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04 March 2013 @ 10:29 pm
I haven't been writing and it feels like everything is bottling up inside. If I don't continue to let my thoughts and words flow out of me, it's going to create a blockage. I'm fairly proficient at journal writing. What would happen if I tried my hand at something else?

It's so interesting that Kelsie is writing a book. It makes me want to do it too. On New Year's Day we declared it the year of the book and while I've been using my sketchbook more, I haven't been reading, or book binding, or writing.

I started to write a book about my cat. Then I stopped when I started to feel silly. Timothy Findley wrote a whole book from the perspective of a cat. I don't see why I should be deterred.

I sat as still as I could on the cold floor. I was on a yoga mat but my feet were stretched out and the backs of my calves were resting on the gritty white tiles, losing heat. My mind wandered, there was an itch under my left bra strap and the whistle of my neighbouring yogi's nose took me one step further from zen with every inhalation. I tried to let go of the everyday and sink into myself like I had done in past weeks. I thought about the reason I had started yoga lessons in the first place and admitted that I was not so intent on achieving nirvana as I was on limbering up for roller derby. Nothing like focus and flexibility to give me a competitive edge. I was far away now, establishing a rhythm as I circled the track endlessly, dodging blocks, scoring points, hamming it up after a lung-tearing jam. I was breathing steadily now, my mind on the opposing jammer. She was stuck in the pack and I was coming straight up the outside, undetected. I watched myself from off the track, perfect form, beautiful extension, dynamic explosions of pure muscle. The whistle blew and I glided back to the bench, snapped the panty off my helmet, and nodded to the next jammer. You deserve everything you've worked so hard to get.
29 November 2010 @ 02:12 am
My eyes droop and my head spins. I had espresso strong enough to choke a horse and my body awaits sleep like a dried up leaf.

The bus ride to Welland was agony but when I arrived I fell upon an oasis. I sit at the waters edge and sip leisurely from a cupped hand.

I seem to have created for myself a kind of rebirth, working at a toy store, being in love, reveling in an innocent joy that long ago I thought I crushed.

I can't seem to set up any sort of regiment for myself and I no longer feel it is necessary for my progress. I have multiple projects that are moving along at their own pace. I'm at ease and retain only a fraction of the impatience I had a mere six months ago.

I'm looking forward to Christmas, to baking, to sharing love and laughter with family members estranged from me by my own hardened will. I'm unfolding like a bolt of soft fabric.

It's amazing what a little love can do to a crusted up old heart like mine.
02 November 2010 @ 12:50 pm
And now I have settled down into my new life in Stratford. No more will the wild nights engulf me. I work three jobs but its still not enough. Days off are laden with boredom and a mild sense of abandonment.

The colour is fading fast and November is upon us. It's time to stay home, to bundle up, to sleep, and to eat. It's time to stoke the creative inspiration that sparks inside of me. I run my fingers over the fibrous form of the paper yet nothing takes shape.

I dream of friends, of fighting, of the evolution of species, of humanities rapid demise. I drink coffee and obsess over the flaccidity of my personal accomplishments.

As I gradually let slip the skills of my youth I will revel in what remains. I will make it my life's work and it, not I, will become something. I will be left behind the bloated, mouth-breathing, lumbering body of capitalist economies. I will be alone on a path ripped through and singed by dragons. I will be alone and I will up at the stars to remind myself of what is right.
05 February 2010 @ 12:25 am
"She heard the characteristic "chim, chim" of his bike bell as he tipped it over the top of the hill. She turned to face him as if in slow motion, her long mahogany locks twirling through the air like the spin of a ballroom skirt. A glow emanated from her like cool light through a window pane at midnight. Her eyes lit up when she saw his silly grin. He was reaching top speed on the hill when he tucked his legs underneath him placing one foot on the seat and one on the handlebars. He rose to greet her in the mid-afternoon, riding gracefully and fearlessly like a log-driver coursing downstream.

When he reached the bottom of the hill he simply stepped off the bicycle. He landed in a squatting position, fingers braced on the ground like Spiderman. The bike clambered noisily into the fence, crushing the flower bed and scattering the geese who were until that point residing comfortably in the field beyond.

She clapped her hands together with delight. Her face had the look of a child and she was gripped with a contagious enthusiasm for life and love. She grabbed his elbow and skipped with him down the path to the crash site. The top right corner of the basket was broken and the rear fender was slightly bent. He flashed that silly grin again as he flipped the bike and began putting the chain back into place."

So that's part of a scene I've been dreaming up that takes place in High Park. It's the time that the cherry trees are in full bloom. Here is the other part. I probably wrote it a year ago:

"From my vantage point I could see the whole park. I could see him chasing her through the fallen cherry blossoms, her long dark hair dancing on the wind. For a moment I imagined I was her, my graceful feet lightly skimming the earth as pink and white petals adorned my mahogany locks. Then I remembered my antagonizing allergy to all things natural and stifled a sneeze in my sleeve."

The protagonist of course is a young and savvy journalist (Think a radical, punky Penny from Inspector Gadget) who is hiding in a tree, too caught up with revealing truth to have room for romance. Lets call her Emily Republic and the girl with the mahogany locks Diane.

Also, completely unrelated to this creative writing thing that's been stewing, I sold two of my photographs from the library exhibit! (Two of the Toronto Necropolis) So happy!
06 March 2008 @ 06:14 am
05 January 2007 @ 06:53 pm
So I was listening to one of my swing records and I came across a recording by Glen Gray's Casa Loma Orchestra. I googled them and turns out they used to be the house band at Casa Loma when it was a hotel. They wrote a song called Casa Loma Stomp (1937).

There is a bio and streaming at this site.

30 July 2006 @ 05:50 pm
Like the moon over

the day, my genius and brawn

are lost on these fools. ~haiku (Bowser)
21 July 2006 @ 12:36 pm
The band arrived while Ron Hawkins (former lead man for Lowest of the Low, not to be confused with the legendary country singer) stumbled through a short opening set. Bad Religion fans young and old stood patiently waiting to cast their gaze on punk rock idol Greg Graffin who was set to take the stage with Winnipeg's The Weakerthans. (with the acception of John K. Sampson, founding member of the Weakerthans and former memeber of the Winnipeg punk band Propagandhi)

The evening was slow as the soundman tried to adjust and readjust the levels throughout the set. Bouts of feedback continued even into the (as Graffin put it) "fake" encore. The set consisted mostly of California-style folk tunes sprinkled with a few Bad Religion tunes. The encore, which consisted of an acoustic rendition of Suffer, and an accoustic rendition of Sorrow which Graffin stopped halfway through to wander about the stage (I hope he was looking for an electric guitar). After muttering something about feedback he started again and was joined by some guy on slide.

Still unsatiated the crowd cheered for more Bad Religion...but the band was interested in other music too now and did not come back out. A little after 12:00 the houselights came up and the crowd slowly dispursed.

Here is a review of Graffin's new album Cold as Clay:
28 March 2006 @ 07:20 pm
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24 March 2006 @ 04:34 pm
This is a photo that my mom took and I photoshopped.

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Current Mood: exhaustedexhausted
Current Music: Belle and Sebastian - Get me Away From Here (I'm Dying)