black ink

and all of the sentences that begin with "and" have to end.

fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck

fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck

fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.

What shock it is to suddenly realize that everything i do is carefully planned in advance. Rather, the sudden part is the hate of it all. Livejournal, to me, is a broadcasting corporation where by which i can increase my email count and consequent feel of connection to people without doing any real work. There is nothing honest about it. Everything i do is for self-fulfilling reaction and that won’t change no matter how many of these entries i back-date or in how many of them i turn off comments. But maybe i’ll chase away any notion that what i have to tell people is more important than what i have to tell myself.

L-i-am   ؟



It has been a year since i started this. the formatting is all screwed up because of the irony mark, but i'll bear it.

  ,,,

Tonight, you fall down

Over the mess of stale sheets

That imprints your skin.

Your warm breath is caught

In a moist patch inside

The pillow you’re buried in.

What you drained, drained you,

The case of empty, hard glass

Smells like your pillow.

When you will wake up

Work will be over again.

The sun will be out.

Your children are home.

They disappear once they see

You have woken up.

So, evidently, i was wrong. Work is exhausting and i have no energy afterwards, and am too busy in anticipation for the hours before it. And despite the fact that i always have a pen and paper while i’m working, i never have any real opportunity to think about anything because i still can’t to my job mechanically. Actions speak louder than words )ewww( and people aren’t afraid to hide their mood when they don’t want to be where they are.  Sometimes someone will say something witty but it’s that sort of distant humour and knowing that it’s said with hesitation is really the most amusing part for me. There was, however, one guy who was so freaking awesome.

i will never ever forget him. The woman ahead of him had a root vegetable )the likes of which i had never seen before( for which i had to call someone to find the code. She said to forget it since she was in a hurry, i rang through the rest of her order quickly, she paid, left. He was grinning at me with incredibly white teeth intensified by his slighly gritty, well-tanned face. He was my height and wore a faded t-shirt and frayed jeans. He told me that he was in no hurry and then said, “You’re a Capricorn, aren’t you?” To which i replied, “yes, how did you know?” that’s kinda weird. “Well, just knowing astrology, my mother’s an astrologist” wow. He then talked about his friends who were mostly Capricorns and that the best people are Capricorns. i laughed and he explained that Capricorns are very headstrong, since they have the horns. He mentioned then that he was an Aries, the supposed ruler of all the zodiac. He said that that didn’t matter though, he still liked Capricorns best. i said that i had once been interested in astrology but never took it seriously. He smiled and agreed. He said that he had been too but was now very much into Zen philosophy and all of the nearly coincidental truths that it described. He recommended a book, “Zen in the Martial Arts”, before telling me again that i was headstrong and could accomplish anything i set my mind to. That was really uplifting.

Even still, there is a layer of sadness under everyone’s eyelids. Sadness isn’t even the label, but it’s a general mood that opposes happiness. It goes back to the working against something instead of working forward. There’s a sense of worth only gained by comparison. It seems useless though, because everyone is an individual. The dissatisfaction of life experienced by someone who couldn’t find their favourite brand of coffee is just as meaningful as the dissatisfaction of life experienced by someone who is missing a joint in their fingers. They don’t really have anything to compare to, i’m not sure how to prove that. Anyway, they wouldn’t be upset if they could measure comfort on a scale and say, it could be worse. All we have are polarities,,, or something.

L-i-am؟

integrity never held anyone together,

“i don’t think you understand what i mean.” “Then, explain it to me.” “i don’t think i understand either.” “That’s just an excuse.” She broke his jaw, and chattered his teeth all over the scraping sidewalk. This was her way of asking him not to speak. Then, in the whispering rasp of a hiss, “write to me, when you get the chance” and she handed him a pen. Prick, slide, pull back. Ink poured from his cut paper arms to form outreaching puddles at his soon sodden feet. The sun turned him the colour of tea as he frantically scrawled in black alternating words on his hands, everything he couldn’t say. He watched, through his perforated vision, as she examined everything he had made, with a magnifying glass. Soon it was all just tumbling, frayed pieces, black around the edges so that none of it fit together. The paper he was made of. She read his hands “My actions for expectation. what want believe. what don’t to” and then “reactive only an That’s you to That’s i want believe.”

The Lord Of The Rings stage production was incredible. The performance wasn’t so much a play as it was a spectacle. Raised, in the center of the stage is a giant golden ring and, sprawling outward into the theater is all sorts of brambles. Then, for the pre-show, hobbits come out and chase fireflies. However the hell they made those fireflies was astounding, they flew about until they were caught by a hobbit, so that rules out laser beams and support from strings, sticks and air. Then the hobbits did a kickin’ jig that was so lovely. Throughout the whole production, the orchestra played loud and flawlessly, though i could tell many people were hit too sharply by the trumpet, i thought it worked to enhance the power of the experience. One of the best scenes was when Gandalf fought the Balrog )which was woven from wicker! )and Shelob was too!((. Everything went dark and red and wind blew around a shower of black confetti and smoke poured from the fiery figure in the center while Gandalf yelled something inaudible yet commanding... ah! it was awesome! The orcs, nazgul, ents and, of course Gollum, were my favourite characters. The ents stood on stilts that brought them to the second balcony. The nazgul had stilts too, though, not quite as high and their tattered costumes and mechanical puppet-horses were actually frightening. The way they moved and the strobe lighting used on them had quite the effect. The orcs were really well done, their costumes felt so much more tangible than anyone else’s and the way they moved was shocking, especially the ones with crescent-moon stilts )do i seem to like stilts a lot? heh(. And then, Gollum was beyond words. His physical and character presence were overwhelming and brought that character into me.  Indeed, the work put into the costumes and set was phenomenal. i doubleplusyiked it!

Anyway, tomorrow, i return to the real world of work. Although i have been fretting it, i find that i’m not falling in to the cliché so often of “When i come home from work, i’m too drained to do anything creative”. That has been, for a few years, my greatest fear: that the eventual and mandatory work will paralyze my attempts at creativity. It is true that i’m physically exhausted when i get home, but there’s dissociation on my side. And it seems every time i begin something it will either burn out quickly )and leave me with the urge to do something else)that feeds off of what i did in the first place somehow( which is preferable( or snowball for days. More often the latter and for the past week, i have filled pages with my sentence fragments that are oftentimes the skeleton for my masterstrokes )don’t take the shit that i write up there as an example of that(. It relates to provocationism, and this nature that works against rather than towards. It’s an awful feeling that i need something to threaten me for me to build myself. Anyway, i fixed my guitar strings and finally picked up the sax this summer )*tugs at collar*(, i tried to draw, that was fun, and and and! i had a brilliant idea! )before i go on to the next paragraph, i will excuse myself by saying that, perhaps i’m wrong and the only reason i have been productive lately is precisely because of the lack of work(.

i’ve made several sewing attempts, and since i don’t believe in sewing machines )i had a bad experience( my goal is making the stitches as close together as L-i-am-ly possible. Anyway, my idea is to make a coat out of a plaid which i found at Wal Mart. i have the feeling that it will be a disaster since i don’t have a pattern, but then i think psh, who needs a pattern? )i think i might.( If that doesn’t work out, i’ll still have my t-shirt designs. Since it came to my attention that i do not have proper summer clothing, i have thought of ways to change that. A brilliant one includes buying the tshirts they sell at Michaels, which are awesome because they are the long kind )so they make my shoulders look proportionate( and the colours aren’t bad either. i shall add little bits to make a collar and then i’ll sew funny designs and furry patches on to the front. i’m eager and it will soon show.

