the Rodeo, i would have seen awesome but aging porn star and performance artist Annie Sprinkle marry her lesbian lover. which is neat, and i'm sure was a hell of a party, but.. well, i think PuSh is just a little more up my alley.
that said, the Rodeo does have a way cooler graphic. i'm rather stunned, actually, that the PuSh festival is actually using the Old Trouts' image. couldn't they come up with their own?? it seems kind of lazy, actually. (shrug)
so anyway, i intend to enjoy the hell out of PuSh! as i told the curator last night, he's 2 for 2! if you're in vancouver, you should definitely check it out: http://pushfestival.ca *
_______
*for some reason, the hyperlink feature isn't available on this computer. must be an older OS or something.. sorry!
it's funny, because i was sad, leaving calgary, to be missing the High Performance Rodeo. (another festival of local and international theatre, music, dance, etc.) i'd looked over the program, and there were a number of shows i was interested in seeing. i was also sad that i would be missing the Old Trout Puppet Workshop's remounting of "Famous Puppet Death Scenes" at another calgary theatre, in february.
but lucky for me, the PuSh festival features some of the shows i'd been wanting to see at the Rodeo AND it also has the Old Trouts show. how very excellent!! so i don't feel i'm missing anything at all! (well, except for Pan Pan Theatre, the company from ireland whose director i'd met a few times before. it would've been great to share a pint or two with him again.) but otherwise, i think i even prefer PuSh.
it was interesting to compare the two festivals. in many ways, they're very similar. both are international, multidisciplinary, edgy. both feature more experimental-type performances. but the Rodeo is more... well... it's radical, like punk. but punk was 30 years ago... PuSh somehow seems a little more contemporary. hip. young. (i wonder if thats more a reflection on the audience, or the curators?)
for instance, last night i saw "Sonata for Violin and Turntables." it was an amazing musical performance by New York violinist Daniel Bernard Roumain (DBR) and DJ Scientific, and it blew my fucking mind. also noteworthy was that it was in the Chan Centre at UBC, a really beautiful theatre i'd only ever been to once before, for a friend's graduation. it was also nice to stroll the old grounds, a beautiful campus all dusty with snow. and to top it all off, i had killer seats - right beside the curator, so you know they're the best!! it was a perfect evening.
at the Rodeo, i would have seen Alejandro Escovedo, a very highly-reputed performer who's been perfecting his craft for 4
decades. i'm sure i would have loved Escovedo, but PuSh offered me a couple of young, urban hipsters doing something i'd never heard before. and it was SO good!! i wouldn't have traded last night for anything.
here's another example: i saw some of the PuSh opening night show, "Quizoola." in a 6-hour long performance, 3 british hipsters in clown makeup take turns asking each other questions (some scripted, some not), and answering them (not scripted). lit by naked lightbulbs. in a garage. it was really neat, with some truly deep and challenging moments, and some truly hilarious moments. and ok sure, a couple of boring ones too. but it was great, and again, it was something i'd never seen before. at the Rodeo, i would have seen awesome but aging porn star and performance artist Annie Sprinkle marry her lesbian lover. which is neat, and i'm sure was a hell of a party, but.. well, i think PuSh is just a little more up my alley.
that said, the Rodeo does have a way cooler graphic. i'm rather stunned, actually, that the PuSh festival is actually using the Old Trouts' image. couldn't they come up with their own?? it seems kind of lazy, actually. (shrug)
so anyway, i intend to enjoy the hell out of PuSh! as i told the curator last night, he's 2 for 2! if you're in vancouver, you should definitely check it out: http://pushfestival.ca *
_______
*for some reason, the hyperlink feature isn't available on this computer. must be an older OS or something.. sorry!
