non, rien de rien.

I sit with heavy eyes in low light, listening to edith piaf and admiring her. these last couple of weekends were madness and I think my legs will never be the same, but I am satisfied. if I am to recount this story it has to be done fast, when it is still on the mind and while the beats keep ringing in my ears. first: thursday at barfly ... dive dive dive me to the moon. Canadiens decoration throughout. A very cool moustache on the bathroom mirror. the crowd? besides the boozers and bikers, the it was mostly friends, lovers and roommates - which suited me just fine. the mics and setup were blowing it, but that added to our character as we were yelling half of the time & handing out tambourines, drums, bells etc to anyone who was sort of dancing. secondly: Divan Orange sunday: opening for the headlights and the submarines... which was definately unexpected. bar: rad. good venue, gallery, eats & beers on the tapé a buddy I know through emile had his beaut stuff all over the walls as well, which made it feel more comfortable somehow. crowd: strangers and established-band followers, a couple french buddies of mine, less co-workers to cushion our potential suck... but it was fucking awesome. Alex and I were our own mosh pit. (he kicked me right in the mouth with his foot - which is now sprained; how I walked away with only a little purple lip is a mystery to me) and afterwards we got a couple of 'who are you guys' from some ACTUAL french from france and a 'gig' at a house party to boot. woot woot. the end result? crazy dancing to dispell awkwardness, which is a segway to why my lip is swollen. so. much. fun. I think that perhaps the mild mannered submarines were NOT psyched that the fucking crazy synth band seizuring on the floor killed their indiefolk high, but the headlights LOVED it. and I love them... we got along so well, in fact, that we ended up all going to the village for kareoke and resto du for some poutine at 4am. they are, bar none, THE coolest americans I have met to date. (chicago is like winnipeg, I am told)...

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -- - - -



Non, rien de rien,
Non, Je ne regrette rien
Ni le bien qu'on m'a fait,
Ni le mal
Tout ca m'est bien egal
Non, rien de rien,
Non, Je ne regrette rien
Car ma vie, car me Joies
Aujourd'hui ca commence avec toi

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - --

and speaking of winnipeg: get ready to welcome me back with a lover in tow, (thanks to the unexpected/majorly appreciated charity of my parents) We should be in around the 25th or so & he will be leaving back to france on the 30th, I plan on staying... for at least a couple of weeks... maybe a month until le potential rendez vous à morocco IF I can under-the-table-work or legitimately get hired back for a month at the places who knew me as mule... we will see. plans are heavy in the air but I am excited for whatever conspires. I WILL be in winnipeg at the close of july, though............... cant wait.

French From France

par emilio esteban


----- ---- ---
& just like that, the music started.
--- --- --- ---

before I digress into the utterly random way TWO musical gigs fell into my lap unexpectedly, I would like to take a minute to personally shout out-out-out-out to a lady bird whose wings I can feel whirring from the distance of two provinces to the left. so, my dear queen, my thoughts are these on the subject of take-off:
fucking do it. run to the hills. run to the ends of the earth. run until you are out of breath. run in a zebra tshirt. run to test waters. run trips, races and routes. take a different path. navigate heartily. Exhale heavily. (twice as often if need be.) Go. and finally, to begrudgenly utilize the epitomy of slave labour: Just Do It. whatever it may be. even if you dont know what it is yet.

I say these things with utmost conviction while cruising a cough-drop high and bathing in memories. I say these things because, after looking through diary after diary of emochristmas past for lyrical inspiration in a time constraint, I know with certainty how the pangs of flight response manifest themselves. I was just soooo there; it hurts me how 'there' I was, actually.

but the blessings dear, they will be aplenty. because -eventually-
you get to look backwards in on yourself and finally be a spectator to the circus that was your life. you are able to finally laugh at the ingenue you once were and the things that used to make you cry. you will finally feel like the angst of your heart had merit and can be shared and cast uncensored. words that were dumb will spring forth unstuddered as they pour out before you. everything will be new for you. everything will be fresh. everything that had mattered will matter only in nostalgic content and used as a markstick; as penciled lines upon a wall.
the question peroid that preludes and follows such a run will be enormous and you know it. what should be crafted with all the changes? what should be cut or tucked, trimmed and built? what should be sheared off or added? what to express with a mouth that is stiff upper-lip'd and painted crimson? what parts of pain can be turned into a song? what would you have said? (god knows there are volumes and volumes of unspokenness which, had they been delivered in proper timing & dramatic flourish, could have changed the conversational course entirely) what can you express now instead, or as well as?

woah. on top of this I am making a mental list of things that I have learned and done that I couldnt of while standing still.
run. run. run. run. run away and ask the questions later.
-- ---- --- --- that is all I have to say about that. -----------------------

a couple days have gone since penning that & they were filled to the brim with activitiy and haste. At this moment I feel very similar to how I felt before the burlesque: half-worried about how to simultaneously conceal/show-off my brioche while dancing like it doesnt bother me; half-worried the indie kids of montreal with judge this spectacle (BUT half-knowing that they're blowing it anyway & it is easier than doing anything in front of winnipeg..), half-wondering why I got myself into the situation I am in the first place, but half-knowing that its going to be fiiiiiiiine as long as I have fun & a few beers beforehand...

Basically, the angsty panic at the moment is due to a friend from work who invited me to jam a little over a week ago; I agreed, excited to cowbell to my hearts content, but was told at the close of the sweaty-banged madness that there were TWO shows booked for the following thursday&sunday... & would I be the official cowbell/back up lady. woah. Other than said nerves (& a huuuuuuuge tambourine bruise on my leg) I am pretty excited. I have obviously never been a back-up singer nor in any sort of band-coalition during my twenty two years of life, so this could be a pretty neat experience to have; I will be proud when I am a nostalgically inclined vieulle dame. Plus, surely there will be a 'backstage' - which I am usually never a part of - and 'free beer' - which rules - on top of 'a cut from the door' - $ is a good incentive.
So what the hell? a grolsch&guru down the hatch & I am out the door in dancing clothes..

alors, friends from winnipeg & otherwise, any mental 'cassez votre jambes' you wanna thorow this way over the next couple would be heartily appreciated, though surely I will have some sort of photog evidence of the events in question if I find a way to demeurely blog it. also, the bruise on my right leg is just so disgusting I have to show you:

ahhhhhhahaha GNNNNNAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRLLLLLLLLLYYYYYY


yours in song, laura beeston

an ode to janelle

hey rob vilar. next time come with??




a babe. my babe.










we found a colourful wall in old montreal; we also found some interesting architecture, an old school dep (for beers in the afternoon, naturally) & a plethora of bloggable signs & things.

















to recap: the lingering highs are these

-taking a mini vay cay from the real world.
- el perro del mar
- biking with an old friend
- many many raqlettes & glasses of sangria
- kareoke party. oh god the insanity...
- crepes. cookies. cakes. quiche. (god bless housewives)
- the finale nuit all-nighter. followed by a poutine breakfast, naturally.



& RIGHT NOW:

- tattoo prep. remi is drawing me scissors.

otherwise. I miss my bests. someone else should visit me.

affecteusement, larry.

memory lane

a couple of things:
-a kids in the hall reunion tour? oh baby.
-el perro del mar: booked
-being called out for being a hippy on st cats: priceless.

I am walking on cloud nine while simultaneously dragging my heels into the fear of things to come.

opportunity - - - loneliness
a wealth of knowledge isnt without a cost
celebration - - - suffering

As one door opens, another closes: I know that this is how it goes but I didnt realize this is how it would feel when it got here.

- - - - - - -- - - ---------- -------- - - - -

you know what does help, though...

looking back & seeing where you are from that perspective.


enjoy memory lane.