Interestingly, on the way to Michael’s, there was a twenty dollar note lying in the grass. Immediately, i bent over to pick it up. Yuck, money. And then i put it back down and decided that if someone came back looking for it )i find it spectacular to scour the ground and finally find something i’ve lost,,, would anyone realize in time to come back and look for it?( in the time it took me to go to and from Michael’s it was still theirs )or, the more likely: someone else found it and it was theirs(. The note was still there when i came back and, at that point, the wind was beginning to pick up and the rain was beginning to fall. So, if no one else had found it yet, it was likely to be fall apart in the on coming storm )or not and i was just greedy(. It funded my fabric purchases, which was splendid.

And Chuck was working! yayayay! He hadn’t been online for a while, and so, i worried about him. As it turns out, his computer had broken and he needed to fix it. He explained to me how he knew what was wrong with it and what to do to fix it in a way i only thought i understood. )data! =P(. We went to Quiznos for his lunch and i ate his crackers and then, since he was eating as well, i bought an incredibly over-priced sandwich. Then we went to Dairy Queen and i made another mistake by ordering an oreo blizzard )the cookie chunks and vanilla ice cream are cool and all, but there’s so much better(. Chuck explained the value of September first to me )heh( and wrote Laim on my nametag and offered the explanation that “Maimer” rhymes. And i “maim people” ),,,metaphorically? i envied his perfect skin and general lack of body hair for a while and then he needed to go back to work.

The day before, )the day before. Wait, what happened Monday?” i ambled with Leo. We got caught in the rain, but i like to think of it as fun rain. He took a billion photographs and put five of them up.  Our destination was the Central library. We made it there before one o’clock, and, consequently, it wasn’t open. So, we headed for the pier, which was awfully bright and found a bookstore. i liked the children’s section there )CATS! hehe(. But what i really wanted was a used bookstore and it was near one, so we just went to the Library. i liked the kid’s section there too )especially a book called “Bad Kitty” )i think( which i recommend for all of you who don’t know your alphabet(. Oddly, the français section on the childrens’ floor is much larger that the one upstairs. i found no book of interest, but had a spectacular view of the approaching dark clouds. Then we booked it out of there, or, rather, i did and Leo said, “go ahead” and i inevitably didn’t.

So, i shall close in talking about work. Last week, another cashier named Max )cool, i never knew people were really named Max( told me that people treated cashiers like “shit” after i asked him what he thought of working at dominion. i haven’t had anyone treat me like shit yet )and i hope not to( but it made me think about why people seem to become so cantankerous when they shop for groceries. My theory is that the act reminds them of the primitive tradition of hunting and gathering. They feel degraded, as if they’ve taken a step backwards and a little cell somewhere in their brain cries out that they shouldn’t have to do this anymore. It seems as though we’re creating an insta-world where everything is useless that takes longer than five minutes... or something.

L-i-am؟

Letting go and stepping back, stands and exits up-stage.

The first breeze carried the plastic bag down the frying pan asphalt road. On a summer day that smelled like grass and gasoline, they climbed the tree in the front lawn. She dangled her arms and legs over the branches like loose, fraying threads. He kept his back straight against the scratching bark of the trunk and stretched one arm outwards and upwards with four vivid colours in the dish of his palm. His head tilted back and hit the clicking wood behind him. His eyes trailed towards hers, avoiding the scathing light that flooded the street in the wavy tone of straw. Their smiles tasted salty. The second breeze came and she let the warm air push her hand over to pick red. She lifted it heavily to her mouth and only tasted his sunscreen while wrapping it in her saliva. He tilted his hand to let one tumble past his teeth and let the rest of them fall scattered in to the grass. A cloud passed over the sun relieving shadow and detail again. Somewhere, a song played on the radio in the mess of fading and sizzling background noise that gave words to what they were feeling. The third breeze brought more clouds and a drop in temperature. He dropped himself to the ground and told her something about rain that gave him reson to leave. She watched him walk down the road in the direction the bag had drifted and spat out the red candy.

i would like to say that i’m enjoying work. It gives me something to do while wanting to do something else )if i’m doing nothing at times like that, i feel like a louse(. There are a surprising number of people shopping at dominion who are ready to be friendly than at the superstore. A woman was talking to her mother about celery )did you know that celery is the only food that provides less calories than required to be digested( and then she was talking about sucralose and the way chlorine substituted three hydrogen-oxygen groups she said she wasn’t sure how it was done and pondered audibly. i suggest it was the chloride ion )wrong, but it is the same chlorine used in pesticides..?(. She seemed to like my comment and spoke further about what splenda could be used for. Then, at the end, she asked me if i was an actor. i said no, although i had been in several drama productions through school. She told me that she was a voice instructor and had been in entertainment, and that i had the voice control and tone of an actor. That made my day and i made sure she knew it had. )the next paragraph is elaborate and boring, go ahead and scroll down to the exciting, controversial part thereafter(

i’m sure the administration thinks that i’m incompetent because whenever a supervisor passes by, i’m always in the middle of something, so it looks as though i don’t know what to do. In someway they’re quite right, i do seem to be cursed. Today was a royal screw up day. i was put on the furthest lane and needed to be audited. Apparantly, last night, i closed my till with a fifty dollar surplus. That means that i ripped someone off and short-changed them, so for the next two weeks, all of the money that goes in and out of my till is monitored. i was over six cents today, which is reasonable due to the weight of American change. Then there was mechanical failure, since everyone seems to pay with debit )oh yeah,,, that is a conspiracy!( as the first customer tried to pay, the screen read something to the effect of  “How about I don’t let anyone pay with debit! Take that, bitch.” My supervisor, Kathy, tried to figure out what was wrong, and it seemed that the machine didn’t recognize the pin pad. Three people were served and then they had to pay somewhere else. As a result, i worked at three separate places, which confused my little mind. A woman wanted to pay one hundred fifty dollars in cash and the rest with a credit card. i accidentally put in the cash amount as one dollar and fifty cents au lieu de 15000 )because of the complete lack of decimal on the key pad( then i noticed my error and put 15850 in. Then, everything was screwed because i had recorded her as paying 16000. i panicked and called Kathy, who arrived a few moments later as the woman decided she would give me a ten dollar bill. i thanked her profusely and she tried to hide her irritation )which is both bad and good )but neither((. Someone’s gift cards didn’t work later on and there was no remedy. Kathy told me that she had never seen anything like that before. i sighed and realized that i was cursed and, consequently, shall not be placed on night shift, ever. Way too much responsibility.

Considering the debit conspiracy: Already they have alleviated the one and two dollar bills and replaced them with coins. There have been rumours of a five dollar coin making its appearance some time in the upcoming decades. What many people don’t realize is that eventually they will find an excuse to do away with large bills entirely )forget making them in to coins( at that point, every purchase will be recorded as it will either be made on debit or with a credit card )don’t think for a moment that corporation and government are separate(. Then, they will have gained another step in the race to know absolutely-every-motherfucking-thing-about-you. It’s true.