Thursday, January 11, 2007
dude, that is so not cool
ok, i've survived some bad pickup attempts before. like the time that fella tried to woo me with one word. what was it..? oh yea, he'd looked at me and grunted: "boyfriend?"
that was bad, but last night i met the new champion, and crowned him emperor of idiots.
i was at the opening gala for the PuSh festival, drinking and mingling and all in all having a very lovely evening. (even though it was in a cafeteria... who came up with that winning idea??)
at one point i moseyed over to talk to the fabulous DK, who was talking with a coupla guys. turns out i'd met one of them before - a tent supplier for the children's festival. then i met the other guy, who also does crew work. the two guys were leaving, but we had just enough time for new guy to mention some show coming up that he's working on, me to ask if he needs any crew, him to say yes, and me to give him my number. work, yay!
later that evening, i looked at my phone to ascertain exactly how late it had become, and how little sleep i was going to be getting. i was surprised to see that i'd missed 2 phone calls, and received 1 text message from a number i did not know.
guess who:
new guy.
he didn't leave a voice message, but that's ok; the text message was plenty. it read: "at the cat's meow would love to pet your kitty"
(aside for non vancouverites: the cat's meow is a restaurant/lounge on granville island, near the opening gala.)
wha...??? i mean shit man, we'd spoken for perhaps one minute. and it had been entirely about work! there had been no flirting. hell, there hadn't even been any real chitchat or friendliness. just an explanation of the work, and the dictation of contact digits.
pretty impressive, hunh? oh wait, it gets better: he's married. at least this one wore a ring. man, i have a knack for attracting the real winners, eh.
so there you have it, the new "all-time worst pick-up line i've ever be subjected to."
(shakin my head)
that was bad, but last night i met the new champion, and crowned him emperor of idiots.
i was at the opening gala for the PuSh festival, drinking and mingling and all in all having a very lovely evening. (even though it was in a cafeteria... who came up with that winning idea??)
at one point i moseyed over to talk to the fabulous DK, who was talking with a coupla guys. turns out i'd met one of them before - a tent supplier for the children's festival. then i met the other guy, who also does crew work. the two guys were leaving, but we had just enough time for new guy to mention some show coming up that he's working on, me to ask if he needs any crew, him to say yes, and me to give him my number. work, yay!
later that evening, i looked at my phone to ascertain exactly how late it had become, and how little sleep i was going to be getting. i was surprised to see that i'd missed 2 phone calls, and received 1 text message from a number i did not know.
guess who:
new guy.
he didn't leave a voice message, but that's ok; the text message was plenty. it read: "at the cat's meow would love to pet your kitty"
(aside for non vancouverites: the cat's meow is a restaurant/lounge on granville island, near the opening gala.)
wha...??? i mean shit man, we'd spoken for perhaps one minute. and it had been entirely about work! there had been no flirting. hell, there hadn't even been any real chitchat or friendliness. just an explanation of the work, and the dictation of contact digits.
pretty impressive, hunh? oh wait, it gets better: he's married. at least this one wore a ring. man, i have a knack for attracting the real winners, eh.
so there you have it, the new "all-time worst pick-up line i've ever be subjected to."
(shakin my head)
Tuesday, January 09, 2007
Sunparlour Players, revisited
i'm listening to an album, the recorded effort of the Sunparlour Players (the band i raved about in this post: http://like_you_care.blogspot.com/2006/04/sunparlour-players.html ) and wow - being catapulted into smiles i despaired i'd forgotten. oh, how all-consuming can heartbreak seem... but tonight, it is the musical bliss that is all-consuming.
smoking a stress-soaked cigarette, smelling the born-again air, grinning madly, stomping a wild foot.. oh the sunparlour
players!!! i love it i love it i love it!!
and yet.. their album is good. it has all the energy and musicality and vigour i love in them. and yet... it lacks that mad onslaught of cacaphonous glee! i can't taste that charge in the air, smell the sweat on the necks of head-bobbing throngs, feel the kick drums through my bones. i think the real problem is that i'm longing to see them perform again.
and it's not just a desire to see them. it's a low deep rumbling. i felt it the other night, when i was hanging out with that young hottie, the perceptive james dean type... he saw it. he asked, and i ask myself: is toronto truly calling?
a part of me feels i left it prematurely...
shrug
who knows what's to become of me.
smoking a stress-soaked cigarette, smelling the born-again air, grinning madly, stomping a wild foot.. oh the sunparlour
players!!! i love it i love it i love it!!