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20 jui 2007


21. forever young .
Humeur actuelle : méditatif
Catégorie : Goals, Plans, Hopes

Pisces (19 Feb - 20 Mar)

'''' It's easier for you to look like you don't care than it is for you to actually detach yourself from the outcome of an emotional interaction. The problem is that no matter how you appear, you know what you want and will go for it even if there is a high price to pay. Keep in mind, however, that this isn't really the endgame, for your perspective will likely change over the days ahead. ''''

------------------------
there are a couple sayings that have been running around my head lately...
'trim the fat'
'no expectiations'
'timing is everything'
...these have been the most necessary of mantras in the last little while, all things considered.

Life is a funny thing:
If you had talked with me two months ago, I would have told you my disdain for haste, movement and uncertainty.
I would have bitched about not having a plan & not knowing where I was heading.
I would have complained about the cruelty of man
&, of course, the ails of mulehood.

and now, two months later, perspective on all counts has dramatically changed....
I, obviously, am hotly anticipating movement & uncertainty.
I am perfectly contented by the plan I have, which is not to plan at all. The cruelty of man has been the catalyst of migration, despite stewing in bitterness for a couple.
and I will actually miss working like a beast in heat, if you can believe that....

It hasn't hit me quite yet. It hasn't really landed. & no regrets when it does, because I know its right....

I'm outta here in 21, winnipeg.... say what you want to.

Actuellement Je lis :
The Hysterical Male: New Feminist Theory (Culture Texts)
Par Arthur Kroker
Date de publication : January, 1991

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03 jui 2007


how about that ...
Humeur actuelle : anxieux
Catégorie : Blogging

blog going off, apparently. It wasn't that prolific. the myspace tech group is fucked maybe?



Actuellement Je lis :
Lonely Planet Montreal
Par Jeremy Gray
Date de publication : June, 2004

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29 jui 2007


cette periode incroyablement prolifique.....
Humeur actuelle : enchanté
Catégorie : Life

=======================================
tell me, what do you plan to do with your wild & precious life ?
=======================================

courir.
faire.
dire.
penser.
écriture.
savoir.
couloir.
aimer.

being away has made me internalize just how much I adore winnipeg, despite loathing the repitativeness that colours our everyday reality.
&, more importantly, which acute facets of existance in this town that will eventually give me the gutpangs of homesickness in due time...

things to do upon return :

accomplish lists upon lists
take stock of what I live
garage sale my life away
accumulate memories
breathe deeply
& send myself off

.......................................


things made clear from this depature:

déjà vous partout... je pense que il est en sign.
I am domestic as fuck. & I dig it ... !!?
a heart that does not break is not a heart at all, really.



& a heart that does not heal is a heart that turns to stone.


.......................................

things didnt turn out like I thought they would. at all. I am thankful for this.

Ive learned to travel light and without expectation.

All you need is in your soul.

Actuellement j'écoute :
Noah's Ark
Par CocoRosie
Date de publication : 13 September, 2005

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17 jui 2007


- - -
Humeur actuelle : serein
Catégorie : Life

there is no way my eyes should remain open at this moment.
the last days have compiled themselves. a series of minutes, hours, events.
a snowball collecting and descending. & i'm almost gone.

ups:
-halfmarathon completion-instant no rub inner theighs-publically expelling the word 'tit's with great emphasis at a very jesus wedding-tears of joy-loads of laughter-anticipation for the one bag life-making ready for vulnerable-2 days 2 days 2 days-

downs:
-feeling like old lady bones-the necessary purge-being completely fucked about a tears of joy reaction-phonecalls from private-holding a necessary grudge-making ready for vulnerable-

realizations:
-you can't give away too many secrets-mind trumps matter-my body is a cage/curse/feast/text/vessel-it shouldn't ever be this much work to love-

Actuellement Je lis :
Lonely Planet Quebec
Par Steve Kokker
Date de publication : July, 2002

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07 mai 2007


primed to disappear. . .
Humeur actuelle : bizarre
Catégorie : Travel and Places

Sorting ones life into box after box is exhausting. Trimming the proverbial fat & going through forgotten articles that found themselves in stowed away places begs attention and reflection, because you must dig and ponder and purge and be pensive about possession if you are to truly pack yourself away. This task is not for the faint of heart nor those who hold stedfastidly to the comfortable throne they are seated upon. . But I digress, the most interesting product of this whole endeavor for me is slowly lifting my eyelids from the the contents of my life ((that seem to stretch out endlessly and stupidly before me)) & look to the horizon I am met by nothing but unyeilding question. And I think I am about ready to answer some.

I am primed to disappear. . . My stuff is neatly folded into cardboard cubes and bound by tape. The items to give are sitting in their packs by the door. The year is unfolding ahead of me and I have no responcibilities. Ambition is my middle name. The cravings of adventure and solitude are my temptresses. I need to figure out my life. my place. some space. and come back wiser but ready to continue to learn. Having a blank slate is something to treasure. You can do with it what you will. anything. whose to keep you bound? you owe nothing to no one and are the architect of your own demise. I am ecstatic.



and yet

I feel so intruded upon, at this moment. My complacency leaves me impertinent and speechless as it shows me out the door. I cannot believe the haste of my life of late. I dislike its urgency. It was volcanic when I came home today from a double double shifted weekend. Things to be done everywhere. sweep. rake. paint. dust. organize. work. repeat. no time. no time. I actually enjoyed the quiet rain at f & q on sunday just because it granted me excuse to leave my house & the crazy people that dwell within it. bogus.

On another rant, while listening to neil young in my attic-y little green & red space this whole thing really hit me. Whilst going about my business in the dead of night and early hours of morning. (my slumber is forever flawed) I realized my unyeilding peace in this place I have done most of my growth. Writing, drawing, sleeping, sexing, being, dancing, lying on the roof in my sun, having recess at Grosvenor school wake me up in the mornings, jogging around these blocks, the trees in various seasons, working in the neighborhood, bumping into peeps, walking to school. these things i will miss the most. How prime it is to be completely comfortable in your environment. How privlidged I was for so many years.
I suppose that things are timed in life. I suppose they happen when they should happen, if it rattles the pace or not. So much change is probably a good thing at various points, because is a force that moves one on or up our out.

or down.

This was mega long. unintentional. I'm totally bumming about moving, I guess. The intention of this blog was to invite anyone who wanted to to enjoy my domicile and the good weather while we have them...
my roof is superb for sunning and hanging out and yoga

I want to utilize what I got while I got it.

=================================

Trim the fat. take it all off. begone & born again. I guess we'll just see how it goes...

ps: I also plan an exodus of myspace once some travel plans are made intact. Perhaps I may regress. A livejournal or some tripe 2002 bullshit may occur. ha, not. I also doubt I will be available by messenger. and you will -hand to God- never see this mug on the facebook. There is honest potential that I could be back on the space, who knows? & its not going to happen for a minute..... just sayin

Actuellement Je lis :
In the First Early Days of My Death
Par Catherine Hunter
Date de publication : 01 December, 2002

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06 mai 2007


eff et que.
Humeur actuelle : calme
Catégorie : Life

Banishment to a clothing establishment is not so bad when your chores are done and casualty hangs in the air like a heavy cloud. Visits, Messages, Plans. I am working like a mule but effectively checking of each item on my list of things to do & making future engagements... I am smugly pleased with my progress of late, and my state of mind. I was worried there for a minute, shedding more tears than belly laughs, and visably altered; Affected. Effected. Engaged. Enraged. But these days are numbered & focus will prevail...

I'll run that shit right out of my life....

Some things:
- I wish that Peter, Bjorn & John weren't so trippily accurate/annoying/addicting/absolving. ''Your tongue is sharp, I miss the taste of it.''
- The whitest boy alive has read my diary.
- I wish that it was May 30th & I was off on a grand Eastern Writing Adventure.

Some thanks:
- to Booze Dick. I don't know what I would do without you, man, for serious. I was a haggard state and, picking up on it, you offered me the worst advice EVER but the best friend this lady could ever want. bros.
- to Richard. I am a creature of touch; being your inner spoon was both necessary and therapudic. I am glad we rekindled the spark.
- to green & caffine. The reason I am a functioning human being.