Last week, i received a letter from my former myself. At the time i wrote it, i didn’t think it would be a letter nor did i think i would ever read it. Two years ago, i was trying to write )notice any parallels between then and now?( and looking back, it was a good attempt that would have been best left hidden from the world. It’s interesting to see how much and how little i’ve changed.

L-i-am؟

let’s wait for the doves to come to the corner of our window.

He sat, holding his knees to himself, with the corners of his collar folded into the neck of his sweater. He held his mouth open to breathe as a stammer tried to escape, he twitched his jaw shut, he panicked, pretended to cough. All of his words were put under glass, he didn’t want them seen. His breath kept soft, he anticipated in the corner, blinked avoidingly. The light and heat bled into the silence that hung between them, crept behind them. He coughed again as everything he wanted to say didn’t matter. The meaning faded, unintended colours were painted over. Regret churned in his stomach, splashed up his throat, left an unpleasant taste in his mouth. He shut, hoping that she wouldn’t smell it, swallowed what refused to go away. It was all a risk that eventually led to compromise. She still hadn’t forgiven him for taking the key and locking himself inside. He would never forgive himself, never believe she would. To him, she never would. He stood up, his shirt lifted itself from his back, he flattened it and pulled it away again for preoccupation. He didn’t try to speak, tried not to, said something similar to goodbye in a brief whisper. His footsteps echoed through their vacant rooms as he walked across the floor where the dust had settled. He stumbled out of the door, scraped the concrete with his shoes as he coughed, clarity flowed from his eyes.

The other night, Hilary )a friend of mine whom i haven’t seen in a long long time( and i went for long awaited nachos )which are best with tomatoes, lettuce and cheese(. The waitress looked at us funnily when we ordered, but i blame it more so on Hilary’s emo haircut )which she promised to cut my hair as by the end of summer,,, yay!(. Then we moseyed )after nachos, movement is constricted to moseying( on over to bulk barn just in time to watch them lock the doors. That was unfortunate, wal-mart looked like an alternative and so we wound up over there )although, i would have liked to go to the superstore, since i saw dragonfruit, among many other oddities, there the other day and was without wallet(. The fabric section looks somewhat depleted compared to what i remember it being, and i was sad that nothing really looked like it needed to be bought )with or without plans for it(. We found Pirates of the Caribbean action figures and most of the Johnny Depp ones had an oddly shaped face. Another slight disappointment, until we found one that didn’t and hid it up on the top shelf so that she could go back and get it later when she gets her microwave. Hehe,,, so many of my friends seem to be moving onward, and growing up. And yeah, yeah, yeah, i’ll miss them, whatever, =P, but more so, i’m afraid that that will happen to me soon. Actually, i’m terrified of the change.

Work has been a rather large change in my life, but i would like to say that i’ve adapted to it quite well )it fills the void left from school(. i’m discovering newer things every day in that store because i’m not exhausted the same way i was at the superstore by the time i got on break )the joints in my hands have started to ache(. Last night was the last of orientation, with somewhat “corny” movies. i thought they were funny, except for the monotonous whmis one that hurt my brain it was so borrring.

Speaking of borrring, i managed to read Ernest Hemingway’s “The Old Man and the Sea” i warn you all to stay away from it. The book wastes about a hundred pages describing the repeated action of feed the line over the side of the boat and pulling it back and then he talks to himself saying pretty much the same thing every time he speaks. Somehow, i would like to believe that there can be a profound statement made about it likening it to a portrayal of the way people work their entirely lives for something that just gets taken away from them. And then, how foolish people are not to be prepared for this. It feels so long and drawn out and boring that, perhaps, the writing style has expired. The plus side is that, although he winds up being the one of the blandest individuals ever conceived, the character is explored. Maybe excessively as every other sentence begins with “Then he said...” if not “Then he )verb(...” or it ends with “...he thought”. It tells the story of someone’s views in a situation rather than what actually happened )all the while, without first person narrative, so a lot is left out(. A similar result could have been achieved if a man sat on his own, in a dark room, on the floor, for three days. There was no world created at all. Luckily, Robyn lent me “Diary”. i absolutely love Mr. Palahniuk’s careful, analytical spurts describing chemical reaction or bodily functions with words and names that i have to pretend to know. i always feel like i’m learning something. i wish that i could write the stories that i want to read.

The other night, i began dipping pages in a bowl filled with tea. i got nine done, i should have tried for ten, but no more. Once the tea cools, the paper doesn’t dry quite as fast and i was left with less and less space to place them to dry As well, the paper absorbs less of the colour, which is the goal. Next time, i will be certain to try heating up the bowl after it’s cooled to see if any more can be done. And then, i’ll try coffee )it stains nice(.

L-i-am؟

)Why( Am i doing this?

It rained last night, and it looks like it is again, if it ever stopped. She insisted on leaving the windows open and i woke up freezing cold and my comforter sort of half on me half off me. i cocooned myself in it instinctively and,,, it was damp. Nearly everything in the house has that cold, damp feel to it now that won’t go away for a while. ‘Tis a good thing that i keep blankets in the room without windows. All that and there was barely any lightning to recompense.

Now, most importantly, the pistachio pudding is incredible. It’s coloured a lime green, as Michelle said, but the powder is blue, and thus, the colour change took me by surprise. It turns out rather creamy and it has me wondering if skim milk would work with it. The flavour is definitely pistachio,,, and sugar. Well, it has that sweetness to it the same way that certain brands )i suppose( of bubblegum, cotton candy and marshmallows do, where by which it’s an actual sweet taste and not simply a taste that has been sweetened. To top it off, there are actual little pieces of pistachio in the mix. So every now and then you get a little crunchy piece and it’s a very satisfying addition to the pudding. i must say that i rather liked it and would recommend anyone to try it,,, like right now!... go! =P.

Then, i found marshmallow creme. Yes, that’s right, “creme” not “cream” like the rest of the world spells it. It has to be “creme”. It is a very creamy substance that can be found in that aisle with the chips and party stuff,,, though it deserves to be placed in the lofty heights of that special place next to the peanut butter. It is slightly similar to soft serve ice cream in the respect that it is shot with air bubbles to make it smoother. i rather like the result. It taste exactly like what i remember the inside of a cooked marshmallow to taste like and can be eaten on it’s own or with something else )...duh(. i like to spread it over halffe of a waffle and then fold it over to make some style of wrap or taco. So, yeah,,, marshmallow creme = go and buy right now and eat the container before you even make it out of the store.

Le job as a cashier goes steady, it makes me money and that makes me happy. i’ve met a guy named Paul who is a drama student at i’m not sure which school. HE is cery laid back and calm about everything and he has that special quality to him that everything he says isn’t necessarily funny, but is somehow entertaining for no apparent reason. Just him counting change made me laugh. He’s been with Dominion for two years now, i wonder if i’ll make it that long. i also met a guy named Simon who works the night shift. He’s rather timid and Korean )how come describing someone’s ethnic background always feels racist?( i told him that i thought the night shift was cool and he just said, calmly and softly while shaking his head: no. That was funny to me and we both laughed. He’s helped me out with several of my screw-ups. hehe, screw-ups on my part include not knowing what to do half the time, but that’s getting better, so i’ll assume it’s just natural. i did, however, let a woman walk away with a case of water. i thought i’d remember to ask what the bloody code was at the end of the order, but i didn’t. So, i just blame the store for not having the proper code for it on the till already. They do have a code but alas! it doesn’t freaking work. And then there’s all sorts of paperwork to be done, i’ve written the word “error” to describe my actions far too many times recently. i also keep finding loose change that falls beneath the till when i clean up the bags of coal that usually sit under there. i doubt that anyone else does, so i expect to find some more soon )already have 2.25!(.

