but how long can you keep it up?

It's been a hell of a week. Don't take that the wrong way. I haven't had time to read the books I told myself I would read, but the alternative option is pretty great at the moment.

My only worry is that the levels of bliss fulminating in my core are going to be destructive to my literary skill. There's a sort of stigma: that writing and creativity are best when they come from a dark and depressed place. It is easier to write when I'm upset than it is when I'm happy. Perhaps because it is my way of coping with everything. I suppose in that respect I should try to make it a habit of writing more when I'm in a good mood or good place in my life. What's hard about that is that it passes by so fast that I just want to sit there and feel it all and shut my brain off to the meandering that happens when I'm morose.

They tell you that when you're in the first stages of romantic bliss your brain pumps out the same types of serotonin/chemicals that you get from certain drugs. They're what keep you infatuated and focused on your partner - more hierarchically speaking - they help forward the genetic imperative. I find this dually fascinating and gross. I like the feeling - I don't know how I feel about where it's leading. Back to my issue though. When I'm morose - I generally feel more witty. I equate cynicism and anger with intelligence and hilarity. Maybe because most of the people I really like and identify with had or have an angry black humour schtick going for them. I have to break this pattern. I think I'll accomplish this by upping my amount of writing here by a significant chunk. I update pretty damn randomly, but I'm sure once school starts I'll be wanting to write more. Perfect.

In regards to what's been happening this past week? Sometimes you just have to jump in head first and deal with consequences later. I got lucky.

birthdays

Talking to a friend today - it is her birthday and she mentioned she felt "meh". I sympathize. I've not had any good birthdays really. There has been a small succession of slight failures on each one's part. So it hit me - the obvious: we're conditioned to think that birthdays are a big deal. That something amazing will happen just because our satellite has gone another revolution around the sun. The expectation of a giant internal clock striking twelve and suddenly feeling older, wiser, something - anything. Bullshit. It means nothing.

The real days of growth are the ones where we overcome hurdles and learn new things. This is when we age, grow wiser, etc. I want to say so many things in addition to that. But they're all really personal and ridiculous. Also it's early days of some of my own realizations yet and I think I'll ruminate on them some more before committing them to cyberspace.

I meant every word

So I am reading East of Eden by Steinbeck right now. It's quite a tome but it slides across my cerebellum like butter. I feel guilty, I should be reading A Confederacy of Dunces, but it's daunting for one reason or another - more on that in a bit. So - I'm a couple of chapters in and one of the reasons I am really loving it is because I feel as if I've been enveloped by that world. The language slithers into the corners of my being and it is lulling, peaceful prose. It can be graphic yet soft and makes me feel warm and cosy. Is that strange?

Two minutes ago I was complaining to Skye about how boring the internet was and then I decided to wiki Steinbeck. So here I am. And here's what I think.

I want to live in the era of Steinbeck. He was raised on a farm and went to Stanford but dropped out because he wanted to write. He was something of a drifter but then his father put him up in a house he owned and supplied him with money and paper and other needs. Steinbeck was able to write. He worked in between Stanford and being supported but - at jobs that we (and probably he as well) consider(ed) demoralizing. My point, though, is: it was a different time. Now, I, of all people am usually the first amongst us to say "man I love living in the future" but things are so rigidly structured in our time. We're expected to go to high school - and that education doesn't count for much, so we go get our degree, and then more degrees, but how much practical knowledge do we attain? Then we're saddled with loans (if we're not the lucky few) and spend our lives slogging through the weeds to pay them off. I know I'm looking at it from a really negative theoretical standpoint. I can't help it. I want to run away and just live. To fast forward through this university stuff - and just be able to live. Steinbeck, other than having millions of words inside himself, was a literary genius. If I knew that about myself - that I had those kinds of stories inside of me - I would leave in an instant. I guess the pervasive idea of my life for the past few years is that I have, in a sense, been stuck. Stuck in a relationship that I didn't know how to account for or get out of (for whatever reasons) and now - in a way - I'm stuck again, at university.

Please don't misunderstand tender reader - I am in no way trying to compare myself to Steinbeck. Now, back to my thoughts.....

In the time of Steinbeck, one didn't neccessarily have to go to university. People just went and got jobs. Some were more apt with words, some with their hands. The world was not so populated as it is now. Life - in a way - was more simple. I know I'm saying things that are glaringly obvious but still, I wish we could go back to this simplicity. So that I didn't have to spend all this time waiting. Waiting for my life to start. Because that's what it feels like sometimes.

I want to travel and see things that somehow bring those millions of beautiful words out of me. I want to be struck by ideas for stories and be able to follow my hunches and ideas and do research on things. Time feels precious. But to get time - you need money - and to get money - you need a good job, a career if you're lucky. A career means: university education. It feels like a hopeless cycle. And at the same time I realize that I actually like going there - U of T is pretty awesome despite what people have to say. But still. I want to concentrate on things other than 10 page essays on the treatment of "female bodies" in a detective fiction work. Sure it's interesting but, my mind tugs me in different directions.

And then who's to say that even if I do have a great idea for a book or a novel, that I'll be able to execute it properly. How long would that take? Will it be good enough? I know - I should stop dawdling and start writing. I suppose the career of a novelist is hard enough to come by - we can't all just wake up one day and be Steinbeck.

He had to work at it too. I guess I'll keep doing that.

you were my favourite moment of our dead century

I don't think I've written about this yet. A few weeks ago I went to see my mom at her office (which, incidentally, is around the corner from my apartment). I forget why I was there - I think I was picking something up, or just hanging out and getting food at the hospital food court. I do that every now and again - even though the food court kind of sucks, seriously, I always get an assorted sub and call it a day. Anyway my mom and I were talking and out of nowhere she asks "Remember Beata?",

me: "No?"

Mom: "The lady who took you to the High Tatra's when you were a kid?"

me: "Oh Teta Bea" (pronounced beh ah)

Mom: "Yeah! She emailed me the other day and..."

me: (cutting in) "I don't want to know! If another person is dying of cancer I'm gonna go nuts!"

Mom: "Nobody's dying, relax, actually she emailed me because your sister (!) wanted to know if she could have your email address and email you?"

me: "Uh, you mean....uh....my dad's ...other daughter?"

Mom: "Yeah, the older one, Reka (my middle name), I think she's 31."

me: "Oh, oh....oh...ye-es"

Mom: "Okay, I'll email her back."

Did I mention this was a few weeks ago? I waited until that night to tell Karen as we had a get together at Red Room. I didn't want to get my hopes up. I've never met my dad and I figured this was a good way to break the ice, if any. I wondered if the girl spoke English, or Slovak, because I sure as heck don't speak or read Hungarian. But I did get my hopes up. How could I not after all this time. I worry that I may have accidentally deleted an email that came into my spam filter. I worry that my mom didn't give Bea the email address. Most of all I worry that she changed her mind, and doesn't want to get in contact with me. I somewhat decided not to worry about that part of my life a long time ago - to put it away awhile. And then it got all stirred up. Now I think about it more, and I sit. And I wait.

the mars volta; Omar; a vade mecum

I'm at Manic Coffee and I'm reading interviews with Omar Rodriguez-Lopez - one half of the Mars Volta ATDI creative powerhouse dichotomy. They're all about Octahedron vs. older stuff like Bedlam in Goliath and the pervasive thought throughout is that what Omar wanted for this record (Octahedron) is to bask in the types of songs that for me define the volta (the poetic shift) in the process or the arrangement of the tracks if you will. For those who don't know - the volta - in poetry is the break or shift in meaning/movement into another thought or idea or interpretation of the poem. It's telling that this is part of the name Omar and Cedric have chosen. There is a definitive break in the tracklistings of all the albums. Sometimes more than once. In De-Loused for me it was Televators. Frances the Mute - Miranda That Ghost Just Isn't Holy Anymore. This is gratifying for me because even though I love the uptempo salsa infused songs/tracks - the songs where they slow down are sometimes where you get to see most of the talent, the creativity, the imagination.

Miranda for example - I could listen to that song for the rest of my life (which I will), but it starts with the sound of night time and maybe wind, birds chirping in the background. Slowly other effects come in, there's a sound of a coyote (perhaps) and then there's the sound of a record player that's finished playing and is just rotating the vinyl with the needle mutedly skipping along. The coyote gets louder and you can hear Cedric making whining sounds, the wind comes through again. In a word, it's ominous. And you wait....and wait in this environment - is there some sort of wind instrument? Yes. Omar's guitar comes in and and the sounds get reversed and forwarded - and here's more trumpet. It sounds like a melody to play at the end of a cowboy western when the hero is about to go to battle. And Cedric says something completely nonsensical "I've always wanted to eat glass with you again" in the most heartbreaking voice you've ever heard in your life - and you want to cry, but you're lulled in the wings of his voice. It's so tender - he's caressing the song with his throat. "And when Miranda sang, everyone turned away, used to the noose they obey." Cedric's voice and the violin (I think) which has now joined the chorus are both incredibly fragile and weeping - completely juxtaposed with the content of the bordering on grotesque lyrics. The tempo picks up, as does the trumpet, the climax comes and goes, ends with a crescendo, goosebumps appear and we're left with the trumpet doing it's little thing - jazzy, with a hint of sad violin. The ghost of Jeremy Michael Ward can be heard in the way the sound effects are used.