But its time for a break. come visit me if you feel like it. I am working all day every day, at my respective establishments. & prompt me about a roof party/ a bar b q/ a roller skating party. These things are all in the near horizon....

peace.

Actuellement j'écoute :
The Queen is Dead
Par The Smiths
Date de publication : 25 October, 1990

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30 avr 2007


trim the fat
Humeur actuelle : je ne tiens pas en place
Catégorie : Life

physically.
mentally.
emotionally.

I'm taking it all off...........

I beg patience. & the luxery of time to bum out. or opt out. or cop out at my leisure.

((& I recognize the stupidity of the latter, this time; I really do. I also recognize that this is just as tired and annoying as it always has been. & yet (although I may end up once again swallowing these words with pride & self deprecation), I feel as though I won't let myself regress back unto the cop-out state because there is an air of perminance or finality or pointlessness that wafts in and out of this fucked-up, yearning, strung-out place I'm stuck inside. -- But then again you never know with me; I tend to martyr myself on a regular basis, don't I? I'm a masochist this way, apparently --- Yet in my own defence (which is paper thin and holds no weight at this point), I swore by God to change... and thought feigned performance to be real. Can you really blame my misconstrued conviction in a knowing, expert act?! I hope I am adaptable.))


----------------------------------------------------

also: it's marathon time. I'm going to be running five or six times a week if I can manage it between two hectic full time jobs... whoever wants to join me or is training for the half / full should call me if you wanna tear some pavement.... ((oprative word: tear)).


-----------------------------------------------------


also: it's not personal if I seem removed/exhausted/disinterested. & it's not personal if I don't answer my phone - I have been going through either insomnia & narcolepsy, depending on the day, & attribute this to work &/or world weariness. I surely think it a phase; hopefully.

------------------------------------------------------

also: I beg refrain from telling me you told me so. I actually cannot handle hearing these four words strung together at the moment. When uttered aloud, they promote chest pains and that sharp, acidic, just-about-to-be-physically-ill burning at the back of the throat. So, if you could save the physical onslaught and instead conduct an inner monologue as you shake your head at me and my stupidity, you would have my unrelenting appreciation.

To my friends; I owe you the world if you've given me ear this time. My gratitude is boundless, and is rivaled only by my regret for disheeding sound advice.





Actuellement j'écoute :
69 Love Songs
Par Magnetic Fields
Date de publication : 07 September, 1999

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17 avr 2007


one. two. go.
Humeur actuelle : malade
Catégorie : exhausted Life

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - + ups + - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

=one. one exam left. one. the road was long, & here is the end.
=critical theroy exam mark & an epic grad school reference.
=jaunts & quality patio time with the neighbourhood.
=reading for fun.
=feeding on nostalgia from masquerades.
=brimming travel/teaching plans.
=good writing&drawing of late.
=conspicuous blogs.
=outside.

- - - - - - - - - - _downs_- - - - - - - - - -- - - - - - - - - - -

=being miserably, unrelentingly, & (seemingly) incurably diseased. (swollen glands, tearing eyes, ceaselessly runny nose, dry throat, chap'd lips, hot flashes, cold flashes, constant coughing/sneezing, 2 hours sleep max... phlem, hack, cough, sneeze, wheeze. expire. isn't that attractive?)
(
but, no*
no sympathy
or apathy
for this sore state
It was my own fault;
I am the architect of my own demise.
I cannot even feign resistance. . .
I am an unaccomplished hater. Lover.
)

=poor makeout choices.
=movement!?!?! too soon; sudden. stark. out of home? fuck. but this neighbourhood I'll stay.... (another potential up: blessingly wondeful sisterly possible room mate & botanical job?! pinch me. fingers crossed.)

= one. one more exam. one. and then I'm clear and with diploma. finally.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -- - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Life, as I know it, is wonderful. Granted I am desperately ill. Granted I have only had a mere two hours sleep last night and my reality is currently habituated in the quasi-underwater-feeling-like-a-stoner-zoned-out state & I start deuce at seven. Granted I have no recognizable voice, instead I'm rocking a hoarse, gutteral, Tom Waits circa-now growl. Granted that, after diplomacy, I'm going to purposefully resign this voice to bigger & better things & am currently feeling quite ill prepared, because I don't know what these things will be..... Granted I am planning on working myself into the ground. knowingly. 'til I figure it out...

- - - -

Life is wonderful. You walk home and you're with company. You can shred. You can jaunt. You can lie in bed 'til noon. You can embrace sunshine. For that, I'm doing my best to ignore my haggared health & instead (though apologizing to those around me who, during examinations, are attempting to concentrate amongst my orchistration of sniffles, coughs and nose blows) focusing on the task at hand. finish hard.

- - - - - - - - --

Emancipation in two. I am beyond excited. The advent of the close of this year is necessary. I cannot swear by these words exclusively, but I highly doubt I will ever revisit another term of six and a half classes just to pull a diploma together. It almost killed me. really.
But maybe I'll do it again...who knows whats next.

================
But seriously
Emancipation in two means two things:
one- I am diploma'd
two- I have to figure out where to go from here.
& a probable three- I'm fuckin' terrified.

but bring on summer, I suppose... I'll worry about it later? ! ? who wants to bike ride?


Actuellement Je lis :
Spud Sweetgrass
Par Brian Doyle
Date de publication : February, 1997

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10 avr 2007


the play's the thing...
Humeur actuelle : nerveux
Catégorie : with butterflies Writing and Poetry

oh. oh.
insecurity and excitement. crippling. a mix of anticipation and feeling like I could maybe throw up a little... this is self proclaimed, self inscribed, volunteered, labourous love and deep seated fear. I want it to be over. Can't sleep. Can't wait.

((you know how sometimes you find yourself working really hard on something unexpectedly? or you just become attuned to a thing that found its way unintentionally in your life? it just.feels....right and was born in good timing, so you embrace it? and before you know it, it has grasped on to so much of you that you didn't even realize you are.... it has caught a tight hold of the truth of you; an honesty that was so close to the surface, but had previously no vehicle of expression? that's sort of the deal here, I had no idea going into this that I'd come out so committed... I guess that's the truth about everything/everyone you'll ever love... ?

Reexamination. my life. my housed & secret passions... theatre? fine arts? communications? screen writing? education? fuck! what to do!? ))

that will just have to materialize in its due time, I suppose. whats important now is that tomorrow is curtain call. I have one shot to show this journey. 25 minutes to express what three months of consistency and contemplation and consternation and compassion have built with bare hands... perhaps if this character wasn't so great in real life I wouldn't feel like I was doing a great artistic dis-service if I fuck up grand royale. Hopefully this will not happen though... ugh. clutch. butterflies.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

I am making myself sick just thinking about it.

- - - - - - - - - - - - -- - - - - - - - - - - - - - monologue:

I see two women in me; freakishly bound together like circus twins. I see them tearing at eachother; I can hear the tearing. The anger and the love, the passion and the pity. When the moment of dislocation suddenly ceases - or when I cease to be aware of the sound - then the silence is more terrible because there is nothing but insanity around me. The insantity of things pulling... pulling... pulling with oneself. The roots tearing at eachother to break, the strain made to achieve unity....

I cannot tell the truth. I cannot be certain of any event or place; only of my solitude. . .
the truth... the truth... : I clutch at those I love. I want to embrace so much, that everything eludes me. I cling. I must be punished. I make incisions. acid flows instead of blood. my pain pouring into a cauldron of words... enormous mouthfuls of acidic words... bitter words... words for my pain... words to hold the light... words to embalm.... words. words....

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

I'm fucking terrified.......