So yeha, that’s the life that i want to tell you about.

L-i-am.

longing for a warm place on the edge of the earth.

i am employed. Finally! Today was the first shift of orientation. There were four of us being trained at the same time. As pre-cashiers, we were shown the immensely complex system used to scan merchandise. It was surprisingly fun, although, i’ve forgotten most of it. We hadn’t been given specific schedules for next Saturday, but when we were, Erika )our trainer-ish person(, put me down until 11:30 with the reason that the later in the day, the less help was available and i seemed to be learning the quickest. That made me feel sorta proud. She also said that there were openings on the night shift where people make eighty cents more and are guaranteed only to have to work three eight hour shifts per week. i am enthused, but there are several details that still need to be worked out.

And i discovered pistachio pudding, which i’ve never heard of before and am anxious to try. i made some fudge pudding for myself and my cousin, who was here for a visit yesterday, and it reaffirmed my belief that any sort of chocolate pudding is highly overrated. Vanilla with sprinkles is where it’s at,,, and butterscotch )yummmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm(. i tried lemon, which i discovered hiding at the back of the pantry. It was one of those things that you think is going to taste like banana, but doesn’t, so, once you put it in your mouth, it takes a little while to get the real taste. So, i’ll be sure to review the pistachio.

There was also a wall of pop-tarts that were on sale. Something strange odd explosive must have happened at the plant where they’re made because they are )word tried to change that to “their”,,, wtfail }i yike your word Mathias!{ ( on sale everywhere. i had never seen blueberry before, so i caved and bought a box. It’s not that great after all. Firstly, it ought to be well known that in order to properly enjoy or even taste a pop-tart, one must fold the pastry in half. Otherwise, you never have a substantial bite because most of it winds up being the actual pastry part and not the filling nor icing. Then, it simply makes little sense to buy the kinds that pretend to have fruit as they taste like sugar. Or, maybe something sweeter, but definitely beyond enjoyable standards of decadence. That is why i stick mainly to the s’mores )they taste like chocolate and marshmallow with a lot of added sugar(. The other day, i remembered that the best way to eat waffles was plain. It does, however, take someone with mad skillz to pop the toaster at the precise moment after they have defrosted and before they truly toast )burn(. It’s then that a waffle is nice, golden and crispy on the outside and fluffy on the )infinitesmall( space inside. i didn’t think it was possible but last week i had too much cereal. It was odd not having school stop or rush breakfast in the morning, so it just kept on going. and though this is way too broad a topic for me to go in to now, i must say that apple cinnamon cheerios are a rediscovered favourite. And people who eat fruit for breakfast don’t make sense unless it accompanies pancakes. )hehe,,, this turned into a breakfast piece(

First week off has been slow and,,, slow. we’ll leave it at that. Although, Leo had a party on exam return day which was rather enjoyable. Mathias and Se and Patrick were there and we watched Cowboy Bebop, an anime film that i have wanted to see for many years now. i can say for certain, now, that some of the greatest parties consist of watching anime )especially with slightly engrish subtitltes here and there(. The movie had an awesome soundtrack too, i highly recommend it all.

And, incredibly, now i own an mp3 player. My mom thought that i had earned it, and i sadly put down my cd player )and promptly forgot about it entirely(. It’s ipod’s main competition as it has a similar look and layout. It only has two megabytes of free space,,, well, a fraction of that now, but i haven’t any complaints. Except for my complaint about how it only works through windows media player and doesn’t synchronize hover half of my music. i had to find a converter for two hundred songs that i had ripped with WMP in the first place...wtfail? )hehe(. But, just having it prompted me to actually name all of the song files )because naming them on itunes lists don’t change the file names... ayeyeyeyeye(. Finally, now the joint in my thumb hurts so, i've definitely had some good use of it.

)have( i tried to give my life meaning by demeaning you

i lay in bed for an hour or so and told myself over and over again that i was useless if i didn’t get up and clean my room. Eventually self-defiance kicked in and i got up and cleaned. At this point, most things are in order, an entire drawer filled with what might as welll be blank paper was the really daunting part. i throw the little bits of scribbled paper in and close it quickly and pretend it never gets full. It was harder to ignore once the drawer refused to open properly. But now, it’s all in one, neat stack and what is close to chronological order. This time, i managed not to throw anything out that was ever a part of me, which is a plus. i also have a good idea of everything i’ve left incomplete, mayhaps )who first said/wrote that? whoever you are, you’re brilliant!( this summer shall help that situation.

On the last day of school, Mr. Pascoe brought his daughter, Ella. That was awesome, and i must admit that she’s lovely young lady )this means a lot, coming from me(. i need to get that guy a present, he’s been so kind to me. i wanted to get him something that he could share with Ella, but that will be difficult since i never had the courage to somehow ask him what she likes without giving away the surprise )”The best kind of prize is a sur-prize!”(. He had to take her to the doctor's so, instead of going to careers, le classe spent the period helping clean out the teacher’s library on the third floor. i always wondered what that room was for and naturally came to the assumption that it was for beating children, just as the smoke-stack was for burning them. It was a very muffled room and i liked the fact that anything spoken wouldn’t travel very far. It also smelled like books, which may be similar to the smell of dust and is consequently an enemy to my breathing but i still liked it. Mlle Hancock )does anyone else still giggle at her name sometimes?( had decided it was time to purge the shelves and the floor of all the books that hadn’t been studied nor opened in over a decade. It made me sad to throw out all the literature, and even more so to think that the trash was where most of it belonged. It was at that point that i came across  the Hobbit and was outraged. i snagged two copies and gave all others found to people who hadn’t already read it. So, if anyone of you has yet to read the book, i have a copy for you that you need in order to live a full and satisfied life. Then we came across a binder filled with projector slides. i thought it would just be neat to have some, so i took a page of about twenty. i chose it because it held a slide of a slightly anxious looking black man in a white suit and bowtie whom i assume to be a blues or jazz performer from half a century ago. It wasn’t until i got home that i realized through the twenty runs an overall theme of racism. One slide shows three young boys at a white-supremacist rally holding signs that say “Stop the Black Plots”, “Who Needs *swastika*Niggers” and one sign that was blank to illustrate that it doesn’t matter what’s on them since white-trash-supremacists cannot read as they are too busy learning to shoot a gun and have no time to gain literacy. Another slide features a black man hanging while giddy girls and they proud fathers watch. Most impressive was the one of a )national( vanguard of the kkk with the capitol building situated nicely in the background. Several guys on the front line carry star-spangled rags and i’m certain that if you showed the picture to someone in a far-away land, they would believe that it was America’s army. Then i managed to save what might have been a textbook )published in 1984( about George Orwell’s spectacular novel, Nineteen-Eighty-Four. It’s very honest and features some more pictures of racists. i plan to read it over the summer and answer the questions, =). Lastly, i saved several copies of hard-cover poetry and one-act play books which i plan to skim through before tearing out the pages and making my own distorted little reservoirs of thought. i shall paint the covers some eye-catching colour and leave them in the library for the innocent to find. Horror ensues.

i woke up on Friday with the feeling that i would be late for my english exam. That was a really slow morning, but i made it with fifteen minutes to spare. So, it was my latest to date )we’ll see what happens on Monday(. i managed to make a ridiculous comparison between a To Kill a Mockingbird character and then one from Rome and Juliet. I took the ninety minutes )i wonder if the people who leave at the one-hour mark are just plain brilliant or if they just don’t care( to write a less than pleasing piece. i’ve never liked essays, and never saw the point of comparative ones. What happens is that the judgment part comes easy, but i don’t like to admit it without leaving some hint that i don’t actually believe what i say, especially if i do. i’m very glad to be free of Ms. Currie-Mills’ class, if i have her next year, i don’t care if i have to drop all of my subjects just to change classes.

