the tears came out of fucking nowhere, man.
we were sitting, enjoying a quiet sunday, a calm breeze. we were talking in semi-hushed tones, careful not to disrupt the intensely easy-going vibe. we were talking about.. oh, this. that. a bit of everything, a whole lot of nothing...
how did we lead into it? i can't remember. but i remember how the anecdote started. playfully waving my fist in the air, i decried Sean P---. "if i had minions, i would get them to do some serious damage to Sean P---." Sean went to grade school with me. ah yes, grade school: purveyor of all my happiest memories. (she stifles a shudder)
my friend laughed gently, wondering what Sean had done to me. first i gave the short answer, "oh you know, the standard grade school semi-torture..." and then i decided to flesh it out with an exemplary anecdote. i guess i'd never told this story before, not out loud.
anyway.
i was in grade 2. i had just gotten these death-locks, these bear-traps-in-training on my molars. the idea was these silver bands wrapped around my molars (top and bottom, one each side) and had a wee jagged bit (not unlike a thumbtack) that jutted out into the cheek, onto which you would hook elastic bands that would then straighten out the jaw. (as a side note, i love my semi-straight smile, but come on: orthodontists are sadistic fuckers.) anyway to be fair, the metal hooks that jutted out were not that big, but in a little girl's mouth, they were giant enough to wreak some serious havoc. anyone who's bitten their tongue or the inside of their cheek while chewing might be able to extrapolate...
to try to allieviate the damage being done by these metal rods that were incessantly tearing into my cheeks, i'd been given a box of wax strips. the idea was i would roll up a wad of wax, stick it onto the metal rod and round out the protrusion.
the bell rang, and i remember running across the field to get in lign. somewhere near the end of the field, Sean was waiting for me and with deadly precision, stuck out a leg and tripped me. did i say tripped? somehow that word doesn't do it justice. i caught air, man. as he laughed and jogged off to get in lign, i felt the air soar through my hair, felt my chubby little body land hard and fast, heard my little box of wax fly from my pocket and shatter on the ground, and watched in horror as the wax flew in all directions.
when i said caught air, my friend winced sympathetically for me. i kept on, but didn't make it to the end of the sentence. somewhere before the landing, i had to stop myself: "holy shit, i'm going to start crying, this is ridiculous." valiantly i breathed deep and plunged forth. my voice cracked. i tried a few more words, but tears came instead.
wow. i was blown away. here i thought i was telling my friend a silly little story of childhood malice. instead i found myself crying, remembering a pathetic little girl, pathetically wiping the dirt and grass off those fucking pieces of wax, terrified by the gruelling alternative of not having that fucking wax.
i was hoping in retelling it i could be a little stronger over something so small, so long ago. but jesus fuck, i am crying right now as i type.
Sean P---, know that there is someone in this world who will never forgive you.
Thursday, July 28, 2005
Wednesday, July 27, 2005
weekend pass to cottage country
it was friday evening and i was an urban virgin, embarking for my first time on the journey so many city folk take every weekend: fleeing to cottage country. i was off to whitestone lake, and could not be more thrilled. grinning and humming in the passenger seat, i was a tangle of giddy excitement and profound mellowness. ahhh, the weekend at last.
it was somewhere around barrie that i noticed the air had shed a few pounds. released from the shackles of humidity and smog, she danced naked and unfettered in my hair and lungs, and swam through my veins making me feel calm and luxurious. i gotta tell ya, there's nothing more exhilarating after a few weeks of intense heat than feeling the air's cool bite as you race topless (car, not me) through the countryside. as the sun fled to the other side of the world, i craned my neck to smile at a sky shimmering with stars.
finally we arrived and gathered on the beach to swill cool beer and swap ghost stories. the goosebumps charged over my flesh and Bruce made me yelp and jump with the ol' hand-on-the-other-shoulder trick. fucker. (giggle)
a night and morning of giggling in bed and our saturday began. i moved steadily but slowly, from the patio where we feasted on eggs florentine (how civilized!), to the chair under the tree, to the chair on the beach, to the raft on the water. and such water! not too cool, not too warm... had my fingers not been uber-pruned, i would never have left it!
then we got all energetic-like and rented a boat. a boat that would take us to cliffs ripe for jumping off of. i love riding in boats, and since i was knee high to a grasshopper, my favouritest thing, as the wind and spray whip through my hair, has always been to daydream about boys. being kissed, specifically. mmm, eyes closed i savoured each succulent thought.