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31 mar 2007


insomniacs anonymous.
Humeur actuelle : fatigué
Catégorie : sleepwalking School, College, Greek

what's going down. . .

complete:
*one popular literature paper on *shudder* Nora Roberts 'Blue Smoke'. Don't worry folks, I tear her subverted, elusive, wolf-in-sheeps-clothing romance novel to bits & pieces. She didn't stand a chance. . .

in progress:

*Plato's Republic. I understand that the Socratic teaching methods of question and answer dialogue is meaningful, I really do. And as much fun as it is to hi-light translated ancient greek philosophy when you're under a time constraint, I would dig so hard it if he just stated his point without mad cave imagery & questions that lead to more questions....
due monday. blood pressure up.

*Intensive WAG Workshop for Adults: self portrait multimedia.
got some cool looking typewritten poetry. Got some good sourcework pictures/ideas/drawings well underway. Got a mirror to stare at & some eyes to come to terms with. Got some green & itunes. Got a really really good excuse not to be in the library. fuck school let's art.

*Honey and White Blood: April 11th. 7pm.
come one, come all & scope 4th year honors directing projects. it's free. fuck school get cultured. poetic feminist erotica.

ups.....
-typewriting. simplistic limitation. perfect location for subject matter.
- self exploration. & my art tearcher alluding I should pursue his faculty.
- c bass. epic talks amongst ghosts. travel plans in the works. possible summer hideaway & hearing I love yous.
- walking. biking. being fresh.
-deciding to let it be. & drinking wine with new possibilities.

downs...
- people losing my clothes. especially my favourite clothes.
- school still trumping life
-Plato's Republic.
-Thursday April 5th, anytime before 8pm.



A lot gets done in insomnia.






Actuellement Je lis :
The Republic (Penguin Classics)
Par Plato
Date de publication : 25 February, 2003

29 mar 2007


you got me on my knees. . .
Humeur actuelle : stressé
Catégorie : kill me. Life

Oh post secondary...(( I promise that I will refrain from complaining too too much longer, but it seems that my life is overwhelmed.)) I am swimming upstream and just made the realization that I have three exams next thursday.
One at 11am, 1:30pm and 6pm.
Critical theory, Pop Lit, Astronomy.
kill me. kill me. kill me.

So goodbye, everyone. My freedom has dissolved as I know it.

After the day of doom you can expect to see me out, faded in all my glory & dancing my face off in the joy of emancipation...
I suppose it isn't such a bad thing to get half of your exams over with in a day hey? hey!?!? Especially if there is a dance party waiting for you at the end of the tunnel...

But I'm fucked. Bigtime.

But you know, in the face of adversary and insurmountable odds, smart girls create strategies. & I made a strategy.

This is the official gameplan, which I formulated for myself this morning:

- Hermit thyself in academia.
-Befriend the window'd desks at the centennial library.
-Predominantly eat Twist's veggie burgs for sustinance.
-Stay in, work hard, be studious.
-And finally, above all else: maintain & execute this clear established plan of homework trumping life... sustain the gpa for grad school.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The gameplan in action, mere hours after its birth, was as follows:

-Went to rehearsal, panic'd over having to wear a nearly nude negligeé for a scene which was formerly about editing and is now about sex. (anyone wanna go for a jog with me? hm?)
-Biked in the rain.
- From there, instead of getting a paper signed, sealed & delivered I spent most of my time caressing a lover to delirium; ((spooning trumps academia, apparently))
-Following this epic, climax oriented facetime I walked my dog
-Wrote perhaps three unrealized paragraphs for a paper (pathetic)
-Ate some dinner with the fam
-And went to Eric Clapton.

Good one, Lo. Way to keep your eyes on the prize.

I will never regret Eric Clapton. Epic as heck. I wish to rock that hard when I'm sixty something. I also refuse to regret spooning to the sound of the rain and the smiths.... who regrets spooning? I don't think it's possible.

However, I will wish repentance for taking on six and a half credits, a play, an intensive art class for adults and a consistently complicated enigma. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . clutch.

----------------------------------- but enough!!

Things to look forward to:
The end in sight. A drawing of a cluster of flowers that will perhaps be perminantly etched onto my foot in the near future. Montreal. The advent of sunny weather. Jogging on dry sidewalks. Learning to knit. Mega free time. Bike shredding. Folkfest. . .

That is all. My paper re: critical mass & de Certeau has printed... so I have no excuse to waste time interwebbing. . .

see peeps in weeks. big sighs.



Actuellement j'écoute :
The Cream of Clapton
Par Eric Clapton
Date de publication : 07 March, 1995

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21 mar 2007


one down . . .
Humeur actuelle : satisfait
Catégorie : School, College, Greek

It is done. It is finally done. This sonofabitch - which has been eating away at my critical feminist intelligence for the last month and a half - has finally been birthed. it is whole. finally.
after what seemed like endless stream of rough copies, thousands of saplings worth of loose-leaf (I know what you're thinking: get a gd laptop... & I agree -my system of articulation is archaic at best, but proves necessary- and I recycle at least?!?!), three extraneous books on the subject of female beauty, and a buttload of mental anguish . . . it is complete.

I am free.

so now what? Oh yes, I remember. Freedom is illusory. technically I have to write two extraneous final papers I have not even started yet (on account of the fact that this last beast was my all consuming everest), I have a critical journal entry on post modernism, an entire terms worth of children's literature to read, five exams to study for, an astronomy project, a monologue to perform and a play to enact before I actually entertain the emancipation of summer. . . .

fak!

But I'm proud of what I've finished today. Here's a sampling. I hand it over so freely on the interweb with high hopes it will be copied, pasted & plagarized someday by a high school student who buys into my vein attempt to be a feminist cultural critic.

ahem:

One way in which a culture's ideologies are communicated and produced is through advertisements. The market of visual media in North America restricts, enforces and influences an array of values and practices, relying on a modern arsenal of constructed myths and sign systems to reinforce their messages and mollify resistance. For women, such negotiation proves detrimental to personal conceptions of self and sovereignty in relation to society. The messages geared towards women, no matter what age or colour, overwhelmingly equate conceptions of beauty with a sense of empowerment, and this false pretense serves to demobilize counter hegemonic discourses that could potentially threaten the current status quo. This is further complicated because capital consumerism and patriarchal ideologies are aligned with and reliant upon women's relationship to the mass media. In its assessment of the content of two recent beauty advertisements, this dissertation will attempt to derive cultural and capital messages directed at women and society while exhibiting that demographic marketing and institutional power structures are the ultimate motivations behind these conceptions.
It can be said with certainty that women in North America assume a heavily involved role in relation to mass media and the creation of social values. As Lana F. Rakow suggests in her study Feminist Analysis of Popular Culture: Giving the Patriarchy it's Due, women engage two very necessary positions on this terrain, "playing central roles as [both] consumers… and subject matter of popular culture for both men and women" (202). This duality is considerable, as women possess a huge expanse of consumer power and thus the ability to affect the means of market communication and social reception. But because women are so often the symbols of visual media, advertising agents are acutely aware of the necessity to impress upon this demography and, in attempts to maintain and perpetuate consumptive and capital habits of women, a flood of idealized images are consciously geared to influence them. Author Naiomi Wolf entitles this recognizable ideal of attractiveness and manipulation "The Beauty Myth" asserting that this constructed token feature of the media acts as the "necessary ideology that would compel insecure consumerism… and save advertisers from the economic fallout of the women's revolution" (66). The constant re-articulation of this impossible, yet iconic, female image works in two ways: in the media to maintain the current women driven capital of the beauty industry, and in society to checkmate women's inheritance of power since the feminist insurrection. According to Wolf, the stakes of this economic investment are staggering, she writes that
The unconscious hallucination [of beauty] grows ever more influential and pervasive because of what is now a conscious market manipulation: powerful industries – the 33 billion a year diet industry, the 20 billion cosmetics industry, the 300 million cosmetic surgery industry, the 7 billion pornography industry – have arisen from the capital made out of unconscious anxieties, and are in turn able, through their influence on mass culture, to use, stimulate and reinforce the hallucination in a rising economic spiral' (17).
As testament to these numbers, it can be asserted that the beauty myth is never created as the face of women for women, but is ultimately the face of perpetuated capitalism, driving women to keep buying into produces that promise them empty ideals.
The second mode in which the extensive portrayal of women is utilized by the media is as instruments of social conduct. Women's fixation with beauty and self can arguably account for the lack of counter hegemonic action taken against current inequalities of western culture. In harnessing and attacking a woman's innate sense of self and worth, the Beauty Myth in advertising becomes a distraction for real women, undermining their energies and the progresses of feminism. According to Susan Bordo in her study The Body and the Reproduction of Femininity, 'through the pursuit of an ever-changing, homogenizing, elusive ideal of beauty… female bodies become docile bodies- rendered less socially oriented and more centripetally focused on self-modification' (166). The social outcome of this beauty construction is quite perilous for women's equality. On account of women's constant preoccupation and self involvement in a pursuit of the impossible, old orders of institutionalized power remain intact.
The utter construction and mythology of the female body is unceasingly rife with politics and meaning. The messages derived from visual media like advertising sometimes seem to be blatant and unambiguous, essentially screaming their capitalist qualms; however the majorities of these images are subliminally and actively negotiating with both potential consumers and resisting discourses, thus warranting critical evaluation.
The first example, Barbie Loves MAC (Figure A.) suggests the beauty myth personified: a young, white, blonde, emaciated (yet busty) woman without any visible asymmetry or pores is situated front and center. She is easily recognized as 'Barbie' - the poster girl of standardized American attractiveness – because she has been obtrusively thrust into the consciousness of North American women since childhood. Her image is rife with symbolic meaning, for she is the overwhelmingly central subject of this particular retail. The objective of this advertisement is subversively not to sell make up, but to instead sell a coiffed and perfectly manicured ideal of beauty at which consumers should attempt to attain. This image, despite its impossibility, persuades women that it is indeed achievable, only if they buy into the MAC products.
In addition, the visual content of this advertisement is very decisive in its avowal of 'otherness'. It is no accident that only half of the African American model representing 'black Barbie' is included in the frame of the image. This lack of coloured female presence in the advertisement seems to confirm that Barbie, like the standards of female beauty it represents, is a stubbornly unreflective, homogeneous, industrialized ideal with no room for difference.
The idiom which accompanies this visual is just as convoluted and contrived. Barbie Loves MAC proclaims that:
This spring Barbie is hip, happening & all MAC with a modern rebel attitude and fashionable indie style. On lips, cheeks, eyes and skin - Barbie Loves MAC- a limited edition colour collection specially created for all you living dolls. (http://www.maccosmetics.com)
The statements that correlate Barbie with 'rebellion' or 'indie' (read: independent) ideals are utterly full of contradiction: there is absolutely nothing distinct, autonomous or counter hegemonic about assuming the particularity of a mass produced cookie-cutter icon. Correspondingly, the conception of the 'living doll' debasingly suggests that women have appropriated this one-dimensional ideal, or should somehow have channeled the idealism of Barbie, into the reality of their identities as adults.
Although the visual and accompanying rhetoric of Barbie Loves Mac demonstrates a demeaning design in the creation of social mythologies surrounding women, the ultimate goal of both MAC and Mattel has everything to do with an expansion of market – they have joined forces to swell their consumer catchments. Mattel clearly benefits from feeding off of the nostalgia and purchasing power of grown women who have surpassed the stages of playing with their product and MAC, in coupling with Mattel, is given an advantage over other beauty products by beginning to foster brand loyalty among young girls who can currently identify with the Barbie emblem.
The second advertisement to be deconstructed was chosen on the basis of it being a self proclaimed antithesis to the beauty ads that came before it. The Dove 'Pro-Age' Campaign for Real Beauty peddles itself off as an alternative mode of visual reception in the beauty industry, claiming a resistance to the dominant market of anti-aging propaganda. While Barbie Loves MAC promises a regress to a youthful, doll inspired ideal, Dove's "Pro-Age" conception of beauty champion 'authentic' depictions of women by celebrating their various rolls, wrinkles and skin colours. The "Pro-Age" line compels its patrons to believe that Dove (and Dove alone) is initiating a gesture of difference and truth in an otherwise artificial market; however, upon critical analysis, it proves to be strikingly similar to its opposing Barbie counterpart in the sense that this idyllic representation is also wrought with subverted messages that are hidden beneath the icon of female beauty.
Predominantly, Dove coerces its audience to recognize that the system of female representation in other advertisements falsely misconstrues women and beauty. Dove then insists participation in a campaign of resistance against the falsehoods dominating the beauty industry, claiming that their product is the ethical choice for consumers. Upon initial assessment, the images and rhetoric of the Dove line are seemingly positive: women of all shapes and colours are being celebrated, the conceptual image of womanhood and beauty is being expanded, and there is finally a rivaling discourse to the unattainable Beauty Myth. Nevertheless, the validity of Dove's positive schemata is darkened by their capitalist agenda. When stripped to its lowest denominator, Dove's 'positive' enterprise shares the very characteristics of the ads it attempts to discredit. Like Barbie, Dove has exercised a specific approach for a target market, tapping into the very rich and very powerful Baby Boomer confederacy. By honing in on an otherwise underrepresented image of women in beauty advertising, Dove alone profits from the purchasing power of the Baby Boomer consumer, who by and large have the attained the most accessible quantity of expendable income. Dove, like Barbie, also directs its campaign at a specific age bracket, leaving a large portion of youth without 'real' beauty to identify with.
The question remains: is 'Pro-Age' really about embracing, accepting and celebrating women's identity, power and history? Or is it a calculated attempt to achieve brand loyalty – a strategic marketing mechanism aimed directly at Baby Boomers? Either way, Dove is tainted by the same agenda as every other beauty advertiser on the market: they are driven, fundamentally, by women's insecurities and capital.
It is of paramount importance that women remain critical of the ways in which they are presented in advertisements and visual media. The cultural significance in this domain is very telling of the values and motivations of western society. By and large, these images screen the fact that women are a vast consumer market with a large expanse of power to initiate cultural change and instead, women are receptive of an industry that overwhelmingly demeans and disrespects their autonomy with delusions. It has been proved secondary whether marketable women are idealized like Barbie or celebrated for their supposed imperfections because the exploitation in this market consistently withdraws to the same agenda: capitalism. The beauty myth, which attempts to hold women in a state of inadequacy and guilt while exploiting their sense of self, needs to be recognized for what it is: a reflection of capitalism disguised as the aesthetic of the feminine.

the end.
((with many apologies to the friends/lovers that I ranted to about this project for the last month and a half))





Actuellement j'écoute :
Meat Is Murder
Par The Smiths
Date de publication : 25 October, 1990

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20 mar 2007


strarved for lazy afternoons. . .
Humeur actuelle : vidé
Catégorie : disaffected School, College, Greek

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - it's been one of those weeks.
yet it is only tuesday.

I vacantly walk from place to place
like one posessed with mediocrity.

I have no strength, drive, stamina or focus
@ a time I need them most.
The modern arsenal
at my weak disclosure
consists of sugar-free red bull(s),
half hearted prayers to the homework gods
and a consistant amount of not giving a shit. . .

I feel overworked, underslept and wrinkled
like a pile of laundry strewn upon the floor.

I need to be tucked in, soothed
and given a sleeping pill.
As I drift into medicated slumber
I need to be told
in sincerety
that, unfortunately,
the university has been involved in the war on terror,
(Luckily not a single casualty expired)
But the building is blown to smithereens.
And I am free and clear of all committments.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

You should see the doodles in my notes.
They are getting pretty good.
Class content, you ask?
Who gives a shit.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

I know I've reached a low when I don't even really care about expression...........................................................
And I don't. ((contrary to the fundamental expressive essence of this blogging.)) I know I've reached a low when I don't even really care
if things are begging to be said and shared and told.
It has lost it's significance to me.
If it hasn't been figured out by now, so be it. let it be.