Afterwards, i walked to Chapters. On the way, i was at a four-way stop and wanted to wave at the driver of a car stopped opposite of me )i was in the mood to wave at people and hope that i brightened their day,, oh goddam(. Then i realized that people don’t think they can be seen in their cars and the whole situation would just feel awkward for everyone involved. Shamé. Then, the sun came out and the wind picked up. So it was cold, and i was left with the thought of being burned as i had decided against sunscreen. i made it to Chapters alive and missing a few smiles from people who sit outside of Lick’s and quickly look away to pretend their food needs to be appreciated like a piece of art when you make eye-contact. i bought “the heart is deceitful above all things” finally! This book has successfully given me a memorable quote and made me cry within the first twenty pages. However, it has to go away until i have read the other books that have been waiting for several months now.

Polarity is something i constantly struggle with. i’ve said that people are much too polar in our society now and it’s creating an unnatural state where absolutes are allowed to exist. i ain’t liking that since i now have a problem )that i’m avoiding( and i have to make decisions on what are my beliefs and what i tell myself my beliefs are. It’s very likely that i’m just upset because i don’t have an answer wrapped up in an easy-to-open container and have to think about something for once. Even still, i am polar and i long for the days when i can believe that “everything sucks, but that’s alright” and “yay! i’m having fun, but don’t forget that if you leave the oven on too long everything will explode” or “something” or “ something else, i dunno” anything that isn’t this monotony. Admit that suffering is essential for life but don’t forget that you’re not limited.

does an artist usually sign an unfinished painting?
L-i-am

chain-link sidewalk

Blockbuster never called, i really hadn’t expected them to, but it still felt disheartening.  But, i needed to make sure that they hadn’t been simply caught up with other things, so i called them and was connected to Jen )the girl who is to be manager of the new store(. She told me that her assistant had phoned everyone, regardless of whether or not they had qualified and that was a lie because these are people whose concern lies with their business. i feel ashamed that i never took Alyssa up on the suggestion to apply at Whole Foods, but i’m going to pretend that school busy-ness is a good enough excuse for not doing that.

 Careers class at school was described as though it would make a direct and immediate impact on my actual career situation in life. Sadly, it did not except for retarding me from thinking about where best to apply and depriving me of the time and will to do so. Another deprived will came from the life consuming career that we’re expected to have decided to want. Near the beginning of the year we were given a small task of doing some light research on an occupation that interested us. i chose a pharmacist with the flawed perception that it was all white lab-coats, pills, neon-coloured liquids and high-contrasted rooms with bright lights. Of course, i was mistaken and clued in a little too late on what i should have learned from The Constant Gardener. That career followed me throughout the term as we were expected to use it as the basis of a number of other assignments. Another thing that followed me through this course was the question that basically said: “Where do you see yourself/other person in ten to twenty years?” i honestly always wanted to answer with: “working in a factory and barely living between bottles.” Maybe just for spite, or maybe just because it seemed only reasonable since i’m afraid that i might succumb to that. And i don’t mean to say *that*, i mean to say a job that that satisfies neither monetary nor artistic desires.

 Anyway, on a *Brighter* note, Bright Eyes was awesome! What must be noted is the guy who opened for him: Gruff Rhys. He sings in Welsh, which is confusing but magical at the same and he did all of his “Sythia” work on stage by recording little pieces, one at a time, and then playing them back and adding more. It was really neat to actually hear the song being assembled that way. Try to imagine someone building a rainforest )out of sound!(. He learned to play guitar on his brother’s left-handed instrument. But, his brother moved away and he began playing with his sister’s right –handed guitar left-handedly. He had made a piece to attach to the instrument with velcro so that it didn’t seem quite as awkward. Another really, really neat component was a voice distorter which completely changed his voice to some weird, almost raspy and wheezy high-pitched state. i definitely want one of those. Then we changed seats to see the stage more directly and Bright Eyes came on!!! I’m not even going to try to describe how incredible it feels to see Conor Oberst live,, playing music and singing and and and....*euphoria interlude................................. oki, i'm done* Interestingly, as Robyn pointed out, the band behind him had a female drummer. It’s odd when i began to think that the only other female drummers i know of are from the White Stripes and the 5.6.7.8’s )but, i dunno if that counts, seeing as they are an all-girl band(.  Also, Mr. Oberst knocked his beer bottle over half way through the show, and though it may have been froth, there was clearly a white liquid that poured out and was strangely similar to milk. hehe,, There was a pause between two of the songs, )but they were incredible at making them flow together(, where in which a guy in the audience yelled “Marry Me!” to Conor, who, in turn, looked in the guy’s direction and said: “okay”. Everyone laughed and then he said, “I guess that kind of thing’s alright up here? Yeah, where I’m from, that doesn’t fly so well.” hehe. He played one of his new songs for us called “Soul Singer and a Session Band” which was great and reminded me of some of Dave Matthew’s stuff oddly enough. All in all, it was a wonderful evening! Thank you so so so much.

 Then, friday was incredible. i’ve always felt weird around my own family gatherings at first, then i slowly become more comfortable over time. i suppose that was kind of the same way when we got to the wedding, Graham, Laurel, Robert, Kelly and, of course, Robyn, you guys all rawk! Bruce and Shirley were such lovely and welcoming people, and i would like to say that i’m happy for Adam and Sarah. In fact, though it may be fair to say that i do not know them well enough, i will say that all of the Bainbridges are so so so kickin’. Yes, my calves and feet hurt from dancing ;p. According to Laurel, i should be a swing-dancer, which is totally one of the bestest compliments i’ve ever had, so thank you very much. On the way home, Graham started singing the “the ants go marching (#) by (#), hurrah!, hurrah!” song, though we  made the latter part sound more like “hurrah............................hur-hurrah?”. That was probably one of my happiest car rides ever. So, once again, Thank You all!

Father’s day was father’s day, i’ll leave it at that.

and her thinning and frayed hair was in patches
and her skin was just a layer of film over her bones and veins
and her clothes were baggy
and her rings were loose on her fingers
and her words were slurred and syncopated
and her eyes were frantic, diluted and glossy
and she was deteriorating.

 L-i-am.

i took the oppurtunity to sew the buttons back on, but they soon fell off.