and yet.. their album is good. it has all the energy and musicality and vigour i love in them. and yet... it lacks that mad onslaught of cacaphonous glee! i can't taste that charge in the air, smell the sweat on the necks of head-bobbing throngs, feel the kick drums through my bones. i think the real problem is that i'm longing to see them perform again.
and it's not just a desire to see them. it's a low deep rumbling. i felt it the other night, when i was hanging out with that young hottie, the perceptive james dean type... he saw it. he asked, and i ask myself: is toronto truly calling?
a part of me feels i left it prematurely...
shrug
who knows what's to become of me.
james dean
okay, okay: time for a little frivolity, for fuck's sakes!
grin
___
i'm a girl who likes crushes. i find them invigorating, stimulating, fun and healthy. and generally, they happen at work - so they're also a great way to find a few giggles in an otherwise long day...
for the longest time, i had fairly unwaivering standards to my crush-recipients. they were generally either uninterested or otherwise involved (and actually faithful, so being otherwise involved actually meant something). the benefit to this was that i could engage rather freely in unabashed flirtation without any fear of consequence. it was always playful, never with expectation or weirdness. just good, clean, light fun.
well this year, in my many crushes, i strayed from my standards twice. both times, i was seriously affected. blushing, diverted eyes, shuffling feet, tongue-tied - the whole bit. once was in may, a fellow crew member during kids fest. the other was this past month, a bartender at the restaurant i was working in.
now.. what's particularly fascinating about these two fellas, other than their ability to render me useless in their presence, were their similarities. they both have this great, thick, messy blonde hair (for some reason, i haven't dated nearly as many blondes as i have brunettes).
and they were both Young. i joked in may of exploring my inner cougar, but the basic idea was that it would help keep the flirtations light, as per code. well, it was the idea anyway, until they opened their gorgeous mouths and became so damned interesting!! kids these days, i tell ya... anyway, the may hottie was 19, the december one, 23. i just turned 33. it was quite shocking to me! most especially because, since i first discovered lust in my early teens, i've mostly dated guys who were way too old for me - as most recently demonstrated by my 49 year-old lover.
the exceptional crushes were also both very... well... shy. quiet. and... oh, i don't know... they had this uncomfortable and yet superior nonchalance about them. a way of standing, looking, being that was just.. very cool. if i had to sum it up in two words, i'd say: "james dean."
and so it seems i've developed a bit of a james dean fetish! i dunno, but i find this interesting. i mean, there is a strong possibility that a big part of what i found attractive was just how opposite they were to my aged, dark-haired, loud-mouthed, socialite lover.
or maybe i'm rediscovering a long-forgotten, full-on james dean fetish. see, i was pondering all this the other day, when i suddenly remembered a poem i'd written when i was around 14, about james dean. oh man, i wish i had it with me, i'd transcribe it for you! (it's currently in storage, where all my shit's been living in cold loneliness since march.) i'm sure it's terrible, but very earnest and passionate! perhaps i'll try to remember to share it, when i'm some day reunited with my estranged life... i'm sure it would give you all a good shudder/giggle!
but for now, i'm just ponderin... i dunno, maybe i've just come full-circle. maybe it's time for me to be 14 again...
GASP! e-fucking-gads, i hope not!!!
but dreams
of being kissed by james dean
make lonely nights so much funner!
grin
___
i'm a girl who likes crushes. i find them invigorating, stimulating, fun and healthy. and generally, they happen at work - so they're also a great way to find a few giggles in an otherwise long day...
for the longest time, i had fairly unwaivering standards to my crush-recipients. they were generally either uninterested or otherwise involved (and actually faithful, so being otherwise involved actually meant something). the benefit to this was that i could engage rather freely in unabashed flirtation without any fear of consequence. it was always playful, never with expectation or weirdness. just good, clean, light fun.
well this year, in my many crushes, i strayed from my standards twice. both times, i was seriously affected. blushing, diverted eyes, shuffling feet, tongue-tied - the whole bit. once was in may, a fellow crew member during kids fest. the other was this past month, a bartender at the restaurant i was working in.