as for the cliff diving, well.. i'm glad i did it. the best part was the anticipation. as i peeked over the edge to the water far below, i realized i'd never really done anything dare-devily before. lived in the downtown eastside? yep. put myself in precarious positions around the globe? you bet. but nothing like this. the anticipation was great, the soaring through the air was amazing, but the hitting the water... well, i could have done without that. but even the raging pain that seared through my freshly cleansed colon could not take away from the yay of it all.
saturday night we sank comfortably into some poker. but you know, as a side note from someone who doesn't watch tv, all i gotta say is: hey, there are more games out there than texas hold-em! christ. well - we had a great time anyway, recklessly gambling away all our little risk men until exhaustion carried us to another night and morning of giggling in bed.
sunday was mellow. the sky was gray (rain at last! hurray!), the souls were quiet, and i sat and listened to keane and mused and watched the water and wrote until hélas, at last, we donned our brave faces and made for the city...
so a giant thank you to Bruce for inviting me, and to Lindsay and Michael for hosting us and to the countryside for being so damned lovely. whee!
it was somewhere around barrie that i noticed the air had shed a few pounds. released from the shackles of humidity and smog, she danced naked and unfettered in my hair and lungs, and swam through my veins making me feel calm and luxurious. i gotta tell ya, there's nothing more exhilarating after a few weeks of intense heat than feeling the air's cool bite as you race topless (car, not me) through the countryside. as the sun fled to the other side of the world, i craned my neck to smile at a sky shimmering with stars.
finally we arrived and gathered on the beach to swill cool beer and swap ghost stories. the goosebumps charged over my flesh and Bruce made me yelp and jump with the ol' hand-on-the-other-shoulder trick. fucker. (giggle)
a night and morning of giggling in bed and our saturday began. i moved steadily but slowly, from the patio where we feasted on eggs florentine (how civilized!), to the chair under the tree, to the chair on the beach, to the raft on the water. and such water! not too cool, not too warm... had my fingers not been uber-pruned, i would never have left it!
then we got all energetic-like and rented a boat. a boat that would take us to cliffs ripe for jumping off of. i love riding in boats, and since i was knee high to a grasshopper, my favouritest thing, as the wind and spray whip through my hair, has always been to daydream about boys. being kissed, specifically. mmm, eyes closed i savoured each succulent thought.
as for the cliff diving, well.. i'm glad i did it. the best part was the anticipation. as i peeked over the edge to the water far below, i realized i'd never really done anything dare-devily before. lived in the downtown eastside? yep. put myself in precarious positions around the globe? you bet. but nothing like this. the anticipation was great, the soaring through the air was amazing, but the hitting the water... well, i could have done without that. but even the raging pain that seared through my freshly cleansed colon could not take away from the yay of it all.
saturday night we sank comfortably into some poker. but you know, as a side note from someone who doesn't watch tv, all i gotta say is: hey, there are more games out there than texas hold-em! christ. well - we had a great time anyway, recklessly gambling away all our little risk men until exhaustion carried us to another night and morning of giggling in bed.
sunday was mellow. the sky was gray (rain at last! hurray!), the souls were quiet, and i sat and listened to keane and mused and watched the water and wrote until hélas, at last, we donned our brave faces and made for the city...
so a giant thank you to Bruce for inviting me, and to Lindsay and Michael for hosting us and to the countryside for being so damned lovely. whee!
Friday, July 22, 2005
break on through
so they're doing this promo thing on the radio, one of those classic rock odes to the doors. it's quite good, actually - cleverly written and aimed at my generation. that doesn't happen super often, wedged as i am between gen x and gen why. (ah, labels.)
but all the song snippets they're highlighting their fan-o-rific words with are the pap - sorry, i mean pop hits. they don't even skim through any of the really good ones, like crystal ship or ghost song.
i mean, don't get me wrong, light my fire's a good song and for a good part of my adolescence, also what i said to get my smokes lit by friends. (and a big thank you to them for never punching me!) but it's not quite good enough to be heard as many times as i've already heard it.
and no end in sight, either. i will surely hear that song a staggering amount of times before i die.
(shrug)
meh, whatever.