Oki, so here it is, only a week and a day late: Ottawa!

what an awesome trip it was: lots of fun fun fun despite some constant drizzle and frightening realizations. i have such a poor memory, so sorry in advance because i will leave something important out. )i tried to write stuff down, but well,,, the bottom fell out of that bucket(

To begin with, i almost missed the busses, )but i obviously didn’t, so i don’t even know why i’m mentioning that( despite having the most efficient morning ever. i sat behind Mr. Dooley and his fiancée: Marianne. It’s awesome, ‘cause no matter how much Mr. Dooley puts up with from annoying little kids who make fun of the fact that he used to have long hair, he stays pretty cool. )say what you will about desk-throwing, i’m certain that’s an elaborate act designed for enjoyment(. Apparently, i was half-dead and everyone thought that i was sleeping, which i may have been doing, but i never felt quite rested and i remembered hearing every song on the cd i had. When i did open my eyes, Mr. Dooley told me that i had some “mad sleeping skills”. tehe. We stopped at a town made of fast-food restaurants )i made the walk to the grocery store for candy that wasn’t any better for me and the ever-awesome-golden-canned-ginger-ale( Chuck and Dan were hackin’ it up in the parking lot when Marianne came over and just joined in. That was confusing and cool simultaneously. She messed up and the first word that came out of her mouth was “Shit!” We all laughed. We got to Ottawa and went straight to the National Arts Center )this was where we would be spending the majority of our time( for a concert that was memorable dynamically )the oboe was really, really quiet at the end and it turned out that the player had snuck backstage while everyone was sleeping.( We were supposed to go on a ghost walk, but it was raining, so, we all just walked back to our lavish hotel rooms.

Friday began with Emma, Chelsea and i walking to the Rideau Center. On the way, Emma needed to stop at the crack-house that is Starbuck’s. Her order for a cup of coffee was long and complicated with over 20 syllables. She let Chelsea and i try her )mundanely( complex drink. i was surprised to have liked it and contracted her to order it for me next time.

The Rideau Center brought many great surprises, the first being my cousin Sam. i had known that he was going to be in Ottawa that weekend for zee musik nationalz as well, but we had let slide any plans to meet. Bt there, first real group of people that crossed our path, was him and his friends. That was fortunate.

Then, we went to the blasphemous store of Old Navy. It was worth it: first of all, i got a kickin’ bouncy ball for a quarter and then a pair of pants! seeing that pants are not the easiest thing for me to buy and that i needed a new pair, it was cheerful. They were my size, but i believe that everything in the store carried American sizes, so they are slightly looser than i had hoped, but i’m satisfied.

Finally, at the end of my money, i walked in to music world and Emma and Chelsea found what i was looking for )i’m sure i would have seen it eventually(. so yes,, Electric President’s S/T )what does S/T mean anyway?( which is rockin’ and if you see it being sold anywhere i recommend buying it. Et puis, of course, Louder Now. i had my doubts at first but once i had listened through it the second time: i think Taking Back Sunday Rocks ) yeah, that’s right Chuck!(

Friday was also our performance day. i must congratulate Emma and the Brass section, which was incredible! Royal Canadian Sketches still opened with triumph despite the expanse of the room we were in )i believe it used to be a train-station(. We were awarded silver, though i think the trumpets alone deserved gold.

i believe it was that night too that the concert at the NAC featured a “Trumpet Virtuoso”. Wow, just wow, virtuoso is so fitting because, of course it’s suiting and fun to say.

i had breakfast Saturday morning and hunted out the banana muffin in the pile of oily pastries. That was pleasant. Today was the day we went to Québec to go inside cold, wet, dark caves. It was both fun and educational! i can’t imagine what it would be like to get lost in those, without a flashlight.

Emma and i went to get crazy coffee afterwards and i drank her magic and evil potion. The lady at the Starbucks got talking to Emma and mentioned that Starbucks is the “Third Space” because you have work, home and then coffee )or drug( house. It was probably the combination of the ridiculous drink )nice, but not so much after the first sip(

and the Starschmuck’s banter that made me sick. and i will proudly say that i felt much better after i got it out of my system.

We ate at Tucker’s Marketplace which had quite the selection of different foods, but nothing that really coordinated well. Chelsea, Katherine, Connor and i among others wandered to used book and cd stores before winding up at the Rideau Center. Where we were was the place that i was harassed by a homeless guy in grade eight! i yelled that out and the need was seen to cover my mouth, since some of the people in fraying flannel plaid looked as though they may be offended and violent.

NAC followed shortly. i believe it was a Jazz Band. The music was lovely, but lulling, it reminded me of tired evenings in dully lit restaurants with a loud band, heavy food and conversation that couldn’t be followed. i looked at the backs of my eyelids for a while.

Sunday was heading home day with one main stop: Hershey Factory. And a Chocolate Factory wasn’t quite as magical as i had expected. The no Oompa-Loompa factor really sucked along with the fact that the plant wasn’t in operation. but the candy was at least tasty.

That was a definitely a yay trip, i hope they’re not leaving the country in 2008.

It was Mother’s day and i thought i would be digging.

Every time i head out to drop off unsure résumés and submit rushed applications, there is an argument. Undoubtedly, there will be some minute detail that i have neglected and the entire occasion will be labeled as failure. And, of course, it will be a waste of time and gasoline, after all she can’t drive me “all across Oakville” just to give someone a piece of paper. i never have been fond of the idea or the action of selling myself. Of course, it sounds like prostitution, but there is, as well, a weird feeling that i get whenever i meet a stranger where both (s)he and myself have some sort of vicious intent. There’s rarely anything that resembles interaction, sharing nor conversation which are some of the key elements in meeting another person. All i ever feel is the expectation that i prove that i’m better than everyone else competing. And, i don’t feel that way, so it resembles lying, which i dislike. i also dislike the judgment that strolls along hand in hand with expectation from the silent, (in)attentive stare of a middle-aged man or woman from behind a counter.

My mother gets angry every time, i think i started off the last paragraph with that, i’ll stick to it this time. First of all, i didn’t have everything together. There was an application form that remained blank and i needed a phone book for several addresses. When i started filling it out on the way there, she asked me what i was doing, i told her it was something i ought to have done an hour ago. She concurred and  yelled told me that i would be “be headed back to the Superstore, ‘cause it’s the only thing [i am] capable of doing.” That struck a nerve. A very twitchy nerve that shouldn’t be irritated. i found it easier to keep silent than usual though when she asked me if my “stupid music” )another dissonant chord( was more important than this. Oftentimes, people will think they’ve won when they don’t get an response to a question with a predetermined answer. When i told her that i had been scrutinizing my resume and beginning homework while i had my headphones on, she didn’t respond. i didn’t think i had won.

We pulled into the parking lot for home depot, it was on the way and she needed to make an exchange and buy fruit. She suggested that i work at that big, orange building only to say that my hands were too pretty for it. A hint of cynicism lingered as my thoughts rushed to lacerating my fingers )mostly for the joy of thinking the word “lacerate”(. As soon as she left the truck i pulled out a copy of the page that synopsized the presentable portion of my life. And there, in the summary statement, i had misspelled a word. )one lousy frickin’ mistake,, dammit anyways! nothing i ever do turns out perfect. argh.( So, when she got back, i told her just to drive home, which mildly improved things.