- - - - - - - --------------------- - - - - - - - - -

emancipation in thirty. the countdown begins.

Actuellement Je lis :
The Republic
Par Plato
Date de publication : 17 October, 2006

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17 mar 2007


divorce kin who keep me down. . .
Humeur actuelle : méditatif
Catégorie : Life

Look at me now. See me all dressed up in your words today.
Do you think about me? Do you think about me?
& if you'd see me come round
it's still 'cause of all the sweet things you say

After all that I've run from
Where the fuck did you come from?

You've made me yours
With your lovely cries about what life is like
& I dont't know why it is
You make me do all the things that I do like this

After all that I've come from
You're the woman I should run from

Butterfly - Mason Jennings

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - --

True humility comes from being called out.
I was called out the otherday.
Though the circumstance was not my own.
Through a doorway, someone peered into a section of my private self, And amassed opinion from the stoop.
Took one look, gave me a smirk, & made judgement.
I tried to persuade him of the circumstantial evidence of his assessment
Because he was taking in opionion of my character
But he turned a deaf ear to the argument.
And told me why he thought I do crit. theory.

In other news. My play is getting very sexy. This has a lot to do with the german violinist who has been introduced. I am entranced in prickly heat. But you can see for yourself if you'd like................. ............ ......
Around April 11th. Details tba.

Actuellement j'écoute :
Boneclouds
Par Mason Jennings
Date de publication : 16 May, 2006

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12 mar 2007


committment & clearing air . . .
Humeur actuelle : enchanté
Catégorie : Life

----------------------ups-----------------

wearing shorts
going to finals vball next monday madness . . .
impromptu girl crews & our grand hangouts.
combination of nag champ & open windows - clearing air in general, actually.
solidarity. solitarity.
Anais Nin, Sylvia Plath & Naiomi Wolf combined.

------------------------------------------------------downs -------------

my dad stressing himself out . . .
a perpetual, posessive, passionate & all consuming enigma
questioning everything
being frozen in muteness.
drowning in post secondary
changing skin




peroid.
---------------------------this is my life, apparently----------------------------

I wonder how affected by it I am. I pose. I peer. I scrutinize. The hevier thieghs. The womanly little belly. The muffin tops. I stumble upon these things & I make my comparisons.

Sometimes, I feel superior to it. I've intellectualized it, you see. I'm well versed by it academically. I recognize it for what it really is - and yet it haunts me still. I stumble upon it and I laugh at it's ridiculousness. & still I make my comparisons.

................. the beauty myth.

I'm writing a paper right now that is both killing and saving me from an intellectual breakdown. my thesis is ripe, SO ripe - & I am into it, but I fear that time is not on my side to make it what it is meant to be made. It is consuming me

.

The thrust of my paper is as follows: I am deconstructing three beauty advertisements, retracting the 'myths' that are made by them and analyzing why these myths were created in the first place. ((I am using MAC's barbie line, Dove's 'pro age' line, and some form of Beauty/Pornography that I haven't decided on yet... (perhaps pam anderson's peta advertisement... although I don't want to go fem-veg crit theory on this paper because I have enough to work with as it is) )) I will then mobilize what I think is a quasi intelligent arguement about motivation/gender preformativity and it's political, ideological & economic function in western society.

ye gads...

-----------------------

Speaking on mythology, a lot of it has been going down these days, hey? I wasn't even cognitive of it until pretty reciently. It's really quite telling, in the grand scheme of things, considering that the content of the grapevine is always proven secondary to the characters that are built/realized around it's disclosure. What amazes me is how people deflect and deter in order to breach conversations overflowing with necessary truth.. . 'cause if you can point & make 'em look over there you have the medium/excuse/motive to say what you were just too chicken shit to say without the backstory in the first place. Gossip is utilitarian, you know.

personally, I'm over it.
This is the second time in the last month that I have begged for honesty.

When it comes down to the bare bones of it, I think I have been thinking too much lately, and I think this is a result of a good spook. Having a scare is an event that really shakes up your ignorances, inspirations and ideas about a bunch of really significant things.

Anyways. this was just a break. I am knee deep in critical discourse....

anyone who wants to
a) do breakfast/cousins
b) do valu
c) boost my morale with a high five in the hallway
d) go for a walk/run

lets.






Actuellement Je lis :
The Bell Jar: A Novel (Perennial Classics)
Par Sylvia Plath
Date de publication : 01 March, 2000

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05 mar 2007


Cuntus Dilectae
Humeur actuelle : je ne tiens pas en place
Catégorie : Games

Some internet astrology . . .

.:PISCES:. The Piece of ass

Caring and Kind. Smart. Center of attention. Very high ### appeal. Has the last word. The best to find, hardest to keep. Fun to be around. Freak in the sheets, read: super good in bed. Thoughtful. A partner for life. Always gets what she wants. Good sense of Humor. Loves to joke. Very popular. . .

Andrew Budyk was very surprised to find out that I read my horoscopes on a quasi-consistent basis. He was wrong in his perception of me as not being a total skeptic. Oh, I am a skeptic - don't get me wrong... I am very critical and keen. But hey, I'm a believer in stuff, sometimes. . . I recognize that it could all be chance and likely is, I suppose; but it is nice to believe in something in this volitile world and religion has failed me... So, I return to the second stupidest thing this side of scientology... only because quite often I find it to be trippily and pleasingly accurate. . .

Today is an exception, as I don't belive in internet horoscopes. I prefer to know my astrologer, even by face, in print. I just threw this down because it's a good laugh, and I haven't quite developed a cemented picture of myself in bed, or how I am perceived by lovers. I was thinking that the interweb stars could help me out in this blank state of sexual self, but probably not. . . My perception is a disconnect : I have an idea that I am very loud, but that is all. . .

In other news, Anais Nin is my Demigod. For serious. I have been hungrily thumbing through volume upon volume of her journals in hopes of preparation for this scene. I have been consumed, without doubt, and put off real work for the better part of today in order to satisfy my palette for her. A-maz-ing. Mind blown with every page turned. I want to give up life and be a diarist. I want to fill my days with white heat writing. I want to have an adulterous love affair with a married playwright and be not-so-secretly inclined with his wife. . . I want to be dismembered by the complications of love and lust - and pen it all in it's downward torrentous spiral. . .

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

I think that I have reached climax of want of expression. mega expression. missing the whole 'juice' thing really messed with me, I think. I was so excited to take a
p
l
u
n
g
e

and actually put stuff out there to be devoured by anyone who cared to pick it up - and yet it remains unpublished, collecting breadth on a neat little pile in my room... maybe it was too soon anyways. too shallow an emotional pool from which to take. juice would have been beautiful and vulnerable, if my poor words made their mark. . . perhaps they'll find their place in another volume, at another time . . . . . .. . . . . . . . .
Besides juice, an alterior reason for this trembling, bursting state I've found myself in perhaps lies in the same vein of expression? I am anxious for some necessary, overdue words that need be born into conversation. There are awkward instances and embraces that are filled to the brim with history and mystery and want and question. There are things needing desperate conceptualization, though they'd stand stark naked and blind once coming into being. . .

It would be so nice and easy if people were just honest with eachother. .

but, honestly. I need to do homework.












Actuellement j'écoute :
Everything All the Time
Par Band of Horses
Date de publication : 21 March, 2006

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28 fév 2007


twenty one, forever young . . .
Humeur actuelle : méditatif
Catégorie : ... old? Life

February 27, 2007. . .