___
have a lovely weekend! i'm heading off to where the wild things are for some swimming, chilling, writing and tequila drinkin. hell yea.
but all the song snippets they're highlighting their fan-o-rific words with are the pap - sorry, i mean pop hits. they don't even skim through any of the really good ones, like crystal ship or ghost song.
i mean, don't get me wrong, light my fire's a good song and for a good part of my adolescence, also what i said to get my smokes lit by friends. (and a big thank you to them for never punching me!) but it's not quite good enough to be heard as many times as i've already heard it.
and no end in sight, either. i will surely hear that song a staggering amount of times before i die.
(shrug)
meh, whatever.
___
have a lovely weekend! i'm heading off to where the wild things are for some swimming, chilling, writing and tequila drinkin. hell yea.
Wednesday, July 20, 2005
mmmmm, yes
the heat has abated, and i'm feeling sexy for the first time in days. that sweet succulent tingly feeling is washing over me, and my mind is racing, racing with thoughts of mischief...
i'm thinking of being out somewhere, anywhere, writhing on some dance floor to deep, grinding music. i'm thinking i can feel eyes watching me, sending a charge of electricity through me. i don't return the gaze, but with a peripheral smirk i thrust my hips toward him. it's subtle but he sees, and moves toward me.
a cat-and-mouse game of coyness, drinks and sly subtle laughs ensues until we are raging for more. my bag is slung over my shoulder before he can finish saying: "let's go back to my place."
as the cab peels away from the curb, our fingers are already laced in each other's hair. he pulls me toward him and i yield completely. his mouth is hot and soft and fierce as he licks and sucks and bites my moist lips. our breath dances wildly as as we fumble and stumble into and through each other, desperate to be alone together.
when we arrive, finally, at his place, he pushes me up against the wall just inside the door. i long to have him tear off my shirt, but he unbuttons it slowly, watching me as i yearn impatiently for his lips on my flesh. i pull him into me, grinding my hips against an erection i can feel straining against his pants. i begin fumbling with his button, his zipper but he grabs my hands and holds them forcefully behind my back.
i'm panting softly as he reaches in the hallway closet for a scarf. he uses it to tie my hands behind my back, and continues his slow, torturous discovery of my body.
he covers me with slow, soft kisses: my lips, my neck, my nipples, my ribs, my belly button. i'm moaning softly, trembling as he slides a hand up my skirt. i feel his hands gently brush my heaving cunt and i softly cry out "Please." he looks up, smiling sardonically, and pulls away to watch me wriggling, desperate for him. he approaches slowly and i gasp as suddenly, ferociously, he yanks my skirt off. "is this what you want, lover?" i sigh softly, "yes, oh god yes."
i'm naked before him, and he appraises me appreciatively. his hands smoothly caress my skin as he sinks to his knees. he lifts one leg over his shoulder and begins to shower my wet pussy with gentle kisses. i moan plaintively and he acquiesces at last, lazily sliding a tongue along my swollen lips and deep into me, and along my lips, and into me. he sucks gently on my clit and i cry out ecstatically.
his lips and tongue savour me completely until my hips buckle and i come, screaming, in his mouth. i'm breathless and delirious, and collapse into his arms.
christ, i'll have to finish this fantasy elsewhere than sitting at a computer...
(hoowee)
i'm thinking of being out somewhere, anywhere, writhing on some dance floor to deep, grinding music. i'm thinking i can feel eyes watching me, sending a charge of electricity through me. i don't return the gaze, but with a peripheral smirk i thrust my hips toward him. it's subtle but he sees, and moves toward me.
a cat-and-mouse game of coyness, drinks and sly subtle laughs ensues until we are raging for more. my bag is slung over my shoulder before he can finish saying: "let's go back to my place."
as the cab peels away from the curb, our fingers are already laced in each other's hair. he pulls me toward him and i yield completely. his mouth is hot and soft and fierce as he licks and sucks and bites my moist lips. our breath dances wildly as as we fumble and stumble into and through each other, desperate to be alone together.
when we arrive, finally, at his place, he pushes me up against the wall just inside the door. i long to have him tear off my shirt, but he unbuttons it slowly, watching me as i yearn impatiently for his lips on my flesh. i pull him into me, grinding my hips against an erection i can feel straining against his pants. i begin fumbling with his button, his zipper but he grabs my hands and holds them forcefully behind my back.