This is the type of song Omar wanted to do a whole album full of - and he succeeded, that was his basis, his prototype, and he built on it. It's always gratifying when an artist heads in the direction that you (not necessarily expect) but are ready for. I'm glad he and Cedric don't try to re-create what they've done before, and I love the open-ness that I've learned from hearing albums of theirs that are continually changing, evolving, expanding. Grateful is how I feel that they're together in my era - so that I can experience them firsthand.

what if forensics finds the answers?

I know I said my next two entries would be about Wolverine and Christmas trees vs. atheism but it's been a strange week, so let me tell you why...

I've been off my meds. I hate admitting that I'm on something because I'm the last person who likes to admit weakness - which is funny because when I went to drop off my new med prescription I asked for some literature about the new stuff my doctor prescribed and this is what was written mid-page:

"Depression is caused by a combination of biochemical, genetic and environmental factors. It is in no way a sign of weakness".

As if Shoppers Drug Mart people were literally reading my mind. In October it was a year since I started on, well...whatever it was I was taking. It was great - I was able to step away from a situation and examine it without getting entangled, it also made me incredibly somnolent. So sleepy was I that I ended up missing a lot of school and a lot of life.

I recognize that there's more going on behind the curtain of my grey matter but it's just easier to ignore it when I'm trying to get through school. However there is overspill every now and again and it can get really messy. Especially in between doses - this has never happened before. So I don't know if I'm feeling like this because of an environmental factor, ie. something that's happened in the past week or so to set me off, or if it's overspill from the harrowing adventure of Bar&Niall, or if this is just how I always am.

I don't remember. What I am remembering is the anger. I used to be a really angry little kid - slamming doors to the point where hinges would break off. I do not for the life of me understand why I was that angry. Okay yes I do - but it seems like a bit of overkill for the situation I was in (which I'm not going to talk about because it's really not that big a deal and would be a meandering digression). As I got older though, specifically when I entered the age of part time jobs etc., I became inherently frustrated with people I found to be below an intelligence frequency that I was broadcasting on. I don't know if people in general frustrate me, or if it's people and their stupidity. When I worked at Pier1 with Karen, sometimes I would come upstairs from the stockroom and she would remark about how she could "totally see the cartoon steam coming from your ears".

I asked for the meds, which was after the end of Bar&Niall and at a point in my life where I knew I needed to get through school come hell or high water, I felt assuaged. Things were suddenly easier. I became a nicer person. I became really laid back. I wasn't as angry with the idiots that I worked for, or the idiots who worked for me (some of them), they maybe even began to not seem like idiots. I started talking to strangers more - when I felt it was socially appropriate.

And it feels like all of this somehow came to a halt on Saturday night, about a week or week and a half after going off the meds. I was grumpy, I had to keep reminding myself not to be a jerk to people, I had to compartmentalize and try to be nice, and it was really hard, for the first time in a long time. I decided to talk as little as possible for the rest of the night at work.

And this freaks me out, because I don't want to be that person. So I've decided not to be, I don't know how I'm going to do it, but I'll let you know how it's going every now and again.

But don't be afraid if the really angry version pops out once in a while. She has feelings too.

why I like Kanye, and you should too

I have said recently (post the T-Swizzle debacle) that he's like a jester in my court of hilarity. I defended him - because even though what he did to Swift was not cool, he at least had the guts to go out in a public forum and say what he really felt, and I respect that. So you'd think that the next thing I would talk about is his music, but no, I want to discuss something that, in my opinion, may be a little bit more important (in terms of Kanye).

The man knows how to dress. Sartorially - he is genial. In an industry where men wore baggy pants with their boxers showing, nightie type XXXXXXXL t-shirts, egregious bling, and Timberland booties, Kanye came out with tight pants, fitted shirts, sweaters and blazers, sometimes dress shoes, or interesting sneakers, and most of all he was, and is not afraid of bright colours. It also helps that he's, well, hot. So where am I going with this you ask? Well - Kanye sells millions of records, and along with that, he sells image. And thanks to his look - I don't have to be revolted by men in the streets trying to look like "rappers" anymore. Urban youth are dressing more and more like Kanye every day, straight leg jeans, leather bomber jackets, colourful sneakers, less bling - and it's joyous. The men's silhouette is visible again! Damn it's sexy.

Teenagers don't look like little hoodlums anymore! I attribute this to Kanye - I'm sure it was in the works before him - with subtle shifts in the zeitgeist, more interest in independent label bands, fashion going back to retro 80's looks, etc etc. Kanye came along at the right time and was able to harness these factors and translate them into a fractional part of his success.

So he's a bit full of himself - I would be too if I were him. Additionally - the guy likes Daft Punk, how cool is that?

Anyway - that's all I can think of right now, but it's enough - in my eyes. That and I like the vulnerability he showed in 808's and Heartbreaks, but that's another story.

someone get rid of her

I realize that by writing about it I'm just falling into the trap they've set up. Either hate it or love it, but either way, you'll have an opinion.

I'm talking about the new Lady GaGa video. I feel so dirty mentioning that here. Concept - possibly interesting. The dancing - terrible. The song - worst piece of crap I've listened to in a while. This girl just wants to be able to prance around in really expensive designer clothing and be like "look, look how good my taste is! Look how weird I am!" And it's really fucking annoying. There isn't really any coherence to the lineup of outfits she has in the video. Honestly it reminded me of a really brightly coloured wanna-be H.R. Giger set. The worst part is that she's supposed to make people want to dance. That song is not danceable. On top of all this she's not even consistent - she wears really interesting high concept couture, but then she has a pair of white sunglasses on that clearly say "Carrera". Make.Up.Your.Fucking.Mind.

*walks away grumbling about the irritating state of pop culture these days*

stories

I'm supposed to be doing laundry right now, and reading a book that I'm supposed to be handing an essay in on tomorrow. However, this weekend just flew by and I woke up with more symptoms of the ever reaching cold/flu, as if it had never left my system (3 weeks ago). I think I need to see an immunologist and nutritionist, but hey...that's not why I'm here. In the spirit of all the things I've been reading (and experiencing) in regards to candy, I have my own little tale. And maybe all that candy is why I'm sick, but I doubt it. Really.

When I was a child in communist Slovakia and my grandmother wanted to imbue me with a sense of right and wrong and the idea of punishment. She used to tell me a story about my mom and her two sisters. There was a type of candy they used to like; potato sugar (in Slovak, zemiakovy cukor). If they were good, sometimes one of my grandparents would bring some home. But three girls having a horrible sweet tooth makes for trouble (they were all brunettes too). They banded together and decided to pull off a heist of massive proportions. You know...for basically being a bit above toddler status. One stood watch at the kitchen door where my grandfather was sleeping (we had a bed in the kitchen, crazy huh), and the other stood at the end of the seemingly miles long hallway to the dining/living room where my grandmother was doing something, most likely sewing. I'm pretty sure my mom was the one who reached into the pocket of my grandfather's jacket and took out several crowns. Later the girls gorged on potato sugar, and if I'm going to hypothesize, I'd say that the reason they got found out was because they didn't want dinner.

Needless to say, grandfather was pissed (Ruh-rizzle!) and the girls wouldn't betray who did what, so they all got the spankings. I'd say it was probably worth it. I guess it definitely taught me a lesson because I never took money from my parents without asking, but it also made me incredibly curious about this "potato sugar" thing. They had stopped making it for a long time, and then eventually one day when I was about 5 or 6 my grandmother found some in the market and brought it home. At first I thought it was gross. It came formed like chocolate bars, so it seemed as if you could break it into pieces, but it was waaaaaaaay too hard. You'd have to suck on it, wear it down, and it was one of those acquired tastes. But I was determined to like it. It's so hard to describe the flavour, it was sweet but bitter, and the texture was to die for. I loved breaking off a piece and just....crunching it (probably ruining my molars with each gnash). And I miss it. I miss it a lot. I think I'll ask my mom about that story when I next see her.

On that note, the laundry ain't gonna do itself yo.

a vivid dissection that mocked the strut of vivisection

Things, things to write about....little things, big things. Stories about my life. Etc. Stories about other people's lives, about my imaginings of other people's lives. Stories about stories. Stories about sleep. Happiness. Why?