now.. what's particularly fascinating about these two fellas, other than their ability to render me useless in their presence, were their similarities. they both have this great, thick, messy blonde hair (for some reason, i haven't dated nearly as many blondes as i have brunettes).
and they were both Young. i joked in may of exploring my inner cougar, but the basic idea was that it would help keep the flirtations light, as per code. well, it was the idea anyway, until they opened their gorgeous mouths and became so damned interesting!! kids these days, i tell ya... anyway, the may hottie was 19, the december one, 23. i just turned 33. it was quite shocking to me! most especially because, since i first discovered lust in my early teens, i've mostly dated guys who were way too old for me - as most recently demonstrated by my 49 year-old lover.
the exceptional crushes were also both very... well... shy. quiet. and... oh, i don't know... they had this uncomfortable and yet superior nonchalance about them. a way of standing, looking, being that was just.. very cool. if i had to sum it up in two words, i'd say: "james dean."
and so it seems i've developed a bit of a james dean fetish! i dunno, but i find this interesting. i mean, there is a strong possibility that a big part of what i found attractive was just how opposite they were to my aged, dark-haired, loud-mouthed, socialite lover.
or maybe i'm rediscovering a long-forgotten, full-on james dean fetish. see, i was pondering all this the other day, when i suddenly remembered a poem i'd written when i was around 14, about james dean. oh man, i wish i had it with me, i'd transcribe it for you! (it's currently in storage, where all my shit's been living in cold loneliness since march.) i'm sure it's terrible, but very earnest and passionate! perhaps i'll try to remember to share it, when i'm some day reunited with my estranged life... i'm sure it would give you all a good shudder/giggle!
but for now, i'm just ponderin... i dunno, maybe i've just come full-circle. maybe it's time for me to be 14 again...
GASP! e-fucking-gads, i hope not!!!
but dreams
of being kissed by james dean
make lonely nights so much funner!
Tuesday, January 02, 2007
shhh...
i spew
vitriole
and venom
on everyone
i bury
hurt
with violence
i channel
everestian self-loathing
into armageddian rage
i'm feeling sorry for myself. there is no love. there is no beauty. i hate myself and everything. i hate i hate i hate i hate i hate i hate.
shhh... the brain is whispering again:
"shit sister, you need a reality check. you have friends, family, food, shelter. you're healthy, smart, resourceful. and you're feeling sorry for yourself because you have a broken heart. ok, it hurts and i'm sorry for that. but a heart broken by someone whose oldest friends gently warned was selfish and immature.. a heart broken by someone who didn't know how not to lie and hurt all the women who loved him.. a heart broken by one like this is something you'll get over. you'll survive it, and you'll survive it more easily than you could ever believe right now.
"but this hatred? it will consume you, rob you of all the things that make you beautiful, like compassion and a lust for life. it will make you ugly, unable to see all the beauty and power and mystery in the world. it will rob you of your ability to feel, and offer love. so shut the fuck up and get your shit together and lighten the fuck up. there's more important and interesting shit in the world."
my brain..
she's so smart.
vitriole
and venom
on everyone
i bury
hurt
with violence
i channel
everestian self-loathing
into armageddian rage
i'm feeling sorry for myself. there is no love. there is no beauty. i hate myself and everything. i hate i hate i hate i hate i hate i hate.
shhh... the brain is whispering again:
"shit sister, you need a reality check. you have friends, family, food, shelter. you're healthy, smart, resourceful. and you're feeling sorry for yourself because you have a broken heart. ok, it hurts and i'm sorry for that. but a heart broken by someone whose oldest friends gently warned was selfish and immature.. a heart broken by someone who didn't know how not to lie and hurt all the women who loved him.. a heart broken by one like this is something you'll get over. you'll survive it, and you'll survive it more easily than you could ever believe right now.
