Monday, February 15, 2010

writing a book

is this a ridiculous idea?

truthfully, i always assumed i would attempt to. but anyway. it's for neal's class. the creative writing one. we have to put together a portfolio. a pretty sizable one. i could (and perhaps should, as he is nudging) use it as an opportunity to get started on a book.

problem is, my writing so far ....

well okay. i've got a bumfull of poetry. and some prose-y chapters that sorta just read like a blog. a blog like this one. which is fine, but lacks...well, characters and development and all that shebang. 

i could just keep doing the poem thing and submit a whack of them at the end of term. or i could push myself to start an actual story. semi-autobiographical, most likely. but yknow... a thing with chapters and direction. maybe some doodles in it too.

hmmm              (would people read this thing?)


Sunday, February 14, 2010

i tried to do handstands for you

this video made my heart smile today

so it's valentine's day. and i have nothing cynical to say.

well okay. i've been at dana's since passing out here on friday night post-self love cabaret madness. and saturday slayed me with a killer hangover. 

and now it's sunday. dana made me a breakfast sandwich and was chatting with her roommate as they cooked. 'my valentine is almost here', referring to a cross-province hitch hikin lover. 

valentine. made me sorta squirmy. not dana having a sweetheart, but the word i guess. like putting scrambled eggs in your pocket. 

this song makes me think of all the times before the let down. the 'i-think-i'm-crushing' but you're actually more than crushing and blushing and you can't admit it to yourself yet because once you do any little let down is like a tiny stinging dagger deflating the hope of something new. some new feeling. some new person. the gushy.

i catch myself these days. i do handstands for myself only. which is definitely not without its vim and whimsy. but remove the risk and its just jumping around in a field. i love jumping around in a field. but i'm missing the handstands a lil bitty.

and not because its valentine's day. but maybe because it's just the time of year i wanna chase shadows and feelings. and napkins and knowing glances. and floorboards just worn enough for dancing. and mood lighting. and crusty bartenders. and spills on new shirts. and sloppy goodbyes. and being young when i feel old.

Monday, February 8, 2010


i didn't move.

it was frustrating because i really wanted to go to the library. tomorrow? tomorrow. 


Sunday, February 7, 2010


to you, this self love week. 

i just wanna be gay. like really gay. wanna be your burnin butch dyke. wanna be your leather daddy, sugar. just wanna operate you like a drill. wanna take you with my pills. wanna fuck you on your kitchen table. wanna hammer you to a wall. wanna rock you like queen between my flannel sheets. just wanna be your girl in the streets. wanna see you drip wet like summer on sand. just wanna be your unchartered land. just wanna hold your hand. wanna power-suit your lipstick lesbian. wanna let you toss my head of hair behind you. wanna stick-shift remind you. wanna feel your sili-cock between my thunder thighs. wanna be your lord of the flies. 

wanna have you pin me against my fair trade fridge...or on top of the recycling bin...below the weight of your vegan-beefy bones. wanna hear your moans. just wanna buffy your apocalypse. wanna be the loose lips on your sinking ship. wanna be sub sub substitute teacher to your principal. wanna be on my knees, master. wanna go harder, faster. just wanna find me a queen to wine and dine and disco. wanna have them hear me in san francisco. just wanna rock out with my cock out to that thumpa-thumpa. just wanna be glitter on your body boy. wanna see you touch your body boy. wanna bend you over my knee and punish your begging bottom. just wanna knight rider your galloping steed. wanna make you bleed. wanna feel you so deep inside me there's no noise. wanna bring the noise, baby. just wanna be your juliet. wanna cleave to some little eggshell picket fences. wanna lose my senses. wanna let you tie me up and paint my nipples chartreuse. wanna play duck duck goose. just wanna soccer mom your dick and jane. wanna feel your pain. wanna pre-nup you in every orifice. wanna ready-rim you ambiguous. wanna pillage your money-spot religious. wanna have your hipster anti-o my hick salacious. wanna daisy drive {formerly you} ze fellatious. just wanna finger-phone-fuck you on-call. wanna have it all. cuz i can have it all.