The doctor tells me not to drink caffeine. But it's the only thing that keeps me awake. I stay in bed all day. Don't want to go to school; get up for work. Should consider school a type of work, but it never works (hah). Never read when there's time, always find the best things when busy. Never realize how great the moments are until they are memories. Rhythms set off. Ideas running away with the birds, coming back with them the next season.

Feeling akin to people, finding people sympathetic. Means, means not to an end but to more ideas, more writing. Time. Never enough. Never enough time at the right time. How many seconds per second? Irritation. Just not enough of too much.

Distraction. Loss of direction. Split second decision resulting in the thrashings around of wakefulness.

things I will miss about living at home

• my brother no matter how annoying he can get - today I enjoyed listening to him sing along with some horrible song on the television
• hugging my mom after a long day
• the dyson ball - seriously, I love that thing
• the really deep bathtub in my mom's bathroom
• the Slovak accents - the awesome figurines of the complete old city on the bookshelf, the ceramic art, the corn husk dolls
• the butterfly collection
• the dogs, no matter how annoying they are too
• the proximity to the airport and the soothing effect that watching airplanes fly by really low has on me
• the trees on our street - the canopy of our neighbourhood
• living on the same street as Calvin and Eva and their kids
• the backyard

...and many other things I'm sure I'm forgetting at the moment

moving

So in a week it will be time to move, again. This has been somewhat thematic to my life. A lot of people really hate moving. I don't mind it, but this is really the first time I've been moving by myself, as in not with family accompanying me, or Niall. Moving after the breakup doesn't count, because I was moving back into my mother's house. So this is effectually the first time I'm moving as an adult, and for myself. When I think about it, I don't know how many times I've been hustled and bustled into a new household. Let me sit back and count. Well the first place I ever lived was my grandparent's house that my mom grew up in. Then my mom and I moved into our own apartment (a space from which some of my best memories come from, I'll tell the story of how this apartment was gouged away from me another time). My mom then decided to move to Canada to be with Darth Vader and I moved back in with my grandparents who ended up swapping apartments with some other couple. So that's three times, and I'm only 5 - 6 years old so far. Then my mom gets married and has my brother and finally my immigration papers are figured out, so I move to Canada in 1993. That's 4. In 2000 we move into a house (the one I'm currently in) so that's 5. I'm 18, I meet Niall, he has his own place - I spend all my time there and my clothing starts piling up when a few weeks in he makes space and buys me a toothbrush, 3 months in he gives me a key, 8 months later we're playing around with Rugbey on the bed and he laughs and tells me I live with him, 6. A year later our landlord Tabby decides she wants to reclaim the space in the house so we find a new apartment in Parkdale, 7. We live on Sorauren for 8 months and we miss the East End of Toronto, we find the perfect place on Hiltz, 8. A year later the house gets sold and the new tenants again want to repossess the space, we decide to move in with Skye since he can't live with his mom anymore, 9. Niall becomes a jerk, finds someone he wants to be with more than me after a horrible and violent year, I find a letter from him to the girl a week after we break up, I call my mom and tell her to bring boxes and bags, 10. It's been a year since I came home, I've recuperated, I need to be closer to school, the phone rings here all the time, I hate Darth Vader, I'm moving out, 11.

This will be the eleventh time I'm moving. I'm only 24. Crazy.

It's daunting as much as it is exciting. I know Bob will be a great roommate, and I love my individual space that I'm going to be occupying. The fact that it will be a 15-20 minute walk to school is gravy. So it's almost literally a week from the day and I have not started packing. I think I'm going to order boxes. I also have many shoeboxes to use. I have realized, that like a real female, I have a lot of shoes. However they happen to be sneakers. Heh. Most of them are Onitsuka Tigers from way back when that I just don't have the heart to throw out, with some Puma's mixed in, and the crazy purple/orange Nike's.

But this is not a post about sneakers, it's about moving, and my shoe boxes and what I shall end up putting in them. Tomorrow I will venture out to Curry's to get supplies for my packing. I'll read The Big Sleep on the bus/subway to get ready for the passage essay on Monday. Then I'll read the past two weeks readings for Galbraith's Poetry from the 15-1600's class so he can fill me in on what we discussed while I was gone and I can ask questions if I have any. At Curry's I'll pick up newsprint to wrap delicate objects in and get a Chinese Marker to mark the boxes. I think I'm going to be incredibly organized this time - unlike moving out of Niall and I's apartment which was, well... schizophrenic. So - I have all these shoe boxes full of old pay stubs from when I was a retail manager (how the hell did I do 40 hours a week at two jobs, go to school full time, have time for Niall, and still manage to play a decent amount of rock band with Skye?). There's also bank statements, and for some reason I happen to have Niall's old pay stubs and bank statements too. I think tomorrow when I get back from Curry's I'll just shove all those docs into the outside fireplace thing and burn them all - I mean, I could recycle them, but there's no shredder at this house, maybe this way I can make s'mores.

As much stuff as I have to move - most of which = books - there are also a lot of things I need. I need a bed. And bedding. And I really want to invest in a chef's knife. I think I'm going to need some pots and pans too. And I have to figure this out all in a week. I'm a master procrastinator. Well....maybe just the bed is something I should get on pronto. Somebody needs to take me to ikea.

the eyes of the child see no wrong

As Neil, Mika and I were walking away from the venue in the windy rain I happened to make a remark about how halved tonight's audience was in the VIP section. A lot of people sat out Mastodon to wait for Dethklok, I was musing as to why when a kid in front of me asked "oh can I answer your question? Can I answer your question please?" I thought he might actually have something interesting to say so I replied "go ahead". To which he spat out "they sat it out because Mastodon sucks". I made some a half-hearted attempt at an IQ/McJob insult in retort, I don't think the kid understood it. Neil later pointed out that he was wearing a Slipknot hoodie.

I think that explains it all.

feeling ranty

You know he'll never be to pope to me, he's just Ratzinger, and I wish they had had an elaborate ceremony to apologize to Galileo, seriously.....they should just sell the Vatican, just sell it, it's pointless.....and give the archives to Universities. Or just burn everything for all I care.

And what the hell is this pope business anyway? How is it relevant ?

does your temperature ache? is your glass about to break?

Alright let's start with the setlist:

1) Son Et Lumiere

2) Inertiatic ESP

3) Goliath

4) Cotopaxi

5) Roulette Dares

6) Viscera Eyes

7) Halo of Nembutals

8) Eunuch Provocateur

9) Ilyena

10) Teflon

11) Drunkship of Lanterns

12) Luciforms

13) The Widow

14) Wax Simulacra

I won't even try to expound on how great this concert was so I'll just talk about the impressions that I had overall. Lately I haven't really been excited by going to concerts (even Tool) so I was pleasantly surprised by the bubble I felt in the pit of my belly when I woke up this afternoon. My concert going partner and I were just barely on time and had a few minutes to grab some merch and drinks before heading over to the stage. We decided to stand on the right side (and now my right ear is abuzz) which turned out to be fortunate as that's where Cedric spent most of his time, and we still had a very clear view. There was an interesting mix of old and new songs that all complimented each other in the order above - the shock of the night was the performance of Eunuch Provocateur - off of the Tremulant EP which came out before De Loused in the Comatorium - I have never heard the Mars Volta play any of their songs written prior to their debut album - so this was a treat. The execution was incredibly energetic - Cedric's dancing was alluring, gorgeous, sexual, hypnotizing, and many other similar adjectives that I could throw out. The man is mesmerizing in his articulation of feeling and music through his body.

The one image that will be seared into my memory ever more is of Cedric jumping in the air, and flinging his head as such that all the beads of sweat flew off of his curly El Paso Afro in the green backlight of the stage during Eunuch Provocateur. It was completely in the moment and incredibly cinematic and gorgeous. I hope someone captured it. Other stray thoughts - Teflon was heartbreakingly and beautifully delivered - the guys were really on top of everything tonight, everything was really tight, despite the fact that Juan (the bassist) had a broken hand! I noticed that this time around (as opposed to the Spring 2008 concert at the Docks) the guys decided to concentrate on more straight forward rock songs instead of the meandering psychedelic rock operas of yore. I mean, not that it wasn't anything it should have been, or that any aspect of their expressive selves was negated, but I noticed that this time around there were no trumpets/saxophones, where as last year one of the biggest parts of the concert was Ikey and the shit he could do, it really stood out. This time around there was more of a focus on Omar's brother Marcel playing bongoes and congas and Ikey playing keyboard instead of the brass instruments. It was perfect, and I feel incredibly satisfied, largely in part due to the fact that the set list was so diverse in terms of where they pulled content from.

It was achingly perfect.