"but this hatred? it will consume you, rob you of all the things that make you beautiful, like compassion and a lust for life. it will make you ugly, unable to see all the beauty and power and mystery in the world. it will rob you of your ability to feel, and offer love. so shut the fuck up and get your shit together and lighten the fuck up. there's more important and interesting shit in the world."
my brain..
she's so smart.
the last noel
this year i've really done it. at the age of 32 (almost 33!), i have stopped believing in santa claus.
the man in red, the son of someone's god, the pc alternative nomenclature de choix, the 25th of december: i'm done with it all. after years of playing the pro side, i'm now a con. no - i'm not the con: xmas is the con. a delusion we feed our kids so they can be miserable when they grow up.
well no more, i say! i'm through defending a fat man in a red suit that flies animals that frankly, taste a little gamey to my delicate palate. i'm done giddily counting down the days to inevitable disappointment. i'm finished with those bright beautiful packages, torn open with bared claws. the gifts may be perfect and generous and joyful, the turkey may be moist and the gravy divine, but it doesn't matter. nothing can save this day. we crowd together under a veil of bright bohemian ideals, but none can escape that weight in the air, thick as back alley urine.
no more dying tree shedding pine tears all over the living room. no more bright and fucksmiled carols. no more sitting around family tables, overstuffed and oppressed. no more twinkling lights. no more stupid grins on inflated snowmen. no more, i say.
oh, and bah humbug.
the man in red, the son of someone's god, the pc alternative nomenclature de choix, the 25th of december: i'm done with it all. after years of playing the pro side, i'm now a con. no - i'm not the con: xmas is the con. a delusion we feed our kids so they can be miserable when they grow up.
well no more, i say! i'm through defending a fat man in a red suit that flies animals that frankly, taste a little gamey to my delicate palate. i'm done giddily counting down the days to inevitable disappointment. i'm finished with those bright beautiful packages, torn open with bared claws. the gifts may be perfect and generous and joyful, the turkey may be moist and the gravy divine, but it doesn't matter. nothing can save this day. we crowd together under a veil of bright bohemian ideals, but none can escape that weight in the air, thick as back alley urine.
no more dying tree shedding pine tears all over the living room. no more bright and fucksmiled carols. no more sitting around family tables, overstuffed and oppressed. no more twinkling lights. no more stupid grins on inflated snowmen. no more, i say.
oh, and bah humbug.
Monday, January 01, 2007
live by the fire...
how nice, to be sitting with a fresh computer in your hands, gazing at a new-dollar-bill dawn, contemplating the greater things in life. pondering interesting and amazing things! like how differently people, or even the same person at different times of his/her life, can measure time. how they can all live their different schedules. take, for instance, how one schedules one's leisure time.
for many people, work happens consistently from roughly 8-9 am to 4-5 pm, always on monday through friday. always has been, always will be. for this breed, the work week ends with.. well.. weekends. that's when they get to immerse themselves in a range of stimulating activities, from family fun at science world to 3am martinis with friends.
for people working on a theatrical production, mondays are the fabulous woohoo days - only they call them "dark". it's a great day to get some laundry done, call your agent, surf youtube. it's also your one chance to stay up all night drinking red wine and waxing philosophical about who the fuck knows - or remembers. well, it's your one chance to do it without it hurting too much the next day. it's hard, you know, to be great when you're bloated and belching up last night's bourbon.
some people's schedules are directed by weather or season, some by contract opportunities.. there is a wealth of unique rhythms.
well, i'm currently working in a restaurant near the saddledome. you know, down over there, in the red mile. (do i even have any calgarian readers? does anyone else know what the red mile means? well if you have no idea, and hey, why would you, the calgary flames are a hockey team that dazzles fans in an arena called the saddledome. and as far as i understand, the red mile is the part of the trendy 17th ave that juts out from said saddledome.)
so these days, i have to consult a hockey team's game schedule when determining the activities that will enhance my leisure time. it is a pele mele pattern, a constellation of home vs road games. it is complex and it is based, i think, on the language of dolphins. and it's my life.
so... i guess that means i'm "living by the Flames?"
for many people, work happens consistently from roughly 8-9 am to 4-5 pm, always on monday through friday. always has been, always will be. for this breed, the work week ends with.. well.. weekends. that's when they get to immerse themselves in a range of stimulating activities, from family fun at science world to 3am martinis with friends.