"Actress Elizabeth Taylor (1932) shares your brithday today. You're naturally sophisticated and worldly. People are attracted to your charm. These qualities give you great skills when dealing with others. You don't accept things at face value; you question whatever you encounter. In the year ahead, something that you've been involved with for the last nine months could end to make room for something new to enter. . . "

trippy.

this is a shout out out out to all of you's who made my night. It was a night of conscious sideboob, of being fashionably late, of red wine & chocolate sin cake, of blogged rides, of a heavily exercized one hitter (which showed up a la grade 10 stylio in bathroom stalls & trippy walks), of the eurythmics, springsten, bowie/mercury & R. Kelly,of many, many belly laughs, of some do make say think, of some greek salad & of some of the best friends a lady could want. . . I enjoyed myself emmensely. . . many, many thanks. pictures to follow.

Today I recounted the whole birthday affair for Henry Mills & my movement director. we talked of the intricately connected fun & vulnerability that kareoke entails as a form of expression and release, among other artistic directives. ((Ooh. and we have a question: does being an "artist" justfiy behavior which, though damaging, advances artistic endeavour? I gave an answer of yes and no; having experienced both heads of that coin, but I want other's thoughts if they wish to admit to them...))
Anyhow, after volunteering some huge personal experience/information as my sourcework for honey & white blood I ended up amidst amicable cafe conversation with a (best) friend, then slushed my way to the library to pick up the many books that were harrowing the continual list... ((I see not just one book before me, but a life of books. Life and literature combined. . . the insatiable delight of experience)) After adopting 'The Sexual Politics of Meat', 'Fire: From the Journal of Love by Anais Nin", and 'The Mirror & the Garden"I decided to enjoy the balmy snowball weather and walk up the river to my home. . .

Listening to Cat Stevens in complete solitude with the world on your mind is a good investment of time. Total isolation amidst vast quiet & whiteness & the perpetual fear of falling through the melting ice, never to be seen again, is totally therapudic & necessary. I'm really, really starting to sort it out, I hope...

Some conclusions were drawn:
I am of the belief that, as a culture, we should screw new year's resolutions. Resolutions and growth and change are necessary things; part of life itself, but it makes more sense, to me, that these evaluations should be made on or near one's own birthday... because, really, a birth date is when one personally advances into a new year, breaking from a collective whole... It's a pretty reasonable idea & I am sticking with it. I have decided that January and February (specifically January) don't count for me anymore. I mean, obviously they count, but they are the plumage of an old skin. an old self. I mean, I don't want to get into shitty pheonix symbolism or anything, as that would be too base to really underlie what I am trying to get at, here... but I can't think of anything else visually stimulating at the moment... fru.ster.ation. ((I'm finding, more and more, that words perpetually fail me. they aren't loaded when I need them, there aren't enough of them and they don't serve my fullest purpose when I attempt to mobilize their meaning. sighs. I best improve my impovershed vernacular... if I'm serious about this writing thing anyways. . . ))

anyways. yes. new beginnings. new priorities...
I only wonder at what length I am willing to go to dissolve the barriers to attain what I desire, and if am I seriously going to be able deny myself the pleasure I find from what has proved harmful. These are huge, grappling life questions & I am feeling every single one of the twenty one years of my age upon my shoulders when I try to answer them.... Is this just a temproary illusion imperative for my growth? christ I hope so. Because I am so over feeling like I am both crippled and saved by my lack of experience. Feeling both powerful and disenfranchised by the wealth of critical understanding. I just want answers & I want them now. . .

do not expect multitudes of existential grievences from this face in the blogs that are inevitably to follow... The anniversary of my birth has wrought me up in perculiar ways, I don't know why. I'm all prickly heat & heavy boots. My flight response is raging at the speed of light. I have much to say but much to censor. I'm a proverbial babe in the grand scheme of things . . . and yet I'm feeling old-soul-ish.

whoever grew this pot knew what was up. . . and I'll blame them. Three cheers.

.



Actuellement j'écoute :
Tea for the Tillerman
Par Cat Stevens
Date de publication : 23 May, 2000

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23 fév 2007


it is in changing we find purpose...
Humeur actuelle : mécontent
Catégorie : Romance and Relationships

I had one of those days in which many elements of my world aligned and fell into place before me. . . This last week, as one may or may not have taken the stock to notice, has changed me in a variety of valuable ways. It is not the people or places or things which I can physically let run through my fingers or hold or be immersed in that is of great importance... but the ideas and conceptions that were born of them.

I recognize now how blatantly obvious everything is, though I formerly failed to see it before me - six inches in front of my face. I recognize, now, that my annoying & self deprecating naivete had left me a cripple to such things, actions and ideas. You'd be amazed at the extend of my innocence. . .

But it is in changing that we find purpose. . .

I have made up my mind to refuse to come back and align myself with predisposition and pretention. I know that many things in my former life had become naturalized and habitualized and falsely conceptualized ; but fundamentally stood without serving me greatness or growth. I will not swim again in stagnant waters of routines, becuase I have been shown better than that... I refuse to keep dancing around an empty idea.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Some goals: to keep digesting books and art like a hungry animal starved of food. To keep going on quiet walks, as means to unscramble my stir fried mind. To keep writing, at a feverish pace. To keep eliminating the excesses that plague me. . .

- - - - - - - -





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07 fév 2007


art fag through & through. . .
Humeur actuelle : content
Catégorie : Art and Photography

I have a need to fill. I am knowingly gushing about those in my immediate circles. I am enthralled with the fun, the converstaions, the laughter, the connection and the memories that are forever being built around me in this place of two degrees... . I wish soley to express the happiness and contentment that was today. Beginning in bliss, with a decision to skip childs lit, listen to the Smiths & read my book (( buried under warm blankets & drinking green tea.)) A wondeful call from a babe whom I wish to know intimately 'til the day that I die. (( bus party phone convo to the max. in love.)) an engaged class or two... the soup & sesh that was to follow with my fave sisters & future mansionite. (I laugh and laugh - what similarities in schools & life... BABES) and then - a stimulating conversation with a beautiful, educated stranger-turned-friend-turned-megacrush before seeing beautiful theatre by my treasured theatre kids... ((take my advice: go and see 'better living' at the gas station. **its free** plus, it will make you laugh. it will give you goosebumps. it will make you wonder why theatre is your minor & you are not a part of the beauty)) props all around. teary eyes. proud accolades.
post infatuation with the human condition, I found myself drinking red wine and being an art fag with some of the best friends a face could want... I miss drama (( however am experiencing eternal fear for the movment based poetic feminist erotica that will be my life in the next month - despite playing anais nin. . . ))
the moral of the story: high morale going into reading week. some han solo shred time. some homework. some happenings. some good pot. if ANYONE is going in that direction, let me know... my life is an open slate awaiting to be filled. In the meantimes, book the 27th off. limelight, 21st bday. bring your ballads and 2.25 for a pint... expect a theme to follow.
warm hearts & hands & hugs to those who make me smile this way. love.

Actuellement Je lis :
The Diary of Anais Nin: Vol. 1 (1931-1934)
Par Anais Nin
Date de publication : 19 March, 1969

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04 fév 2007


tomcat feelings you don't understand . . .
Humeur actuelle : exalté
Catégorie : Blogging

Yesterday was a funny night. word games & cocktails with my favourite married couple . . . great times were had 'til early morning & the dawn of a third wheel feeling . . . oh, couplehood. . . no thank you.
anyways. google is trippily accurate about me & my sentiments. . .

1. Laura needs to take better care of her two kids... (( cough cough for those who know. . . ))
2. King George II needs to dup Laura, claiming need for a son to carry on his legacy. . . ((ironic pseudo-patriarchial statement to make about a feminist))
3. Laura needs to get out more . . . ((booked my plane ticket, bitches!))
4. Twenty five cents and two fingers is all Laura needs (( priceless ))
5. Laura Berman needs to, like, back off ((this is only funny for thouse who know Ave & our pre- (and post?) BC history. . .))
6. The world needs its small farmers. ((organic. free range. local.))
7. Peace corps needs makeovers. (( pacify. prioritize. politicize.))

Anyways. many thanks for those who participated in the last 48 hours of my life. Shira. Mel. Vroomsteiwhatever. Cara. Ginger. Church goers of the Don. Hot girl at Kustom & Dan, once removed. Oh, and Tom Waits - forever making my Sunday afternoon sexy as hell. . .