My acerbic wit

How do I say this gently? Do you know what irony is? Your problems stem from the denial of the fact that you’ve switched from one lifelong habit to another. This addiction justifies your childishly poor impulse control – it coddles you. You are painfully aware that history recycles yet you don’t see how its pattern works on you. You stay nestled in the recesses of everybody’s hate and stagnate because it’s easier to think you’re above everybody else; that by being the bitter witty clown you’ll somehow win. Being at the apotheosis of my benevolence – I abide by this instead of saying anything directly hurtful. But it slowly builds inside of me – and will eventually emerge. Run.

if there were a god (or I believed in one)...

Surely the exquisite creature I witnessed in the Vic building on campus today was an exercise in god's ability to create an immaculate human male in visage. So effortless in manner, style, and grace this person (I shudder to call him a man, as his face had the porcelain quality of a doll) was that I dared not speak a word lest he disappear in a pouf of my own rife imagination. What a perfect sequence of DNA the randomness of the universe cast on him. I quickly moved my pithy beverage off the brown leather of the divan in the foyer as he made to sit down beside me - so gauche seeming this refreshment was in his presence. He said "thank you". We read our books in relative silent understanding and camaraderie, both enjoying the lazy atmosphere of our beloved building. We spent an hour together (yet apart) - neither saying anything. Eventually he got up and disappeared downstairs in his James Dean-esque essence. I took my leave - thinking how wonderful that he should exist in this universe.

lost in reverie

The way you tear through me is like clockwork. Given that this year without you has undoubtedly been the best in my life I'm surprised that I can still react this way to external emotionally tugging stimuli. I don't know if it was the sequence or pattern of the way we danced around each other again this week that pulled at my muscle memory - only postponed by a week last time in me having a distraction in London/Cambridge. The culmination of which was my emotional tumble down the proverbial stairs in a hotel room in Le Havre. Completely alone and sequestered away from the rest of the world - and you followed me there, at least in thought.

I forgot that we saw Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind together at the Carlton. I downloaded it and watched it until now - when it ended. 6 am. How did we change places? Now I'm the one who stays up all night - and you sleep peacefully in your new bed. The framing of the intimacy in the film brought me back to our room and the smell of warm skin - that completely unique smell of us enmeshed and tangled together. And it's not that I want to be with you, that you doesn't exist anymore, or never did, and it's strange. How we're strangers now.

the song of purple summer

Ah pleasure overload! Reading this interview with Sharlto Copley and finding out that he improvised in District 9, and listening to all this awesome music and seeing all these wonderful pictures of Lapo Elkann - it's honestly - it's been a summer of wonderment and I think.....I think this might be why I'm having a hard time reading at the moment - because all I can do is constantly crank out this writing about how just....amazing everything feels and how in *awe* I am of the world and the beauty of absolutely EVERY single thing.

I know - it seems like I'm high - and maybe I am in a way. It feels like every now and again lately everything slows down and I'm able to focus on the minutiae and detail of fragments of my life. As if I were taking a still frame and enlarging it until I could see the dew drops on a bumblebees fuzzy backside.

I still can't believe he *improvised* - how....absolutely stunning.

Gonna run away now.

I cannot run from my family - they're hiding inside of me

Originally I had meant to come home tonight, take a shower and finally get to unloading my thoughts on District 9. I was going to have a spoiler warning and everything. I got derailed halfway from my target. Usually it takes me 15 minutes to walk home from my restaurant - Mayflower. As I turned the corner and walked towards my street - listening to the Grudge and thinking about how an old friend of mine was holding a grudge against me and how stupid it was -I noticed someone walking towards me. It was a young girl holding a bag. In hindsight I guess she approached me because I looked somewhat young like her and that must have been reassuring. So my night got interesting from thereon. Funny how I didn't find out her name until around 30-45 minutes after our initial conversation.

She literally said something like "I'm looook for haaause vis naaamber seventy, is near pizza". Okay maybe her English wasn't that horrible - but Ekaterina (as her name was, which I found out when I called the police later) was looking for a house with the number 70 - it turned out she didn't know the street, didn't know the phone number, didn't know anything. This was a little frustrating. I was game though - I've watched too many detective films/tv shows not to be. Generally I'm a ridiculously curious person - so this was right up my alley.

She kept changing her mind about the number, first it was 70, then it was 77, then it was 7. We kept stopping and starting over - she rang a doorbell but nobody was home - then we talked to some people on the street and found out it was the wrong address. We walked towards Timothy Court - which is maybe five minutes away from my house. We had basically done a loop. She was lost without any information. Here as an exchange student learning English, just the day previously she had changed her "home stay" location and her "home stay" parents hadn't given her the address or the phone number or their last names? This was strange. I just rolled with it and eventually on Timothy Court I decided to call the non-emergency police phone number. The area that now had to be covered in order to find her place of residence was too large for me to handle alone.

So I got ahold of dispatch and they collected some information and told us to wait (if I felt safe) until they sent someone out. Five minutes later my phone rang and a police officer let me know that he had emergencies everywhere and apologized profusely but it would be several hours before anybody could be sent out. Then he stepped away from the phone and found out a squad car was just near us but was responding to a "priority domestic" some husband and wife were beating each other up. I found it interesting that he told me this. So he suggested that if possible I could bring Ekaterina to the police station. I thought about what the fastest way would be - so I called my brother and asked him to come get us - but my mom doesn't trust him with the car because he's 17 so she decided to come herself. (I do not drive - having lived downtown for the past 5 years)

We piled into the car and headed down to 22 Division on Bloor/Kipling. We got there and had to explain the story two more times to the annoyed/bored looking officer. He was pretty receptive but I was unimpressed with the lack of procedure for this situation. Ekaterina had told me that she was studying English at the International Language Academy of Canada and that her "home stay" parents were "administrators" there. Surely the police must have some way of looking up who works there - some sort of roster. But apparently they don't and couldn't do anything with that information until the morning at which point they would just call. This seemed unacceptable to me - as did the fact that Ekaterina's "home stay" parents didn't give her any damned information that might - I don't know - be IMPORTANT to her. Eventually the police procured a sexy Russian speaking lady officer and she took over and they started hashing everything out in Russian and we were told we could leave. I asked Ekaterina if she was hungry or needed anything - she replied that she didn't - and seemed really embarrassed. I gave her my phone number, email address and a hug, and told her to somehow let me know when she got home. I hope she's okay. She had been here for six weeks and is supposed to be flying back to Moscow on Saturday.

On our way out I said to my mom preemptively "I know that if this happened to me in another country you'd want someone to help me out". She replied that of course she would but she seemed really annoyed. It turns out that I interrupted her new episode of CSI. Then everything devolved into how I don't clean my room. Life back to normal.......

D9 review tomorrow I think...

P.S. Incidentally Ekaterina said something that resonated with me - that all the houses in the suburbs look the same and it's very easy to get lost. I know this because a year or so after I moved in here my friend Skye and I went for a walk together further up from my neighborhood and got lost in the winding maze of cul-de-sacs for several hours. And we're from here.

a quotidian kind of life...

My room looks pretty nice with just taper candles lit up - it's actually a decent source of light at odd times in the night - I have all these leftover candles from when I worked at the store, may as well use them.

I have been spending a lot of time in my backyard lately. Mostly at night. Remnants of the time I spent with E there. However now I'm alone, and it's not bad. Mostly I go out there to clear my head and focus, right before I come back and write or go to bed. I just sit there and watch the smoke swirl, it's mesmerizing in a morbid kind of way. Talking to JH today made me think about what I wanted in another person, and I realized I want someone kind of like me.

That's not what this is about though - this is about the fact that a couple of months ago I told H that I could completely see myself living my life alone - and be content. I still hold steadfast to the claim. Some of us are not meant to be with anyone, I doubt this is true about myself. Only time will tell. (this makes me smile at myself) Anyhow - at this point he thought I was just bitter and depressed about everything that happened with Niall - but I wasn't, I was being honest. I don't regret our time together - I learned a lot about myself as a person, and the time spent with him was a great way to withdraw from society and reflect upon things. The time came to come back though, and I guess I did.

I do think life would be great if I could just have my own place, stacks and stacks of books - a career that I loved and time to write and read. Oh, and a cherry on top would be a Great Dane - his name would be Sputnik. This is all I need to be happy about 99% of the time. (the crazy huge music library is implicit)

excuse me, what the FUCK!

...and water goes over a dam and under a bridge you poncey schoolboy...

I'm so annoyed I had to get out of bed and watch Charlie Wilson's War specifically for the angry Philip Seymour Hoffman scene...

take my black soul alive in the fire that burns my skin

I have truly become nocturnal. All my best thoughts and ideas are happening at night. I feel at my sharpest at three in the morning while I listen to The Last Baron. Sitting outside in the backyard with the network waves coming through the walls of the house. Fulfilling a habit I have yet to succumb to. I realize that everything in my life feels like it has to be a specific way.