i'm panting softly as he reaches in the hallway closet for a scarf. he uses it to tie my hands behind my back, and continues his slow, torturous discovery of my body.
he covers me with slow, soft kisses: my lips, my neck, my nipples, my ribs, my belly button. i'm moaning softly, trembling as he slides a hand up my skirt. i feel his hands gently brush my heaving cunt and i softly cry out "Please." he looks up, smiling sardonically, and pulls away to watch me wriggling, desperate for him. he approaches slowly and i gasp as suddenly, ferociously, he yanks my skirt off. "is this what you want, lover?" i sigh softly, "yes, oh god yes."
i'm naked before him, and he appraises me appreciatively. his hands smoothly caress my skin as he sinks to his knees. he lifts one leg over his shoulder and begins to shower my wet pussy with gentle kisses. i moan plaintively and he acquiesces at last, lazily sliding a tongue along my swollen lips and deep into me, and along my lips, and into me. he sucks gently on my clit and i cry out ecstatically.
his lips and tongue savour me completely until my hips buckle and i come, screaming, in his mouth. i'm breathless and delirious, and collapse into his arms.
christ, i'll have to finish this fantasy elsewhere than sitting at a computer...
(hoowee)
Friday, July 08, 2005
smoke blues
i stayed up way way way past my bedtime last night and of course did my 9-to-5 shtick today. throw in some dedicated fringing since our fringe theatre festival opened on wednesday and you've got yourself one tired monkey. so no fresh new ladykaen thoughts for you today. instead i'm going to share a poem i read, from an anthology called Without Reservation (Indigenous Erotica), collected and edited by Kateri Akiwenzie-Damm and published by Kegedonce Press.
it's a piece called Smoke Blues,
by Daniel David Moses
You watch the smoke slip through
and catch, blue on his lips.
And you think No, it's not
the blatant cigarette
that puts the heat into
this habit, friend. Rather
it's the revelation
of limits, how the glow
of tobacco shows where
his exhalation ends.
It gives breath a body
and the body shows This
is how close you get with
out getting burned. Before
you trespass or you kiss.
lovely, hunh?
have a glorious weekend ducklings!!
it's a piece called Smoke Blues,
by Daniel David Moses
You watch the smoke slip through
and catch, blue on his lips.
And you think No, it's not
the blatant cigarette
that puts the heat into
this habit, friend. Rather
it's the revelation
of limits, how the glow
of tobacco shows where
his exhalation ends.
It gives breath a body
and the body shows This
is how close you get with
out getting burned. Before
you trespass or you kiss.
lovely, hunh?
have a glorious weekend ducklings!!
Monday, July 04, 2005
happy canada day!
this past friday (july 1) was canada day, for those international readers who might not know. in addition to enjoying a day off (a treat i always savour), i got to see my friends and idols, Tabarruk, playing in Nathan Phillips Square. despite the raging heat, i danced from first chord to last beat. damn they just keep getting better and better, how is that possible?
alas, the day also had a less than shiny moment. hanging out in a pub before the show, sitting alone, it was impossible for me to not overhear a young couple having a discussion a few feet away. here's what i wrote:
i'm listening to some young dumb idiot talking about Canada, and how Canada specifically doesn't have a culture, because there are so many cultures. he makes a comparison: could you survive in Brazil without speaking portuguese?? see because in Brazil, there's such a strong culture that you have to fit into... like this homogeneity is some kind of ideal. like "culture" is a scale, with homogeneity as the pinnacle.
and i want to hurt him, he's so stupid. my muscles are rippling with revulsion.
does he not realize how incredible this mass array of unique and preserved cultures is? does he not realize that this mosaic of cultures IS Canadian culture?? does he not realize that the systems we've created that allow people to preserve their individuality, yet coexist mostly peacefully is a rare and precious thing that makes Canada so fucking exquisite?
does he not realize that the ability to choose from pizza, falafel, hot dogs, shishtaouk, mcdonald's, chinese or vietnamese after a night of boozing doesn't exist everywhere else?
man, people can be so fucking stupid. it's amazing how much people take for granted...
ugh, i'm going to hit him! he's talking about Québec now.
i'm outta here..