for people working on a theatrical production, mondays are the fabulous woohoo days - only they call them "dark". it's a great day to get some laundry done, call your agent, surf youtube. it's also your one chance to stay up all night drinking red wine and waxing philosophical about who the fuck knows - or remembers. well, it's your one chance to do it without it hurting too much the next day. it's hard, you know, to be great when you're bloated and belching up last night's bourbon.
some people's schedules are directed by weather or season, some by contract opportunities.. there is a wealth of unique rhythms.
well, i'm currently working in a restaurant near the saddledome. you know, down over there, in the red mile. (do i even have any calgarian readers? does anyone else know what the red mile means? well if you have no idea, and hey, why would you, the calgary flames are a hockey team that dazzles fans in an arena called the saddledome. and as far as i understand, the red mile is the part of the trendy 17th ave that juts out from said saddledome.)
so these days, i have to consult a hockey team's game schedule when determining the activities that will enhance my leisure time. it is a pele mele pattern, a constellation of home vs road games. it is complex and it is based, i think, on the language of dolphins. and it's my life.
so... i guess that means i'm "living by the Flames?"
resolutions
it's that time of year when we western types like to take stock of all we've accomplished and blown in the last solar cycle. and then we like to make decisions designed to improve our state and lot. some people call it a crock, a cliched delusion. a lie we tell ourselves so we can feel like we're doing something productive with our sad little lives. like there's a chance we'll get our shit together. i don't know, perhaps it is a delusion. but it's also a ritual, and you know how i love ritual. and new year's can be a very intense and powerful time for a ritual reassessment. (it also doesn't hurt that i've just had one of those life-altering experiences that beg for a shift in perspective.) and so... i have some new year's resolutions.
i'm gonna wash that rage right out of my hair
i have been drowning in a consumptive rage for over a year now. sparked by a series of unfortunate lovers, fanned by a neglectful soul, it has become an inferno. i want to stop hating the world: strangers, friends, myself. i want to love, not scorn. i want to be consumed with compassion and warmth, not spite and ugliness. but i don't know how to do that. i have some ideas, like less booze. i am bruised and bleeding, beaten senseless by my crutch. but sobriety isn't the whole solution. booze is one of the symptoms, but it's not the illness. i've spent a fistful of grey hairs self-analyzing, and it's brought me some understanding. but i don't know what to do with it. i need strategies. i need external wisdom. i need help. i need a therapist. or a teacher. or guru? i'm feeling alarmingly wide open to spiritual guidance, for the first time in over 10 years.
willing more word's worth
less wallowing, more writing. i already have a handful of ideas for my next project. new ideas, and ideas i had abandoned in the fog of love. after two stunted years, i will be writing about something other than him and us. and i'm sure it means that for the first time in two stunted years, i will be able to complete something.
retirement
for my whole little life, my heart and her flaming emotions have been telling me what to do. well you know what? she's a fucking bully! and like most bullies - she's not that smart. it's time to retire my heart and see if my brain can do any better. imagine the possibility: making decisions based on rationality, not emotion! my first step toward that ideal was my decision not to disappear in a haze of melodrama. oh the heart's hurricane - a spoiled infant thrashing and gnashing in the grocer's aisles. when he broke up with me, the banshee bellowed: go home, go now, go go go curl up in your friends' laps!! run, don't walk!!! but then, right there underneath it all, i could feel this frequency. a slow, steady, throbbing hum: "shhh. breathe. now then kaen," my brain whispered, "it's going to be a busy week at work. and you have no idea what the fuck you're going to do for home, work, life... who knows where your next income will be coming from! wouldn't it be nice to go home with a bit of money in your pocket?" and for the first time in the history of my decision-making, my brain won.