I realize that my output in terms of writing has increased. This might have to do with the fact that I've become addicted to micro blogging.

Ten minutes ago I was in my room trying to sleep - surrounded by the things that lull me. I realized it would never happen. Thoughts coursing through my brain - a million things that I wanted to write down that I can't remember now. Thinking about how great it would be if I could just plug my brain into something that would understand how to read it(my brain that is). To put into words the things that I conceptualize in the three or so pounds of grey matter up there. The ramblings of a twenty-four year old brain.

I guess it's the cliche existential crisis. Right on time. I'm struggling with my humanity. And I know it's completely and utterly narcissistic of me but I can't fucking help it. It's not that I don't appreciate being alive, and it's not that I want to surpass life and go on into another realm or some stupid shit like what Mike Sharpe is all about. No it's more just about the fact that I feel trapped in my mind. I can't elaborate on the things that really matter to me and make someone feel specifically exactly the same way that I do about ...well anything. It's a communications failure. I've been saying this over and over, but nobody will ever get something the same way that I do - nobody will perceive it, feel it, experience it - the way I do.

This bothers me so much. And it's all whiney, masturbatory garbage. I suppose this is why I get depressed from time to time. I wish I were fucking dumb and could stop over intellectualizing everything and being an asshole.

And then at the same time I feel that most people I know are standing staring at the world - and they don't see it. Everybody is so stuck in the daily grind - and this is where my selfishness comes in - I guess I just have too much time to think. I need to do something with myself that is more constructive.

This came out NOTHING like what I wanted to write about at ALL.

dear silence

I think the reason I miss him is ... well, he made my life more exciting. At the moment, there are good parts, but mostly it's banal. It was as if even though there was downtime, there would be something to look forward to in the peripheries. I used to have to recreate this for myself when N and I faltered. Artificially weave together a series of events to take my mind off the current; take it day by day. But this stumble isn't anywhere near the catastrophic armageddon of N, and so it's more interesting to deal with. Most of the time it doesn't pop up. And then other times I just have longing for the companionship that let me laugh so much. Staying up all night talking about the stupid inanities of life in the backyard- things that may not have been meaningful to him - but were to me. The more I think of it as a social experiment and less as a quasi-relationship, the less it smarts.

So

Feeling pretty miserable for the past few days. Some stuff went down on Friday, and not just Friday night, but basically from the morning all the way through to around 3-4pm. The word clusterfuck has been smoothly integrated into my vocabulary and it is bouncing around and the longer I've been aware of it the more it bubbles to the surface of my social life and begs to be utilized.

I was able to counteract the misery for one night with whiskey and vodka, and I don't even remember the night after. However last night was just horrible. I was alone, had nobody to talk to, and felt like I couldn't ask for anything, just take. I sat there and thought about how it would be stupid to just revert to the state that I've been working myself out of for the past ten months and decided that if I was going to be miserable - I should do it in style. So I went out and got a pint of Haagen Dasz and called it a night. It helped. Or maybe it was the endorphins from the walking. I got home and I ate the whole fucking thing (over several hours), and I felt gross, but at the same time, amazing. Then I put on some De Facto and listened to every single song on both CD's that I own. I got to Rodche Defects on Megaton Shotblast, and it was like something in me snapped into place.

http://www.imeem.com/choriso/music/QDJbhbxX/defacto-rodche-defects/

Honestly, I don't even want to describe it (the track), but for some reason it hit me in the most resonant places in the core of my being. It just felt that good. And suddenly everything was fine, and everything was going to be fine. I had that feeling of being somewhere you'd never been. As if I were remembering nightfall over a desert backyard in El Paso, string lights and torches, sun setting, people sitting around picnic tables, music piping in over a tinny radio and maybe one or two people getting up to dance. I could smell the earthy red dirt of the surroundings. Life made sense again.

And why..

Is my first impulse always to run away to another country? To the point where I'm looking up tickets to Paris and fingering the VISA?

I actually....

Lost my cool at work today. I hate it when I let personal shit interfere with work. I made a mistake. I hate being weak.

I love these....

stupid brainwaves I get every now and again. Like this conversation with Mashley about how she wishes Robert Pattinson existed multiple times. I shall copy and paste.... And yes I know I'm brilliant you don't need to tell me.

Ashley R-Patz clones mmm :)

9 minutes ago · Comment · Like · See Wall-to-Wall

Barbara at 1:41am July 14

As soon as we have all the chemical sequencing figured out we'll be going ahead and replicating the first several prototypes. Batch improvements in the hair quality have been made and subjects are responding well to the speech pattern programing, several accents are available, the original R-Patz and the Edward Cullen version as well. Initial Public Offering will be happening sometime soon, so the company will be open to shareholders. I can't wait to be richer than fucking Google. I would say "richer than astronauts" but astronauts these days aren't rich anymore...unless they do Tang product placements (as Neil says).
But yes, clones, soon.

today was just...

An absolute clusterfuck. Got there late, time sped up, orders were flying, everything was in a disarray. Several orders came in wrong or went out wrong, all of them because people ordered wrong *of course* because they don't bother to ask questions, or if they do, they ask stupid ones. Several scalds and cuts later I lost my shit on a container that just wouldn't close. Stood there beside Albert and just launched a stream of expletives from my mouth, something like "fucking dick fuck, fucking fuck fuck fucking FUCK". And he replies with the standard "you've got a dirty mouth Bar, I like it!" Which, you know, makes me feel a bit better. One of these days, I swear to god I'm going to lose it on a fat woman who wants something else that makes me walk into the back. "Why didn't you ask for that when I went to RETRIEVE your order you FAT FUCKING COW?".

Sigh. That would feel amazing.

The worst thing is when I'm off for some reason and I make a mistake myself. Then I just feel even worse because I know Calvin's ticked and I beat myself up about it. Thankfully today was not that day. I spent the remainder of my time considering what self destructive activity I could take part in when I got home, but I don't really have any vices. I think I'm going to go do some work on my vintage bike. Yeah, that'll make me feel better.

so randomly gone

I'm shocked at how much this Martin Streek thing is actually affecting me. I only worked across the street from the guy for four years. He was the guiding voice of the part of our generation that actually decided to exercise our attention span and listen to music that was saying something beyond the surface. I remember being in high school and going down to the Edge and talking to him about random things, seeing him at Tool concerts, listening to him on live-to-air weekends amongst other things. His sun has set now.

the deviance is anything but faithful

The reason why I haven't publicized this blog between all of my friends is because they will inevitably be written about. Even more so I do not give it out to my conquests. This is why H doesn't know where it is, and neither does E. The reason I'm thinking about this is because I was doing some trolling earlier. I am an overwhelmingly curious person, I have to know everything. It's sordid to the point of self harm. I don't care if it will hurt me I just *must* know. I must.

But I digress... so I was trolling today and thinking about how several days ago, while walking home from work I realized...I had his pattern down. This early on. It is my own special neural wiring network hell. I don't know how to explain it, except that emotional apophenia brews in me, amongst other things. I would digress again here and say how relieved I was when I was reading Pattern Recognition, but back to the problem at hand.

It's not really a problem, I can infer reactions, thoughts and comments that will come from the patterns I recognize in his body language and speech patterns. I can predict things that will be said or done. And this is not a problem with him, it's a problem with me, because it gives me the license to be manipulative if I want, and I can't help myself sometimes, and I think this is bad. Moreover while trolling I noticed the rapport with people and it's like we all have preset commands that we follow and we have standard actions to reel people in. I know this isn't a groundbreaking realization but sometimes we're more machine than we think we are. Or perhaps it's a chicken/egg scenario because computer function was based on our logic. Making it not chicken/egg at all.

I wonder where my copy of Spiritual Machines is.

Anyway, so I've been somewhat disgusted by myself in this - by also recognizing my own reflexes, the way I act when I'm excited about something, or more specifically someone. How there was a preset muscle memory pathway for me, and how easily I just slipped into it. I feel so trapped by my physicality, my body, I loathe being human, it's not enough. It's never enough.

Maybe that's why I like "The Winter Market" so much. It encapsulates the idea that you could translate yourself into some sort of, not program, but sentience that doesn't have the inherent limits of this suit of flesh. Yet at the same time there's an absolute terrible fragility and grace about the human body that is achingly beautiful and brings me to my knees. This delicate balance is so well played in "The Winter Market" that my heart breaks and I just sit there and stare and think, process the quietude of my brain. It feels good and makes me forget the inconsistency of human being/s.

what a great night

I'm still drunk.....well somewhat tipsy. Somehow I changed Karis's name in my phone to Whiskeytits after she spilled whiskey down her shirt into her ample bosom. Neil was really into this in an evil cackling type of way. We watched season four of the Simpsons and basically ranted and raved for half the night and got out Settlers of Catan and never actually played it! Then we decided that we should go to the disgusting lame local bar which used to be called "Westside Joey's" where my 21 year old boyfriend used to take me when I was 16. Classy. I had to spend an hour dissuading them from this and then we went to Mac's for more fags. They didn't have Gauloises!