(she grabs her book and flees before doing something decidedly unCanadian: beating the young stupid stranger.)
alas, the day also had a less than shiny moment. hanging out in a pub before the show, sitting alone, it was impossible for me to not overhear a young couple having a discussion a few feet away. here's what i wrote:
i'm listening to some young dumb idiot talking about Canada, and how Canada specifically doesn't have a culture, because there are so many cultures. he makes a comparison: could you survive in Brazil without speaking portuguese?? see because in Brazil, there's such a strong culture that you have to fit into... like this homogeneity is some kind of ideal. like "culture" is a scale, with homogeneity as the pinnacle.
and i want to hurt him, he's so stupid. my muscles are rippling with revulsion.
does he not realize how incredible this mass array of unique and preserved cultures is? does he not realize that this mosaic of cultures IS Canadian culture?? does he not realize that the systems we've created that allow people to preserve their individuality, yet coexist mostly peacefully is a rare and precious thing that makes Canada so fucking exquisite?
does he not realize that the ability to choose from pizza, falafel, hot dogs, shishtaouk, mcdonald's, chinese or vietnamese after a night of boozing doesn't exist everywhere else?
man, people can be so fucking stupid. it's amazing how much people take for granted...
ugh, i'm going to hit him! he's talking about Québec now.
i'm outta here..
(she grabs her book and flees before doing something decidedly unCanadian: beating the young stupid stranger.)
Friday, June 24, 2005
soul bits from the scribble book
first of all, happy saint-jean-baptiste!
i’ve spent the week dragging my ass around, smiling sloppily and washing the last vestiges of a month of delicious semi-mayhem from my pores. so no full, lushly rounded thoughts for you, my ducklings. instead, i offer a smorgasbord of soul bits from the infamous scribble book.
(ok, this one goes back a little over a month (which somehow seems so far away!) well whatever: relive spring!) the air smells of autumn, but it looks like spring – complete with the neon green peach fuzz that now canopies our sky with its retro meshness. all this frolicking – pre-pubescent trees rubbing up against each other, giggling their coy consent on the cool breeze.
___
we are standing outside the party, smoking anything we can wrap our lips around. we gaze lazily at the sky. we do not know, but the northern lights are backstage, smoking cigarettes to soothe their jitterbug blood or standing in corners retracing sections of the choreography they're about to thrill the city folk with. one of us speaks staggeringly, “what time is it?” another ventures a guess: “12:30? 1?” another looks at his watch and laughs – it’s exactly 12:31.
ahhh, it’s the little things that delight me so…
___
i am on the threshold of trouble, and i beg for more. yes, yes, make me dirty with your shy gaze and wanton laugh.
i’ve spent the week dragging my ass around, smiling sloppily and washing the last vestiges of a month of delicious semi-mayhem from my pores. so no full, lushly rounded thoughts for you, my ducklings. instead, i offer a smorgasbord of soul bits from the infamous scribble book.
(ok, this one goes back a little over a month (which somehow seems so far away!) well whatever: relive spring!) the air smells of autumn, but it looks like spring – complete with the neon green peach fuzz that now canopies our sky with its retro meshness. all this frolicking – pre-pubescent trees rubbing up against each other, giggling their coy consent on the cool breeze.
___
we are standing outside the party, smoking anything we can wrap our lips around. we gaze lazily at the sky. we do not know, but the northern lights are backstage, smoking cigarettes to soothe their jitterbug blood or standing in corners retracing sections of the choreography they're about to thrill the city folk with. one of us speaks staggeringly, “what time is it?” another ventures a guess: “12:30? 1?” another looks at his watch and laughs – it’s exactly 12:31.
ahhh, it’s the little things that delight me so…
___
i am on the threshold of trouble, and i beg for more. yes, yes, make me dirty with your shy gaze and wanton laugh.
Tuesday, June 21, 2005
paper cut
i try to ignore you, my badministration badge, try to ignore your murder-mouthed grin. but the cool water streams down my fingers and finds you, my purple heart of 9-to-5, and tickles you into dark searing laughter.
___
i fucking hate paper cuts! but hey, at least they're not as bad as folder cuts. those fuckers'll have you wincing in pain for weeks. i once had a folder jump and contort itself, seeking the smooth, soft flesh that lay hidden well underneath my giant ring (unfortunately not the protective armour it could or should have been), proving that folders are evil, malicious little fuckers.
sigh - the trials and tribulations of office work...