Thursday, February 4, 2010

dear readers

should you exist.

i must let you know that i change this blog colour on a need-basis. this nauseating pink is courtesy of the pink sparkly heart shaped shortbread cookies i purchased for cara and i at natas today.

re: a note, it has been a turbo-bitch day. i feel my friends (not cara, who lives with me on the island of the non-whole-hearted), perplexed with my moody behaviour as of late. sometimes i think they forget i depressed and that will keep coming back inconveniently. maybe one day it won't. when i have a pony named karl. 

but for the time being, its bumpy. the sparkly heart cookies didn't irk me the way valentine's normally does. almost cracked a smile, to be honest. i just don't know what to do with the heart cookies but devour the sparkly icing that my body's continence certainly doesn't know what to do with, squint really hard and hope it translates into something productive as a human citizen.

my posts lately seem sad, i think. or tragic. i don't necessarily feel sad. or tragic. maybe just separate from any sort of upward climb. nothing i do seems to really, add up to something the way we are made to feel actions should. i do things. i feel a feeling. and so it goes. 

no matter how much i seem to learn the rules, there are no rules. so i suppose i've stopped caring? about rules? about what healthy is supposed to mean? about what happy is supposed to mean?

my creative writing prof told me my writing on wednesday was sarcastic and witty. he thinks i should be a comedian. he, and the subsequent chiming in of my classmates, are not the first people to tell me this. 

i guess i could do that. the same prof told me once that he thought humour was a higher form of thinking. or expression. or something. sometimes there is no greater feeling for me than making people laugh. othertimes, the idea makes me feel more indifferent than anything else. its funny that way.

my aspirations at this point are few. as my birthday nears, i don't know if there is anything about 25 and who i am now that seems out of place. 

right now, i'm still at natas, and i really wanna go into the bathroom and pull really hard on my hair, grabbing clumps of it - now long enough for a pony tail - in my fists. and stare at my face in the mirror. sometimes my motor self needs the release of visceral actions rather than these composted words. 

a note

to anyone in a relationship that is monogamous:

please do not give me bedroom eyes. flirt with me. give me your number. follow me to the only. invite me to go dancing with you at the trash. hold my hand when we get there. wait for me to make a move. tell me you have a girlfriend in ottawa you are deeply in love with.

i do not allocate time in my schedule to get played. you're wasting decent buffy watching hours.

most sincerely, 

a die-hard loose lady of the evening.

when in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes

i all alone beweep my outcast state 
and trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries
and look upon myself and curse my fate, 
wishing me like to one more rich in hope, 
featured like him, like him with friends possess'd,
desiring this man's art and that man's scope, 
with what i most enjoy contented least; 
yet in these thoughts myself almost despising,
haply i think on thee, and then my state, 
like to the lark at break of day arising 
from sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven's gate;
for thy sweet love remember'd such wealth brings
that then i scorn to change my state with kings

Tuesday, February 2, 2010

i love you

just got back from montreal. i didn't have the money to go. but i never usually do. 

it felt good to travel alone again. i mean, i wasn't entirely alone. my pals and i rented a car together. but, they all had their own plans. and i had to justify the trip with some sort of article for the paper. 

i attended a conference on police brutality, which i enjoyed immensely. it reminded my sometimes unjustifiably disenchanted heart that the struggle continues. the struggles bleed into each other. and this quiet... just means i can't see it anymore. the reasons for caring at all. for mobilizing. when i feel too privileged to wave a flag about anything. 

i got suspended from welfare again. i submitted my income form well on time, but they lost it it seems. and now my rent will bounce (again) and i will incur the cost. and i'll look like all the stereotypes of someone poor and dealing with mental health issues. and really, i don't need their help in that regard. 

but why do i do that? feel shame? get overcome with fear? slink past my landlord's house, situated too close for my liking.

because i believe it too. i believe that crazy and poor are things i need to distance myself from in order to assure myself i am ...who i want to be. but like my prof molly once said to me in her kitchen, as my heart bled all over her table while we sipped our gin: 'you're not a fuck up, jes. you're just struggling. life is struggle'

and ain't it true. 

nate sent me an email today entitled 'i love you'. all it said was:

"The person who loves their dream of community will destroy community even if their intentions are ever so honest. But the person who loves those around them will create community."

i guess thats what i'm starting to understand. the intelligence i am crafting with the academic mentors around me means very little in terms of any sort of utopic climax. the opportunity is always present to experience community. the politics are important but the love is the institutional memory. 

maybe that's what stephen was getting at with our discussion of Richard III today. the role of the men in the play and that of the women. the women were constantly mourning. and losing. and flailing. and enduring. sure it ended with the gorey death of a king. but that was for entertainment. the real conclusion was this hunger for power could slaughter and force submission to innocence and life but never exist without the tenderness of the womb. 

and its a great metaphor. we can harden ourselves. like richard, this self-loathing hunchback with bloodlust and a beautiful tongue. but we require love. and it kills us.