Karis was amazing.....the shit that kept coming out of her mouth...

"your mom is so much cooler than my parents cos she knows what's important, my parents would ask if I wanted a foot rub or to rent a movie, but your mom knows that what I *really* need right now is alcohol!"

on men :

"don't be sad Barb, just become famous and then you can just throw them around like anything"

and the pigeon one, where we were waiting for Neil and she was watching a pigeon trying to eat a cookie that was too large.....and it was struggling so much that eventually it basically kicked the cookie into its own mouth, and Karis says "man, imagine how sad it would be if you were an animal that had to KICK food into its own mouth" at this point I dissolved into shits and giggles and started imitating the pigeon.

I have *no* shame and no compunctions about making an ass out of myself in public for my friends.

Also...I am ravenous. Adieu.

ladies and gents

I give you exhibit A. Never said *when* I'd be there. Chuckles.









That being said it has been an interesting couple of days. And not because of the above.
It's been interesting because my ten month self imposed exile has been ended. When this bubble becomes a more tangible reality - *if* I should say - I will detail it here. Until then I will bask in the afterglow....

oblivion

One of my incredibly close friends names is Skye. Hippy parents. The reason I say this is because I found it strange that the new Mastodon album was named "Crack the Skye". I figured there was some other meaning to it.

I felt like I needed to listen to semi heavy music while I wrote up my experience of the night, so I started listening to it - especially "Oblivion".

What always strikes me about it is Brent Hinds' voice, I really enjoy the blending of it and the other guys when they sing together. So I'm thinking about this peripherally while ranting and raving and decide to do a google image search because I really really like his face tattoo and want to know the story behind it. Stumble onto an interview with Inked. So as it turns out, drummer Brann Dailor had a sister, named Skye, who committed suicide - so Crack the Skye....huh. And then I think about the lyrics to Oblivion and because of this new knowledge they have taken on an enhanced meaning. I listen to the melody again - and it is breaking my heart into pieces.

last night (she said)

Let me preface this by saying that I'm heartily disappointed - I am an eternal optimist and always think the best of people. Having said that, when your sociopath ex-boyfriend is right about someone, it's tragic.

So yesterday, get a call from Don even before I'm supposed to be at work. It is incredibly busy, I book it over there and Daniel (boss's son) is handling things. Being that it's Canada Day and absolutely nothing is open - this is warranted. Jess comes in at 4:30 - we shoot the shit while making sure everything is taken care of. The amount of requests becomes painful. Jess asks if she can get off work first - she works for the City of Toronto - they are on strike, she's picketing from 11pm-6am. I oblige her being the nice person I am, got a soft spot for Jess, having worked there with her for near 10 years. (I am a really long term person, weird huh). She leaves at 8 to go home and take a nap and it's just me and boss man now (Calvin). We talk about the trouble my brother's been getting into amongst other things, somewhere in the middle of this my iPhone battery completely croaks and I feel naked. I know I promised Peter I would come to his super secret "dry ice cloud chamber building" party, but I also let him know that I'd be late, as I'm working.

So to digress at this point. I work every day, not necessarily because I need to, I could probably mooch off my mother - considering that I am the success of the family and her favorite. I work because I'm a workaholic and because I just had a month long trip to Europe and I'm playing catchup. I'm also incredibly self sufficient and refuse to ask for help, this all goes hand in hand eventually.

Back to last night's events. So I try to call Peter but I "mis-remember" his number as I never ever really call him, because he never ever picks up. Don't get home from work until around 10:45 all sweaty and hungry - decide to plug in the phone and eat. Call Peter from house phone and leave pitiful tired message about how I've been at work and to give me a call back.

He texts back 25 minutes later that I should just come over. Fine whatever, decide to figure out how I will get there - so then follows this :

B: "I'm trying to think of how long it would take me by bus :) Is it gonna last a while? And how will I get home :/"

P: "Whatever man, have a good night (insertmylastnamehere)"

B: "I was just freaking asking. You need to take a chill pill. Not all of us are conveniently located near constant sources of transport. Why don't you let me know when you stop pms-ing and become a man again. Goodnight!"

P: "At 11:30. Have a good fuck-off-now"

B: "Blow me"

Then there's a bunch of pity me bullshit "I cleaned the whole house and I bought dry ice and you didn't even bother to call or even cancel an hour before you're supposed to be there"

Mah? I said I would be late!? My phone battery died?!

Anyway we verbally spar over text messages until I'm completely fed up and decide to go over there and kick his scrawny fucking ass into laughter. That's just the kind of awesome I am. Throw on the tigers, leather jacket, grab keys, the cards, and walk out the door. Open the garage for my bike - bike has a fucking flat. Fuck me. Grab a different bike and zoom away into the middle of the night. Fifteen minutes later I'm on Peter's porch, banging on the glass. Reach into the pocket and phone says "I'm not even home anymore, prick. High Park and a cooler of dry ice".

The sheer amount of livid rage that now courses through my veins is - well it's like I've got the fucking bends but it's not hurting me, it's elevating me to some new level of humanity. Then I laugh.....sit on the porch and send him a few scathing/loving texts, then decide that I will call. The wee cunt never picks up and eventually turns off his phone. So I sit there....breathing heavily, lest I smash something awkwardly in my wrath. Realize I'm going to go back home, realize how far that is, realize that I hate the bike I'm on and that I'm going to have to suck it up and just walk for a bit.

The next thing I remember is walking down St.Clair and ranting very loudly at Neil, a halo of cuss words enveloping me and scaring off the last of the ghetto astronauts. Neil explains to me that basically everybody has ditched Peter at the last moment, and apologizes that this is all being taken out on me. Meanwhile there are big burly men staring at me and I get that narrowing feeling in my stomach when something is somewhat off. I get out of dodge fast. I'm left to walk home through the midnight streets of Toronto suburbs and muse with my thoughts.

The alone time is nice, three minutes later I'm riding down the hill and the wind through my hair makes me feel a lot better. I'm thinking about how I feel bad for Peter, that everybody ditched him at the same time - not on purpose, but also how it's really not my fault - my intention had been to be there all along. At the same time I think he's just a fucking brat. I understand the disappointment of the night on his part, but at the same time, he's 24, he should be able to deal with this in a more constructive way.

So I told Neil I was done. I got home later and E had been trying to call me to find out what happened, he was worried about me walking home alone at night - like good boys do. We hashed it out, decided that next time I see Peter, I'm just going to kick him in the box.

And I haven't even covered half of it yet....but right now I need sustenance...

who are you to wave your finger?

Oh lordy, it's disgusting o'clock in the morning and I've just spent all this time explaining the story to E and Tek. Will tell of the dramatic saga in the morning.

I've summoned the stampede of infidel feet

Time to get down to it. Not running tonight so I might as well write. It has been a great few days - actually the comment I find myself making most, especially to K is that fairly recently I've come to the conclusion that I have never felt this well adjusted in my life. How grand.

The sun came out while I was walking to work today and I was thinking about how Rugbey (yes I named my hard drive, and yes after my dead rat) almost sad mac'd yesterday and how it was fucking irritating that I'd have to put off getting a new bike. Well well well, got to work and Eddie offered me his awesome vintage Norco. I hope the frame is tall enough, but Luis and I can work on it I think. Life is rosy no?

To completely digress into non sequitur, as I was talking to Ethan last night my mom came into my room and asked for my attention. She handed me an envelope and told me to read what was inside and discuss it with my friends and find out what I think and what we should do about it. Again - when did I become the de facto adult in the household? Since when do people come to me for advice on my sixteen year old half brother?

sidebar: there's a mosquito bite on my right hand and it fucking STINGS.

So I open the envelope and read this in class "essay" that my dear sibling had to write for his Grade 11 English class. It was supposed to be a comparative essay between mediums - I guess meta analysis. Instead of doing this my brother decided to write about how "jokes" the class was, how nice his teacher's Acura is, how he nor anybody else in his class read anything and just use "sparknotes". My personal favorite was the part where he wrote about Catcher in the Rye. Specifically that Holden Caulfield was "teh ghey" and that if "I ever met that kid I would fuck him in the ass". My dear brother wrote this in an in class essay. As Ethan says "he should be studied". Now I'm kind of insulted at this point because I tried to help him with Catcher in the Rye by rereading it while he was and the memory that sticks out is sitting on K's couch and laughing my ass off at this book. Moreover, one of those lame facebook quizzes said I was theoretically a literary similarity to J.D. Salinger - so I won't let my brother fuck my baby in the ass. That's just wrong on SO many levels. But the point of this whole thing is - I don't know what's going on with this kid, because sometimes I find myself actually thinking "if I weren't related to you, I'd want to be your friend". I guess it's a good thing N and I ended and I had to move home after all that time on my own, because this kid needs me around.

what do you say?