(grin)
.
___
i fucking hate paper cuts! but hey, at least they're not as bad as folder cuts. those fuckers'll have you wincing in pain for weeks. i once had a folder jump and contort itself, seeking the smooth, soft flesh that lay hidden well underneath my giant ring (unfortunately not the protective armour it could or should have been), proving that folders are evil, malicious little fuckers.
sigh - the trials and tribulations of office work...
(grin)
.
Monday, June 20, 2005
home for a rest
ah – here i am, back in front of a computer, feeling slightly dazed and smiling dopily: i have had the bestest couple of weeks ever.
i have savoured theatre in three cities. the highlights:
i have savoured theatre in three cities. the highlights:
- the Children’s Festival in Toronto. i saw a charming and funny and beautiful piece from.. erm… somewhere in Europe, called Past Half Remembered, and a lovely, intriguing, strange little show from the Netherlands, called Museum of Memories.
- the Festival de théâtre des Amériques in Montreal. this is where i saw La Chambre d’Isabella (the magnificent delight of Belgian wonderfulness that i talked about a few posts back). another notable artistic experience was being allowed to sit in on the presentation of a work in progress choreographed by Sylvain Émard. it was so beautiful, and i hope they come to Toronto so i can see the final product – it’s sure to be stunning.
- and finally, the Magnetic North theatre festival in Ottawa. i got to see Daniel MacIvor’s Cul-de-sac again (had seen it here in Toronto), which was just as incredible the second time around. also loved Old Trout Puppet Workshop’s very beautiful and dark and magical Pinocchio, Pi Theatre's charming, slightly haunting and inspiring Élisa’s Skin, and i laughed my guts out with Andy Jones' King o’ Fun.
it’s been quite the few weeks, but the shows i saw don’t even scratch the surface of what makes the whole experience so gratifyingly incredible. if you’ve been reading a while, you may remember me gushing over this place i spent my thursday nights, called “the shop.” crammed with theatre types, beer, smoke and stories, i loved being there. well – every night at these festivals was like that.
whether in the cinemathèque in Montreal, or the mayflower in Ottawa, oh the hours i spent talking shit, sharing ideas and laughing richly. i met people that i know will be friends for years to come, and also with whom i hope to work. you know, make some theatre... like the glowing-grinned Virginia: writer, director, choreographer and shiny soul. and some of the half life folk – (in order of appearance) Randy, Richard and John. it was also great to spend some more time with the ever-charming and wonderful David and sweet-smiled, bright-eyed Jonathan from Calgary. and there were Vancouver kin too: Del and DK!!! always a delight to spend some time and ah DK, so glorious and delicious to kiss those sweet lips again…
so a big fucking YEA! to my month of june! it's been... unforgettable. well.. except the parts that are too hazy (ahem) to remember, of course... (grin)
Thursday, June 09, 2005
kissed
today, my lips are tingling: i need to be kissed.
looking lazily out the window, i tilt my head back and savour each succulent snapshot: soft trembling fingers curling in my hair, a rush of hot breath rubbing up against my neck, a soft hot tongue gliding gently along my lower lip.
today, i feel like i could spend a month kissing. my lips are hungry, longing for the taste of mouths frenzied and tangled in a lusty tango, gliding and panting in and through each other until we are overwhelmed. until breathless and ecstatic, we begin gently savouring, tenderly perusing.
today, i'm lost in those slow searching licks, the soft playful bites and sweet sucking. i'm consumed with a furious longing for the feathered brush strokes of impressionist lips, the hurricane of heated breath, the inferno of yes.
today, i really need to be kissed.
looking lazily out the window, i tilt my head back and savour each succulent snapshot: soft trembling fingers curling in my hair, a rush of hot breath rubbing up against my neck, a soft hot tongue gliding gently along my lower lip.
today, i feel like i could spend a month kissing. my lips are hungry, longing for the taste of mouths frenzied and tangled in a lusty tango, gliding and panting in and through each other until we are overwhelmed. until breathless and ecstatic, we begin gently savouring, tenderly perusing.
today, i'm lost in those slow searching licks, the soft playful bites and sweet sucking. i'm consumed with a furious longing for the feathered brush strokes of impressionist lips, the hurricane of heated breath, the inferno of yes.
today, i really need to be kissed.
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