what is this intimacy thing?

i was riding into work this morning, breathing in the smells of summer: trees, earth, rotting garbage and smog. mmm, summer in the city (back of my neck getting dirt and gritty). and i spent the time musing on intimacy.

i was recently talking with someone who read my astrological chart, and i wondered if it was a sort of cheating, like "instant kaen." not that the chart was oh so revelatory, but when he read the qualities out to me, i either agreed or disagreed. and i wondered if we weren't maybe creating a false intimacy?

but no, i don't think so... let's say he was paying attention to what qualities i identified with: yes i'm passionate, no i'm not obsessed with success and so on. fact of it is, that would only tell him who i think i am.

i think friends or lovers only know each other - achieve intimacy- when the friend or lover truly discovers not only how i see myself, and not even how i want to be seen (though these are insights the lover and close friend alone are offered. well.. and blog readers.) the keen friend or lover will see also how i really am, the depth of my unknowable soul.

although... i guess people fake that knowledge all the time, by focusing on stuff like how we want to be seen rather than who we really are. they stroke the ego with platitudes that we've created for their abuse. so perhaps false intimacy is indeed possible after all. perhaps even rampant.
but anyway, that's not the case or point there so let's just... leave it at that. (shrug)
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flemish fantabulousness

beautiful.
beautifulbeautifulbeautifulbeautifulbeautifulbeautifulbeautiful
beautifulbeautifulbeautifulbeautifulbeautifulbeautifulbeautiful.
if i wrote it a hundred - a hundred thousand times - it would still be a word, a pathetic two-dimensional hiccup attempting to capture the most incredible and profoundly impacting theatre i've ever experienced.

so i went to montreal last week for the festival de théâtre des amériques, and saw La Chambre d'Isabella, written and directed by Jan Lauwers of Brussels' Needcompany. i'd never seen anything like it. i've sinced learned that it's part of what the kids are calling "the belgian aesthetic" which among other things incorporates a lot of movement - and a very particular kind of movement - into theatre: i.e. movement theatre. if you don't know what movement theatre is, it basically incorporates... well... movement into.. you know, theatre. it also happens to be the kind of theatre i've been writing.

as i jumped to my feet after the show, hands flapping furiously, the slow steady stream of tears started. blocks away from the theatre, they slid still, and my heart raced and my body vibrated. it wasn't sad - it was just so beautiful...

but it was also more than that. it was new and powerful and inspiring and overwhelming. days later, i'm still not entirely sure why i cried. oh sure, the story is sad and beautiful and that inevitably played its part on my heart. but the sensations that coursed through me ran deeper.

maybe i'd felt my brain grow and knowing i was changed, mourned for the child, an infant in the world of movement theatre, who was no more. or maybe i felt challenged, supercharged with a deep desire to create something so exquisite. or maybe i cried because a few nights earlier, i'd met the company. after a flirty, giggly stumble back to the hotel, Jan suavely tried to turn a chaste kiss on the cheek into a lusty smooch and after seeing his show, i really wished i had kissed him...

whatever it was, i was deeply moved and look forward to seeing more of their work.
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rush hour transit

i love how fighting your way to the back of a rush hour streetcar can feel like victory. like reaching the end of a strenuous, deeply important pilgrimage.

you know, when everyone jams themselves into the first half of the streetcar, completely ignoring the back where they're serving margaritas and telling dirty jokes.

of course, i know why they do it.

they do it because they're so sensually neglected. too untouched. and now that they've outgrown discos and hot tubs, it's the only chance they get to press up against strange flesh, to commune with unknown auras...
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oh, roar a bore! yea, liz.

what a weekend! all together now, let's heave out a lusty grunt in honour of my fabulous weekend. doesn't that feel nice?

the weekend included friends new, newish and old and lots and lots of talking shit which is _____? that's right kids, kaen's favouritest activity in the wholest widest world. although i do have to say the weekend featured a smidge more turning-down than i'm comfortable with. though i do know that of the two parties in such situations, i'm the one coming out ahead, it still fucking bites. the worst is when it's with a friend. i can't tell you though how many male friends i've lost once they've crossed that bold threshold into telling me they want to fuck me. that's generally the point at which my friendship becomes absolutely expendable, useless in the midst of all that potential fucking.

well hey fellas, here's a clue: if you're my friend, and we've hung out - perhaps even gotten drunk together - and i haven't kissed or fucked you, then i probably won't. i'm a fuck-on-the-first-date kinda gal...

anyway, enough about all that silliness.