To the man who pulled you into the light? When he cannot offer you more than what you have now. And another wonderful person comes into the picture, and this man who brought you back to life specifically tells you not to get involved with them?

How do you balance? What if this actually becomes something? How do I explain to H? My heart is absolutely in pieces over the thought of him thinking less of me for this thing I endeavor to take on.

let the wheels burn

Why the fuck is everybody flipping out over Michael Cera? People have been bumping into him on the street lately - here in Toronto, and it's getting kind of lame. He's just a kid who happens to be an actor, a funny one but it's not like he's Clint fucking Eastwood.

And another thing, if I get asked to make plans while I'm in the middle of work, it's going to take a while for me to answer, so why do you even bother asking if you are just going to change your plans five seconds later? Fucking THINK.

I had a really really good weekend. Semi philosophical discussions amidst cigarette smoke in my rainy backyard are treasured. The next day at work it was so much easier to just tune everything out and just let muscle memory take over and think about all the things we talked about, to muse with the concepts we went through. The fact that we stayed up all night and then went to bed at around nine in the morning helped the rest of the day go by in a strange kind of slower than normal yet still enjoyable haze.

falling from grace because I've been away too long

I keep meaning to update on what's been happing during my travels. At the same time I want it to sink in and and flesh out the finer details later, as I'm apt to do. I have all these snippets of feelings, reflections and nuances that catch up with me and they need to formulate themselves into concrete sequences before I want to commit them to a blank screen.

Today was my first day back at work, it still feels so surreal. I was walking over and it was awesome to smell that not quite spring but more like summer smell of the trees coming into their ripeness. I was walking down the street and the proximity of my house to the airport is miniscule - there's a good view of planes approaching YYZ (Pearson Airport) for landing. I kept thinking "that was me two days ago, up there watching the cars, and now I'm here...walking to work, just three days ago I was in England". It felt strange. Just like going to Prof's poetry reading/awards ceremony, I was sitting on the subway for the first time in a month or so, and it felt completely strange and wonderful at the same time. It's almost indescribable.

I was supposed to have plans tonight but they got quashed. It's just as well because I hadn't realized exactly how tired I was. I watched some terrible television and then decided to read more of the Warren Ellis book - I seem to be getting through stacks of reading lately, it's great! In between that though I took a turn and started watching videos of Mastodon on Letterman and other live performances of theirs. I recollect walking home from work tonight listening to them and thinking "man I really like music that has torque". I don't even know if that makes sense. Then there was a brief tangent about what a ridiculously sexy word torque is.

Back to the point though. So I was watching Mastodon videos and I realized how completely different they are from some of the other bands I like - performance wise. I mean both Mastodon and the Mars Volta are at least fractionally progressive rock bands, and they both take no issue with putting out concept albums, they have even collaborated, however I guess their paths do tend to diverge after that. Correct me if I'm wrong, right now I don't feel like going into all the differences between the bands - both do have great album art though. Sometimes I think my musical scope must seem limited, I mean I've liked the same two bands for almost ever and Mastodon is a pretty new addition.

Anyway, what I noticed about Mastodon in their videos and even retroactively to their concert last month is that they're very serious in their posturing on stage, they sort of just stand there and do it. They do get into it but in a very straight, stand up way. I'm not sure how to describe it. Conversely when Cedric and Omar and the rest of the guys in the Volta start playing they go absolutely crazy with it and dance - maybe it's because their music is inherently more danceable. Consider - the salsa and latino influences - that might be it. They get completely lost inside that world and their inhibitions disappear and they just express their music through their bodies. It's great - and they did this even when they were a post core band (Cedric and Omar originally) - At The Drive In - I would say that ATDI's music was overall less danceable than Mars Volta's music, but not lesser.

Oblivion - Mastodon (this song has been stuck in my head for a whole month)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O6pZNlVOmeI

Tetragrammaton (live) - The Mars Volta (one of my favorite songs off Amputechture)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1T9eMKxjiLc&feature=related (around 1:31 is AMAZING, amongst other moments) Damn you Omar, damn you for your grace.

and part two (yes it's that long) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zykM-XOZIsY&NR=1

Which reminds me - Omar and Cedric dress so incredibly well. Why can't all men be this stylish, and while we're at it, uninhibited? This is also the first video/appearance where I realized that Omar was left handed....after five whole years. I feel so ignorant sometimes.

(Omar is the guitarist in the yellow shirt and black satin vest, Cedric is the singer)

Now I feel self conscious about my level of involvement in this stuff, but hey, it's what I love and what keeps me sane. Someone should pay me....

St.Pancras International

I'm sitting in some posh restaurant enjoying free wi-fi through the international railway station - checking things out pre - morning of train journey. I'm waiting for the tall androgynous woman to come and get my order but it looks like they're shutting the kitchen down. Maybe if she had you know- gotten to me on time and had some sort of proper way of categorizing the tables she would realize that I'm sitting here absolutely hungry for some overpriced food. But no she's wandering around the outside patio and nobody really cares that I'm taking up space.

It's my first night in a hostel and I don't know if I quite like it yet. Oh, she walked by and saw that I was sitting here, I wonder if she'll come back. Perhaps it's because I'm not sitting in the dining room - but there was no room there - or none that I was fond of.

YYZ to LGW

It was an uneventful journey, but a happy one. Brother dearest drove Mom and me to the airport - the adventure began. Flight was good - great service with Air Transat, the flight attendants were superbly wonderful and good looking so I was satisfied. The food so-so. In flight movies were "Marley and Me" and "Twilight" which I found quite amusing. Listened to Mastodon most of the way and then read the crappy girly magazines I bought while waiting to board earlier.

Got absolutely no sleep on the flight and was surprised by the fact that this is the second time I've flown to Europe where there was a seat between me and the next person that was unoccupied.

Arrived at Gatwick early - this airport has pretty bad signage. Made my way through customs and then picked up my teeny tiny bag that I fit my life into for a month and headed out. Found the train station and grabbed my prepaid ticket to Cambridge from a self service kiosk and was on my way. Bumped into a girl who was from U of T who was going to downtown London so we chatted a bit and took the train in together, there were two stops on the way. First was Croydon - home of Nestle UK. Next was Clapham Junction - in between the two stops, closer to Clapham I noticed that closer to the residential areas there was a whole section of abandoned soccer balls that had been lost over the fences that kept people off the train tracks. It made me smile. As the train made its way towards London I couldn't help but get excited, I could see the London Eye and the Gherkin building (thank you Sir Norman Foster). The London Underground was pretty intuitive and I had some help from some nice attendants on figuring out how that worked. Got on and made my way over to King's Cross and I hate to disappoint you Karen but I was in a hurry and couldn't get a picture of where platform 9 3/4 would be. Although I boarded my train at platform 9B - there's construction going on there. The livestock, more than anything, is making me excited. Yesterday there were cows in a field, just wandering around! It was great!

Of course Johan took me on an impromptu tour of Cambridge - it was fascinating. We went and got sandwiches at this incredibly clean place and then wandered around a bit - I demanded to know whether the UK had kleenex. We then had tea and scones - well Johan had tea - I had mineral water at a tea house, and then we wandered around some more. We snuck into some colleges and they're gorgeous. I don't think I displayed the amazement properly, mostly because I was tired and sick but somehow still going. I think I feel less of a tourist here possibly because everybody speaks English. Eventually we got back to the flat/dorm and I took a much needed shower and got less stinky. Then we hung out a bit and watched TV on the laptop and Johan got hungry again - my appetite is somewhat suppressed but it was the right idea to go out and eat. Had dinner at a place I think was called Dojo, asian fusion, so much food we both couldn't eat it all - we had underestimated the size of our dinner stomachs. Tried Asahi for the first time and it was quite delicious although I don't agree that it tastes too different from regular beer.

Wonder what the next few days will bring.

Sometimes...

The irony of what you say eludes you completely. You say you don't trust me - you were the one telling everyone that I was sabotaging your plans whilst I was really just going out to dinner with an old friend.

Why is it that we're only able to think straight when we're in a void? How can we grasp the entirety of the image when it's fragmented forever? This space-time paradigm.

argh

I just spent half an hour creating an account of the Mastodon show and the other strange happenings of the day - and they got lost in the vast randomness of the internet.
Will have to fix this in the morning - too tired now.

a tree falling in the woods type conundrum

Is it more embarrassing to wear the same outfit to work twice in a row? Or is it more embarrassing for a person that they come in often enough to the restaurant to notice?