However, when we got home, i walked in, carrying groceries and dropped my coat on the floor. i have done that many many times in the past weeks without justification, that has been something my mother has been frustrated by. So, she flipped and told me that my got shouldn’t be “thrown in a heap on the floor.” That sounds like many things she said about keeping things organized earlier on in my life. i’ve never been a naturally organized person. Trying to berid me of the kitchen, she told me to go and “do something useful for a change”, ie) laundry.
)side note does anyone know what ie actually stand for? why not use ex)?(
That compliment was just a completely spiteful thing to say, and all from such a menial thing. The coat that is, the job searching makes sense.

Money, i suppose is an issue in everyone’s life. “So, how much are you losing on the cake?” Irritated and slightly inebriated, she sat on the couch, comfortable and accusing. To be honest, i really do not care. Everyone who didn’t pay didn’t even have a slice. I find that fair, it was my poor, last minute planning that didn’t tell everyone what was going on, so i shall bear the consequences.

Then, i took her out for dinner and she complained that i don’t have enough money to be doing that. )Which will be true very soon(. The “stupid music” that she spoke of was the Requiem for a Dream soundtrack )a’ight another side note-ish phrase or two. Whoever designates which cds are 2 for $25 and 2 for $30 are some sort of conspirator mastermind who makes sure that the ones you really really want aren’t in the same deal bracket. yet another reason why i shouldn’t be shopping at hmv( which everyone who has heard will agree is not stupid. So, as it seems, my spending habits incline over a period of a few days. This is not the best plan for success, seeing as i am unemployed. So, tomorrow, i’m going to try to get to otc by bike to lessen any inconveniences. i won’t be surprised if it’s raining. hehe.

i’m getting up tomorrow with the birds =)

so,,, yes, that’s right, to get up, i need to go to sleep. Yay!,,, goodnight

The morning, so long ago, i can barely remember.

i’ve noticed that this post has grown to be quite substantial. There’s likely a compromise of conciseness that i (once) strive(d) for. So, all apologies in advance. And, if you don’t like the length, then either teach me how to lj cut or go fuck yourself. i have a feeling that the latter will be much more fun for all those involved.

Min Chen came to Canada on a student visa in 2001. Two years later, his visa was about to expire and he would have been sent back to the country of China. )yuck( Now, he has admitted to second-degree murder and given a life-sentence. In fifteen years, he will have a chance of parole. i suppose that at this time, he will be sent back to China where he will be further tried and likely sentenced to execution. And of course, this is what he deserved: “He meant to cause [Cecilia] bodily harm”. Do not consider his desperation, the shame he would feel in failing his studies and wasting his parents’ savings as well as their son’s life, the spontaneity of his actions, his lack of proper planning, the way he panicked and wrapped the girl’s head in a towel )afraid she may scream(, the way she died before he made it to his car waiting outside the house. No sentence could be imposed by the judge to undo the pain felt by the Zhang family so, let’s make the young Mr. Chen suffer as much as he can.

i’m pissed off, people can’t simply be condemned to “perverted”. i’d like to believe that an individual’s life possesses more complication than that. i hate the media, )yes, yes, yes, we’ve all heard this a billion times before.( for making people believe that they want to know the answers to questions such as “what kind of a monster would do such a thing” because there is no damn monster. Humans would like to relate (to the suffering) of each other. If someone’s looking for someone repugnant enough to murder a child, i would like whoever it is to make an inventory of the items they own that a child died for.

This is about Britain’s youngest mother. i don’t have much to make in the way of commentary on it, but seeing as mother’s day is coming up, i thought it could be important to some of (yo)u(s).

 David Irving’s life should be a British-Action-Comedy film. The man is a marvel when it comes to his audacity in and out of court along with his admirable intelligence )which subsequently turns to wit that fuels his audacity.( For french, everyone was supposed to choose a controversial subject, make a presentation about it, and watch the class debate a resolution you chose about your controversial topic. i, evidently, chose Holocaust denial. Everyone showed much more ease than i expected with the topic. the resolution was something along the lines of “BIRT laws )throughout Europe( that disallow the revision and denial of the )Jewish( Holocaust )carried out by the Nazis( should be abolished.” Mr. Pascoe was intrigued by the subject and the “conspiracy” taste it carried. i’m glad that everyone, afterward, saw it as a matter of free speech to deny and revise any element of the (uncertain) history of this world.

 It was for the project that i woke up shortly after four in the morning for. i fell into sleep around midnight after waiting for my mother to be done with the computer )i never did tell her that i needed to use it though(. The numbers of my alarm clock were something like 1:53,,, as far as i remember. i’ve never had the greatest memory though. It’s possible that i woke up again, perhaps it was part of a masochistic dream though. Then the alarm went off and i swam to it with my eyes closed over-reaching for the off switch. i sat up in bed for about twenty minutes thereafter watching the numbers change at an unusually quick pace. Consequently, Thursday and Friday feel like they were melded together to for the ominous day of Frithurday! )named so because Thurfriday doesn’t sound quite as nice. Hehe,,, it almost became “Frithaturday” but the time of two o’clock brought tiredness. )i just needed to make that alliteration( And then,, as i usually do, i woke up a little after six. Damn, programmed.( And it finally made sense that i had been worried by the fact that i hadn’t planned my Friday or really defined when it was by a single event )it helps to keep track of time(. Anyway, it was necessary that i get up at that time )to create a new and wacky day( because i move slowly )in the morning( so i knew i needed time before i ambled off to morning Happy rehearsal.

Aw, Fringe. This year will be certainly missed by me )as will last year, and Oklahoma! But, i feel as though i was more involved in the two Fringe plays i was in than i ever have been before in a production(. All of the shows are so kickin! It’s important that i make some commentary on all of the shows before they run, frightened and screaming, out of my memory bank.

Bear with me, please: i know, i overuse certain words.

 Amelia, Once More: i didn’t know what to think of it until part way through when Lauren played her character “getting into the character Amelia”. It really captured the madness and self-compromise people put themselves through to entertain others. And i must wish Ashley a great job )i laughed at the dancing!(

Clue:  Incredibly talented cast! i have never seen the film nor played the game, but i have heard of the characters and they were played formidably! The Jokes, pretty much all innuendos were perfectly executed and rather witty.  A note of importance is, during the first performance, when Jessie)as the cop( came through the curtains asking: “What’s going on here?” only, he couldn’t find the opening in the curtains. It went quite well with the dialogue, and it was a rather good laugh. Lauren Wing was in this one and she had a fair deal of long and complicated lines to memorize, so hats off to her!

Trouble in Suburbia: Robyn, i advise you to read no further, as you will not believe me. i really liked this play. It was very technical, and consequently, the blocking as well as entrances and exits suffered neglect. The script felt very modern in that the characters weren’t expressing themselves so much through words as they were through actions and experiences that we all )think we( share in common. A lot of it was implied. i think it would translate very well into film.

Death Knocks: Everyone can tell the immense amount of rehearsing that went into this play ;p. i actually must say that they pulled it off extremely well for the fact that a majority of the play was being improvised. It had some pretty comical moments and kept interest fairly simply for a cast of two.

Wanted: One Groom: That seemed like a ridiculous premise, and it was! It was also ridiculously funny. Chris played the perfect, kinda-nerdy, university guy who winds up marrying a girl who asked for a husband via newspaper ad. MacNair played the perfect hysterical best-friend of the bride. These guys were the leads, but it must be said that the rest of the cast was superb!