saturday wins the highlight of the weekend. standing on mondo's rooftop patio, chain smoking and meeting fellow lung-polluters, i was standing with new friends when one breathed out an exclamation. we all turned our gaze upward and were blessed - spoiled really - to have front row seats to a rare performance of the northern lights. in toronto, one night only!! and oh, it was spectacular.

now i'll be less than romantic and say that having lived in whitehorse (yukon, a.k.a. "way the fuck up there" for our non-Canadian friends), i've seen some truly spectacular northern lights before, and these were not quite so glamorous. relegated to the light green hue, though, they made up for their monochromatic costume with an exuberant, energetic display of frivolity. i slid my arm in my new friend's arm and we gazed, awed, at the sky's show as the other two spoke in hushed tones of aliens and conspiracies. we were mesmerized, super-charged, reentering the party a lifetime later glowing with excitement, dazed by the unexpected gift. how fucking fabulous!
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cat parliament

so i visited our nation's glorious capital city this weekend, and oh what lovely fun it was. under a cloudless sky, i visited a new friend/old soul. and i took in some sites. well... one site. unless you count the market, purveyor of fine stinky cheese and sumptuous wine. well at least, that's what i bought there. but i don't count the market. so i visited one true-blue tourist site, and what a site it was.

ok wait - two if you count the parliament. but to be honest, the parliament was an unavoidable distraction, standing between my hotel and my true destination: cat parliament.

just outside the fence, around back of our fine parliamentary hen house is cat parliament. i'm not even kidding: we asked fellow strollers where it was, and they were like "oh, cat parliament! just keep going that way!" cat parliament is a small ramshackle lean-to made to look like the parliament (though to be honest, i failed to see any meaningful resemblance), and it's populated by a mess of stray cats and one weathered old man.

on this beautiful afternoon, surrounded by tourists and saturday strollers, i watched them watch. i was particularly stricken by the toddlers, wild with glee as they peered curiously. although on the outside, the cat and caretaker looked caged, and the onlookers gawked.

"look mom, a CAT!!!!!" the kids screamed.

and i wondered... is this what our morally-pure zooless culture has bred? children frenzied over stray cats and a bored old man?

bring on the freak show, they are ripe.

silly reminiscence

Alana was remembering her first job at a chinese buffet. on birthdays, she recalled, a handful of the waitresses (pardon me, servers) would head over to the dessert table and concoct some sweet monstrosity for the unfortunate celebrant.

she shakes her head at the memory, soft honeyed brown hair swishing on the waves of her laughter.

"you couldn't imagine some of the things we put in front of those poor people."

and for a second, my mind raced into a parallel universe, where some artist is drinking wine and celebrating the opening of a show: installation pieces of heaped masses of buffet desserts. it's a massive hit.

carpe omnia

i'm not a pothead!
...i only smoke pot on special occasions.

but see, i'm a loyal devotée of the school of carpe diem (or as the drunken poets society i spent afternoons with back in guelph oh so many years ago would say, "carpe omnia" - seize everything). as such, every day must be hailed as important, to be savoured and celebrated. even the quiet is celebrated. the boisterious, the new, the calm, the old - all cry out for love and i benevolently dote on them all.

i'm not a pothead.
i just celebrate a lot.

adieu ikea

wow, that title has a lot of vowels... right, let us begin. today's offering is a very silly, drunken rambling, scrawled just last night: mere hours ago!!

i was flipping through an ikea catalogue (not shopping but rather, making art - découpage, dahling.) and it suddenly occurred to me that they are no longer marketing to me. the first clue was the 5-page section on orthopedic beds. well… i didn’t read the literature to get their qualifications, but they sure looked healthy. like those beds from those commercials during Three’s Company, with the silvered lady and her polydent smile, holding a remote control that eased her into pleasing contortions.

but it appears that i am officially no longer the kind of folk ikea like to associate with. this is startling! i mean - who am i if not an ikea consumer?? while it’s true that i never graduated past ikea-neophyte status, with the odd plant or bookcase, and the occasionally enjoyed underpriced foodstuffs tenuously garanteeing my membership. but at least i was a part of it! sucked by its undertow to a place of belonging.

i saw it coming of course. it started back when they began focusing so much of their floorspace to the breeders. while still generationally simpatico, already i was beginning to be excluded from the dream of ikea. but the tea lights and chrome light fixtures kept me hoping, drawn in, drooling in the storefronts of their ready-made chic – as playful and contrived as “right out of bed” hair product.

but now i am a child alone, no ikea to fall back on, no storefront to call my home.

meh.
(she shrugs, laughs, takes another sip of beer.)

i love my neighborhood!

i love my neighborhood, for it gave me saturday: the jewel of my "weekend of the impromptu."

