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.