Bottled Spider: This play was hilarious. A )bit more than a( dash of British humour as a courtroom parody. It was definitely the quirkiest play at Fringe and barely a dull moment. The Blind Jury Member, David White, was certainly one of the most laugh-soliciting characters. And Patrick’s portrayal of the lawyer(s) was quite dashing to say the least.

The Lobby: Although there was that eighties-style jazz elevator music )which is a blatant abuse of the saxophone and referred to as “creepy porno music” by Hilary( running throughout the show, it held up some wit. Matt and Alana’s parts in particular were quite enjoyable, the awkward, agitated characters. And Matt did, as a matter of fact, look “ratherdashing”.

Dr. Strangelove or How I learned to Stop worrying and love the Bomb: “Mein Furher! I can vvalk!” That was the role of a dreamy lifetime. Thank you so much Adam and Connor for giving me that role. To you guys and all the cast: it was an honour and a glorious time working with you. A sided-note: they got the cast and crew foam missile launchers,,, that is so cool! Thank you all.

Happy: Working on this play had been draining at times, but it was so close-hitting at certain moments that the whole thing really felt like a piece i sincerely cared about. Though there have been certain troubles with the door,,, heh. John’s monologue was moving, and i’ve heard good things about it from other people. Courtney deserves a very hearty round of applause for her absolutely fantastic script.

As Robyn so kindly mentioned in her lj, we had a talk after school. Thank you for what i’m going to call “cola with sucralose” )au lieu de “pepsi”( and all apologies for taking away your drive, if you wanted it. If not,,,then yeha. You do realize that you are out of your freaking mind! Right? ;p, don’t forget that the greatest people have been out of their freaking minds. Robyn: you rawk. )especially(

Leo deserves an honourable mention, he has sent me so many emails )and if you’ve ever received an email from Leo, you’ll know that it’s like no other(. i always have a sense of excitement and gratitude when i open the msn window and see the email count at something higher than (0). It’s just so self-gratifying )i’m going to go along thinking that’s a positive thing(. Thank yous!

In the way of a stab at creativity, here are some Fight-Club invoked haiku i wrote a couple of weeks ago, keep in mind that all i know of haiku is the requirement of seventeen syllables )five-seven-five(:::

Thirty five blue lines

And one diluted red line.

A waste of your trees.

The rolling grey clouds

Make a billowing ceiling

As the air turns cool.

I used a blender.

Yum, strawberry banana,

Too thick for a straw.
 

I used a blender.

Milk flowed on to the counter.

A part was missing.

 

)i meant to post the following when i was at the bottom of that lake. i’d like to believe i’m rising to the surface.(

Main Entry: nar·co·ti·za·tion
Pronunciation: "när-k&t-&-'zA-sh&n
Function: noun
: the act or process of inducing narcosis, dulling or deadening

Narcotization is best described as a state in which a person simply succumbs to what they see as the inevitable and can’t find any reason to fight it. This is my greatest fear: that i may never succeed in the few ways that i once told myself i would. Far too often, i weigh the consequences on either side of writing )anything, anywhere( and, more often than not, i side with the belief that nothing good will come of it )or typing in that case(. That really hurts me and just feeds another one of my life’s vicious cycles: Attempting art to feel creative and relieve/release my disappointment/angst>>>feeling worse than i did in the first place because my art just forces my emotions further in the same direction they had been headed>>>feeling worser because i can’t justify my life through art>>> )elapse of days/weeks/months/)hopefully not( years(>>>Attempting art to feel creative and relieve/release my disappointment/angst. So, i have been feeling narcotized as of late. )if only it induced veritable sleep( 

Eugh, my knife is either dull or sharp recently.

Doubleplus,
i think i’m going to need to find a more creative way to express side notes than backwards brackets. i used to be so clever when it came to “describing the issue without saying it”.

It’s pertanent that i resolve to salvage any and all that i can from this field of scattered and lonely debris.

Current mood: “i’m unhappy. So what? i’m unhappy today, i’ll be happy tomorrow, but then i’ll be back to self-pity again the next day.”

The clouds had threatened to cover my view of the crescent moon for a while. Their border had neither moved noticeably leftwards across the sky in several minutes. However they moved, it had no connection to the breeze that gently tossed my hair over my eyes. i was standing in a field at the time of evening when patches of cream and various blues were overcome by billows of darkness. The ground was moist and cool still from the winter which had left far too abruptly. As i stood there, on the muddy ground in my tattered shoes, i thought of this.

i thought of my chance to push aside the plugging rock in my mind and let out the stale air of my thoughts in the mundane spirit of words. As i always am, i was thinking of what my life will look like when it is put on paper, or a screen. Oftentimes, it seems much more exciting and admirable than it is in actuality. Perhaps this is a consequence of the fact that i am numb to the caliber of my day to day affairs. Or, my poor memory is to take the blame along with the tendency i try to avoid of substituting fiction where there is a vacancy. The synthesis of the things i invent and want so much to be included.

At the times that i appear to live, i don’t. There doesn’t seem to be time once i have made certain to relentlessly detail every moment, completing the task by snapping the neck of the feeling to extract the valuable experience. i then place it in a display case, marked to be sold. Not for money but for myself. As it stands, i am an invalid without other people telling me who i am.

The world lacks validity when i don’t tell myself what it is. It maintains it when i remember. My only mnemonic is time and muse consuming.

i didn’t notice the clouds obscure the bright sliver in the sky that i hadn’t the chance to describe. i had been hastily scribbling down what, when, where i was thinking alongside keywords to open doors to empty rooms. This had been valuable to me, and possibly still was. Eitherwise, it was in a notebook, and i could hold it as my own. My experiences are so (un)important to me that i have found myself incapable of keeping them in memory. So, they have been properly stored in other places to render them enduring. i don’t remember, but at least there is something to tell me that i could have. That i may have emoted if it weren’t for my fear of letting the precious pieces fall.

The sun was shining down, more heated than it had been for a long time. i was afraid of what it might do or have done, but i needed to go outside. i passed beyond the shadow of the building from the slight chill to immediate heat. The grass in the sun, under my shoes was Spring grass.
Trampled and yellow, the blades broke with snaps of dust beneath my fraying shoes each time they hit the ground. It was an aged sense of crisp.
Two buttons repeatedly clicked together in my pocket to remind me that i needed to sew them back. Loose, lonely, mangled thread reminded me of where. i had neglected my coat, precisely because it was my own. Not simply a coat, as many other objects may be. Exercising ownership over it made it a part of me regardless of whether or not i(t) wanted. It was something that would begin to assume and reflect my habits. i felt the need to patch and mend it, but i didn’t see the need nor immediate benefit. i would tell myself otherwise and not believe it.
When not covering me, the coat habitually remained thrown in a heap on the floor of my cluttered room and mind. In plain sight but out of any acknowledgement and distinguishment
To better tailor it to myself, i thought of reinforcing the lining of the pockets, long before i would consider sewing the buttons. It would have an apparent purpose, leastwise. i kept walking to a store i didn’t want to go to , to buy myself something i didn’t need.
Like the coat, i was unraveling. Like the jaundiced grass, i was withering.