Not that I'm wearing the same thing twice......

a nervous tick motion of the head....to the left

Sometimes I really catch myself off guard with my level of immaturity. I had kind of a strange day today. Exam early in the morning after a night spent listening to a friend of mine lambaste me about my attachment to my relationship with N. Admittedly it was more interesting than import substitution industrialization. Possibly my level of maturity is directly correlated to the amount of sleep I get. I made a somewhat stupid comment on Stuart's facebook page about laughing at a student who got a bad mark on an essay - apparently he made her cry. I don't know, I guess it's just my inner asshole rearing her head.

Maybe it's because I myself got a really shitty mark on our last essay too. Been thinking about it a slight bit. Realizing that sometimes it's a better idea NOT to take essay advice from S. I took it for the politics essay too, and in retrospect every time he gives me essay advice I do badly - if anything it is a lesson to stick to my gut instinct when it comes to my own writing. Not that I would blame S at all. I had wanted to do additional research for the Che essay, but he kept telling me that Stuart said that apparently the material we already had was enough and that if I did more research I would get bogged down by other materials, and I went against my better judgement - possibly aided by the fact that a) I'm lazy b) I am having an incredibly hard time focusing lately. Lesson learned - I just still find it incredible that somebody would cry over a freaking mark - as if this had any bearing on who you are as a person. If anything it teaches you to do better next time. Will you remember it 10 years down the line when you're a slave to your children's diapers, etc? No - and this is why I reacted. I mean, Stuart can be very intimidating - I remember asking for an extension, and he replied "No" in a very stern voice, and I felt my cheeks grow red and was absolutely mortified and on the verge of tears. Then I sucked it up and realized that I should just get on with it already. It's not personal. Oh experience.

Dave Knox

http://www.daveknoxart.ca

This is my friend Dave's website, a calling card if you will. I've been a huge fan of him since I was fifteen years old and throughout the years we've had many an adventure together. His drawings have that spark, that crazy life like illusion where things or people jump off the page, and there's always a hint of mischievousness.

bloody sunday

Lazy Sunday my fucking ass. It's 5 in the morning and I'm still sitting here. Spent the night talking to H and listening to Louis C.K. when what I really should have been doing is this STUPID FUCKING ESSAY THAT I HATE. It is so incredibly frustrating, I was at Troy's house the other night trying to get it done and I got about a page and a half into it and then biked home because he was going to bed, and I so wasn't into that.

Men - the ones you're not attracted to think about you exclusively with their dicks and the ones you like are complete and utter cowards. Horseshit. I utterly despise these whingey cunts that seem to permeate my life. (whingey cunts c/o Damien, as if I could ever come up with something so heinously clever) And people wonder why I dislike socializing. Maybe I was never socialized properly as a child.

Back to the problem at hand. This bitch of an essay. I was saying to Troy, it's worse than childbirth is ever going to be, not that I'm itching for it. I get it. I'm an intelligent kid, I can write and be eloquent, but this essay really just has me down in the dumps. It was supposed to be handed in almost three weeks ago, and then Prof let me know I could hand it in this Friday as marks go in on Monday. So what do I do? I don't do it. I don't know why. If someone was sitting behind me with a desert eagle at my temple they would soon be guilty of murder. I am completely incapable of getting this done. So I'm sitting here trying, trying so hard and it's just the most frustrating thing ever. I'm tempted to take my laptop and throw it out my window. A window that will soon be lit up by dawn.

And for what? So that I can email this to Prof, and MAYBE if he's benevolent, MAYBE he'll accept it. And MAYBE I'll get a semi decent mark. Oh it's only worth 30% of the final grade.

What is wrong with me?

It's like some sort of intense fear of failure working against me, driving me towards it.

I've wasted enough time.

the divide

It is inherently frustrating to be the type of person that doesn't let others in easily. So to take initiative and step out of the comfort zone and open the inner social sanctum of my life to new people is more than difficult. It can be downright paralyzing. There's a certain back and forth. It depends on the person, sometimes it's easy, other times it can be downright hard. The worst is when the decision backfires, or feels like it has - to have misjudged the integrity of the subject. Self recrimination being a strong suit - never a good feeling.

New people are hard nuts to crack, half the time it doesn't seem worth it - until it does.

This is a complete juxtaposition to my relationship with H. One of the surprisingly healthier relationships in my life (yes friendship is a relationship). I find that invariably when I'm annoyed with something (or someone) I talk to H about it and get an incredibly simple yet wise answer. Not to mention the almost but not quite cringe worthy level of honesty. It's kind of a shame that neither of us have any sort of interest in each other in the long term, besides as friends. As Damien would say "the boy girl LEGO doesn't fit", except that it probably does, but it's a moot point.

Of note - Siberian Divide by Mastodon has a sequence that sounds like it's been lifted from 46&2 and it's the collaborative song of Mastodon and Cedric Bixler-Zavala. Like a perfect mesh of the best worlds.

birthday

MJK b. April 17/1964.

Your voice makes me feel at home.

Octahedron

Release date: June 23/2009 - first single "Since We've Been Wrong".

Pure naked unadulterated want and happiness.

now get in the ground

Here laid to rest is our love ever longed....

Told K it was over today, she was happy for me. It's been long enough, you're being put in the ground for good, I hope. Something that was coincidentally celebrated with old man drinks and cake with fondant.

Been thinking about this epic epicry Adrian and I are embarking on in May at the Opera House. So many experiences there. Some of the best ones too. Seeing A Perfect Circle with Pigmy Love Circus, catching Danny Carey's drumstick. Danny Carey, other than Thomas Pridgen is the most impressively proficient drummer in the world. Possibly one of the best in history, other than Buddy Rich who was a Jazz legend. I just remember catching the drumstick and being completely ecstatic, then later on he came outside and was about seven feet tall and smelled really nice. It was surreal, here on a street in Toronto was the drummer from a band that has set the bar (for me) in excellence, consistency, creativity, and whatever else one would equate with being absolutely priceless. Seeing Tool for the first time in my life was completely indescribable, but I digress. My topic was the Opera House. This is also where I saw the band Ours, from New Jersey. I don't think they exist any more but their lead singer Jimmy Gnecco is surely doing solo work. His voice is incredibly strong and Jeff Buckley-ish but with its own inherent wonder.

Both of these concerts I went to with Karis - the Ours one was funny because I met this guy Tom who I completely didn't know did not like girls, but it was fun - he and this girl Lesia were from Brampton or something and he had this huge bag of fortune cookies and we just destroyed it - it was a great show and Jimmy Gnecco was about six inches away from my face. This is what I love about Toronto, you meet friendly people everywhere, and about the Opera House, it's completely intimate. At one point I was literally inches from Maynard James Keenan and James Iha, how amazing is that? Needless to say this Mastodon concert is something I will be looking forward to. Then there's Porcupine Tree in September, ah old British guys. Reminds me of when I went to see King Crimson at Massey Hall by myself.

Hm, I see a pattern emerging here - a progressive rock pattern.

Continuing in the vein of awesome I'm trying to figure out this trip I will be taking soon. I've hammered down what I should take and am just waiting for a big cheque to come in the mail so I can book my ticket but I have to talk to J first. The bugger decided to take off to Stockholm for Easter, are you back yet? (Did I just break the fourth wall!?) I think instead of taking the train everywhere I will try to hit up unkie Peter for a friends and family pass to Sky Europe. I have to be back before the parents want to go on vacation which means possibly excising Switzerland from the trip - but that's okay, maybe I'll do it next year before Russia. Sleep beckons, and I have to pick up my bicycle tomorrow, excellent.

things that make Rella happy

fast cars

the smell of leather

hardcover books

particle accelerators

CERN

Cayce Pollard

Tito's systema/protocol

cinelli bike frames/supercorsa

string theory

notation

Mastodon

Cedric and Omar

Spent the travel time post session watching videos. Absolutely enamored of the complete lack of inhibition of this whole cadre of men. So completely bitten by what they're doing, lost in the poetry of their movement. The envy I feel over their ability to be fulfilled by this love of what they do. So prolific too.

Hey, I wonder if Adrian is back from Arizona Bay - and I wonder if he'd want to get into Systema with me because kickboxing is so last year, heh. And on that note - someone just got two tickets to see Mastodon at the Opera House - how did I suddenly become a metal fan? This must have something to do with Metalocalypse. Things seem to be coming together, and the bike should be fixed by tomorrow, and then there's the Project Runway Canada (season 2) viewing party after that. I'm really hoping Jessica wins, her collection is fresh and solid, and it will be great to watch it with her and celebrate her birthday......now to figure out what to wear......