finding true love
ok, so even though i'm submitting myself to the brain's dominion, i can't totally ignore my heart. pretending she doesn't exist is as stupid as crowning her queen. i'm heartbroken, and i have to feel that. let it wash through me. (the operative word being through.) and i have low moments when i wish to never again to be lured into this mortifying coil we call love and relationships. but come on - you know
my mantra: love is a fairy tale for fools and dreamers, and i just happen to be both. i have a deep hunger, a hollowness that has spread since i first learned to cry; i don't think i'll ever be able to give up on dreams of romantic love. but i need a respite. i need to learn how to direct all the energy i waste on love and sex, toward friends and family and myself instead. and maybe, just maybe i'll realize the companionship and love i seek already exist. well, of course i already know: my friends and family love me. they know me, they accept me, they understand me. i know this, i first discovered this a few years ago (and even recorded my epiphany in this post: http://like_you_care.blogspot.com/2005/01/friends.html). but then i got lured into lust, and then i became consumed by love. and i forgot. but now that i'm listening, my brain is reminding me to be fulfilled by all i have. i was deeply hurt when my last lover would take me for granted. and yet is that not exactly what i do with my friends: abandon them for months or years, only to return broken and frail to their nurturing arms. i need to tilt the viewfinder, redirect my gaze. i need to spend some time falling in love with my friends. and myself.
i'm gonna wash that rage right out of my hair
i have been drowning in a consumptive rage for over a year now. sparked by a series of unfortunate lovers, fanned by a neglectful soul, it has become an inferno. i want to stop hating the world: strangers, friends, myself. i want to love, not scorn. i want to be consumed with compassion and warmth, not spite and ugliness. but i don't know how to do that. i have some ideas, like less booze. i am bruised and bleeding, beaten senseless by my crutch. but sobriety isn't the whole solution. booze is one of the symptoms, but it's not the illness. i've spent a fistful of grey hairs self-analyzing, and it's brought me some understanding. but i don't know what to do with it. i need strategies. i need external wisdom. i need help. i need a therapist. or a teacher. or guru? i'm feeling alarmingly wide open to spiritual guidance, for the first time in over 10 years.
willing more word's worth
less wallowing, more writing. i already have a handful of ideas for my next project. new ideas, and ideas i had abandoned in the fog of love. after two stunted years, i will be writing about something other than him and us. and i'm sure it means that for the first time in two stunted years, i will be able to complete something.
retirement
for my whole little life, my heart and her flaming emotions have been telling me what to do. well you know what? she's a fucking bully! and like most bullies - she's not that smart. it's time to retire my heart and see if my brain can do any better. imagine the possibility: making decisions based on rationality, not emotion! my first step toward that ideal was my decision not to disappear in a haze of melodrama. oh the heart's hurricane - a spoiled infant thrashing and gnashing in the grocer's aisles. when he broke up with me, the banshee bellowed: go home, go now, go go go curl up in your friends' laps!! run, don't walk!!! but then, right there underneath it all, i could feel this frequency. a slow, steady, throbbing hum: "shhh. breathe. now then kaen," my brain whispered, "it's going to be a busy week at work. and you have no idea what the fuck you're going to do for home, work, life... who knows where your next income will be coming from! wouldn't it be nice to go home with a bit of money in your pocket?" and for the first time in the history of my decision-making, my brain won.
finding true love
ok, so even though i'm submitting myself to the brain's dominion, i can't totally ignore my heart. pretending she doesn't exist is as stupid as crowning her queen. i'm heartbroken, and i have to feel that. let it wash through me. (the operative word being through.) and i have low moments when i wish to never again to be lured into this mortifying coil we call love and relationships. but come on - you know
my mantra: love is a fairy tale for fools and dreamers, and i just happen to be both. i have a deep hunger, a hollowness that has spread since i first learned to cry; i don't think i'll ever be able to give up on dreams of romantic love. but i need a respite. i need to learn how to direct all the energy i waste on love and sex, toward friends and family and myself instead. and maybe, just maybe i'll realize the companionship and love i seek already exist. well, of course i already know: my friends and family love me. they know me, they accept me, they understand me. i know this, i first discovered this a few years ago (and even recorded my epiphany in this post: http://like_you_care.blogspot.com/2005/01/friends.html). but then i got lured into lust, and then i became consumed by love. and i forgot. but now that i'm listening, my brain is reminding me to be fulfilled by all i have. i was deeply hurt when my last lover would take me for granted. and yet is that not exactly what i do with my friends: abandon them for months or years, only to return broken and frail to their nurturing arms. i need to tilt the viewfinder, redirect my gaze. i need to spend some time falling in love with my friends. and myself.
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