but first, a quick nod to an also splendid friday. after over a month's absence, i finally made it to that poetry gathering thing i've been known to frequent on friday nights. and i was even able to read some of my new poetry, which went over well, very excellent. afterwards, one of the fellers (lovely guy who introduced me to a beautiful free greenhouse/conservatory earlier this year) was having a party that i gleefully crashed (although, since he gleefully hosted me i guess it doesn't count as crashing!?) fun part of the night was discovering that nancy isn't married to michael after all, but to that other fella. in fact, michael's not married at all! michael's one of the poets i noticed with a raised eyebrow on my first night, but then dismissed after assuming he was married. well, the discovery was well worth some playful flirtation and a few giggly kisses. but alas, he is not only a poet, he is piscean. very very piscean. so not going there again.

and then saturday, ah saturday! i was supposed to attend a writers' symposium but when the alarm rang at 7:30 am, i was not feeling the love. after a good half hour of pro- and conning it, i curled back up and slept a few more gorgeous hours. waking up ravenous, i decided to ride up queen until i found a new greasy spoon to investigate. and oh, i picked a great one this time that i will definitely need to revisit. no urban hipsters in here, but filled instead with bukowskis and random sordid locals who added spice to the grease, bless 'em. got some great writing done too.

after that, i emerged back into the blazing sun and pondered my next steps. i'd done all the writing i needed to do on the play i'd brought with me, so i definitely needed to go home to gather other stuff if i was to keep writing. but then it occured to me that i didn't even have enough money to have *one* teensy wee beer that would allow me to sit on a patio and write, as my heart was wishing it could. so i shrugged sadly and decided to just go to the beer store, grab a bit of brain-soother, and head home to write. i know i know, indoors on the best day of the year (so far)? insane. i sighed, wishing i at least had a deck to work on...

and then, my prayers were answered! stuffing my beer into my bike's flowered basket, a couple of fellas said "hey, why don't you grab that bohemian and bring it over to '123 street' - we're having a bbq." no need to ask twice. i showed up to their surprise and delight and savoured beer and fun in the sun with bob (of the fabulous, deep, hearty laugh and excellent music collection: zappa, yay!), mike ("i'm not young - i'll be 30 next year!!" who loves to cook and spent most of the day preparing culinary treasures for us), abbey (who sadly didn't join us until later in the evening, having spent the day running running running around getting shit done) and "the dude" (who to my gulped surprise looks an awful lot like david thewlis underneath the scruff (old-time blog fans might remember my obsession with the actor), and who rolled a t-shaped joint that was truly a thing of awe and beauty to behold. i've never smoked anything like it!).

so yay to my neighborhood and hey, now you know: if you see me rambling about and feel the inspiration, why not ask me to join you? odds are i'll say yes. although, i guess i wasn't quite so open-hearted with the white-trash-suburban-homeboys who greeted me with a boisterious "how you doin, girl!" at the grocery store.
...not so much.

last week

i've been rotten, and i'm sorry. between living my typical rock star life and writing my little heart out on too many projects, new and old, both you and my scribble book have been sorely neglected.

(deal with it.)

so here are the few scratchy scribbles from my last night in the shop. there weren't many though: too much time spent talking shit with people i have already seen again, people i hope to see again, and people i will never see again.

***

her shoulders are squared and yet her torso is craning ever so subtly into him. they are having a passionate discussion that i can't hear over the guitars and crooning. but make no mistake: it is most certainly passionate. there are waves of animated voices, frenetically gesticulated hands, and eyes that have not swayed from each others' fey focus for 2 whole songs.
___

the table tonight is a mosaic: 50, Stella, Keiths, Carlsberg, Guiness.. they rub up against each other in a stained glass dance. sacred in their asymmetry, they mimic this gathered crowd of mismatched souls.
___

maybe what i love so much about the shop is its impermanence. these fleeting moments of loveliness that are gorgeous or fun, but only for that moment. there is nothing tangible, not even in the email or phone numbers i foist onto people who make hollow promises for tomorrows that will never happen. i even pointed that out tonight, talking to some fella i didn't even bother offering coordinates to: "well, i guess i'll never see you again!" "oh, sure you will," he enthused. i laughed gently, "no we won't, but whatever man - it was nice meeting you."

maybe i've just closed the curtains of my heart already. or maybe after tapping into some of that deep-down soul-connection stuff with people who do make things happen and can inspire or involve me, i'm bored with all this drunken banality that only i seem to find possibility in. floating from chair to bench, from conversation to conversation, i was discouraged by the superficiality of it all.

fare thee well, hollow talk and drunken fun. it appears i won't mourn you after all.