Actuellement j'écoute :
The Heart of Saturday Night
Par Tom Waits
Date de publication : 25 October, 1990


30 jan 2007


your body is a battleground...
Humeur actuelle : enchanté
Catégorie : mind is blown... Movies, TV, Celebrities

Now, I understand that bloggage as consistant as this would mark this face as a seemingly desperate cyber attention whore. I know that such a post would retaliate a certain haiku posted previously..... and validate something about me 'not having a life'.... but I couldn't help it. . .

I find - with each university lecture, with each class, with each new idea that unsettles something so fundamental in the core of my existance - that I have a responcibility to share it with SOMEONE. to make it lived. to affect. to change.

And, surprise surprise, I have read something that blew my consciousness right off.

Perhaps I had previously been overwhelmed with the great Judith Butler, and left other affectual writers in my peripheral... but, if you're a feminist, or even if you're just interested in your own body and it's appropriation to pop culture - you need to pick up a copy of anything by Susan Bordo. Brilliance. Utter, brilliance. Writing and thinking and philosophising like this woman is truly a pipe dream of mine that I can only hope to one day obtain.... but here's the good stuff:

In her article "The Body and the Reproducion of Femininity" from her book "Unbearable Weight: Feminism, Western Culture and the Body" she talks about the body as being a medium of culture. a powerful symbolic form. and a practical, direct locus of social control. Since we live in such a visual society, (what with being innundated at every angle with billboards, televison advertisment and content, movies, commercials and such) there has been a contemproary preoccupation with apperiences (surprise surprise?) which powerfully affects BOTH women and men (( but more powerfully women, as the studies show)) in a number of ways... in this advent, the rules for femininity and masculinity have come to be culturally transmitted through standardized VISUAL images....

Now, a typical analysis of this situation would just blame the patriarchy as the oppressors, and the women as the oppressed... or some blatant binary of the like; however Bordo removes herself from this black and white construction of power and asserts a more foucauldian approach of power.... that is, we must negate the idea that power is something possessed by one group and leveled against another - but it is instead the network of practices, institutions and technologies that sustain postitions of dominance and subordination - we must think instead that power is constitutive, that is, it generates forces and make them grow rather than destroying them.

So this is where it gets really interesting:

In her thesis, Bordo asserts that the body, as a text, suffers deeply because of the inscribed ideological construcitons of femininity (and, subsequently, masculinity). This construction is ALWAYS normalizing and homogenizing, insisting that there is only one standardized elevated ideal ((twiggy)). however this ideal is always written in hyperbole.... in extremism.... and as such you get women who go to the next level by living on lettuce and diet pepsi to appropriate that "perfection" ......

So.... Bordo asks us: women who are anorexic - who fail to feed themselves - who are they?
Are they the ones giving into the nearly impossible standards of beauty? or are they the ones who are protesting against it?! ((the anorexic is unconsciously engaged in a hunger strike... participating in a poitical discourse in which the action of food refusal expresses in the body what is not expressed with words))

Are they appropriating the cultural ideal of the female mystique?? OR are they appropriating masculine power by trudging to the gym and denying themselves.... being excellently practiced at "male" virtues of control and self mastery??!

it is IMPOSSIBLE to conceive a body without discourse. the body is encoded with SO many cultural signs.... how you dress, how you comb your hair, your choice to buy into standards of beauty or revolt against them... all say something about who you are, how you've been constructed, and what you TIHNK you believe. it speaks to others. It won't shut the fuck up, actually....

and I just can't get enough...





Actuellement j'écoute :
Post-War
Par M. Ward
Date de publication : 29 August, 2006

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29 jan 2007


over it. 'it' being everything...
Humeur actuelle : ....... removed .......
Catégorie : ....... removed ....... MySpace

"I am done with you
I am sailing my own
My own sweet way
Around the world
I am done with you
I am sailing my own
My own sweet way......."

- the whitest boy alive

You know when you're just over it?
This oppressive, sleeping city?
This elder, empty scene?


Actuellement j'écoute :
Dreams
Par Whitest Boy Alive
Date de publication : 22 June, 2006

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23 jan 2007


Derrida, and other disappointment.....
Humeur actuelle : travailleur
Catégorie : Travel and Places

I learned about derrida today. about his deconstructionism. and differance. We watched a movie about the great french philosopher and I penned some mentionables:

ahem:

-"The feeling dies in the realization that the 'other' doesn't merit your love."

-"There is a different between reconciliation and forgiveness. As a writer and a thinker, I seek to know the meaning of words & how they evaluate their own existance. Reconciliation and repentance are simply gestures of forgiveness... and nothing more. They are what is prescribed for a fix, they are appropriated in language... they are what ought to be obliged to do in wrongdoing... Not to be forgiven, but to reproduce the standard discourse of that forgiveness." (hardly verbatum, written quickly.... )

- " but who am I? I speak not to see. To only see onself is a form of blindness. Yet how can another see into me, into my most secret self, without me seeing into myself? and without me seeing myself being seen by him?
It is not a matter of knowing. the secret is there for no one. The question of self, of "who am I?", is contrived. One must instead ask "who is this 'I' that can say 'who'? and what is the responsability of the 'who' who asks?!"

-"I have always lived knowing myself to be dying..."

My head has been churning these words all day. such philosophy astounds this face.

In other news : balls.
That's all I can say really. & I know it ain't that bad in the long run & I'll get there soon enough, but I also know what disappointment feels like. & working towards something that has eluded a near present existance once again.
I was looking so forward to getting out of here. to re-evaluation of mind and body. to challenge. to decompress & detatch. to take it in. to break from routine and repitition. to learning....
Here's why I have put on the deb face of late... I took an extra 6 credit hours this semester to graduate, ((begging the administar to let me torture myself with six and a half classes. It would all be worth it, I surmised,)) & upon my degree I would fly away from here to a job lined up in korea... but as it turns out & as fickle timing would have it, my degree is granted to me 10 days after the school I would have been going to would accept it. & there is no way to get it early.

10. friggin. days. so mad!

But I really can't be mad, if you think about it. I mean, there is nothing one can do - you can't rush time. you can't coax it forward to suit your need or mood. how nice it'd be. but for naught. impossible.

so. a change of plan, it'll have to take a little longer to leave this cesspool of two degrees. but I'm doing it, dammit. & that's a promise. even if I'm not being paid handsomely. that salary will come.

Winnipeg summers aren't that bad, afterall.... ((I'll convince myself & eventually believe those words))... I'll just work, doubltime... make some money, take the year off anyways... and when the snow falls I'll go and surf somewhere, for months on end, take a real vacation...
Or. see if my aunt can hook me up tutor style at a university in switzerland. learn some french, or german. or both. eat chocolate. do europe.... be broke upon return. but wealthy with worldliness.

Or. see if I can make it to the orient without a job, and hunt one up. why not live by the seat of my pants eh?! I'm young. & motivated. & educated & have somewhat of a grasp on the english language. I could get paid .... or I could end up broke upon return, but wealthy with worldliness... either way I like the trend.

Til then. I'll be earnest about folkfest. about the half marathon. about walking on hot pavement barefoot on canada day & eating a popsicle. about riding my bike. about reading for pleasure. about the fringe. I'll play beach volleyball. & visit the cabin. & take a painting class. things will be just fine.

But, til then, ** especially in May, when what could have been my departure departs me** If I'm a huge disappointment, its only because the best laid plans of mice & (wo)men often go awry............. nothing personal.

Actuellement Je lis :
A Million Little Pieces
Par James Frey
Date de publication : 22 September, 2005

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19 jan 2007


Hipster Haiku
Humeur actuelle : satisfait

I got a new book. I am enjoying it thouroughly. It is called "Hipster Haiku" I recommend it highly.

Here are a couple gems:

My sardonic wit
Doesn't translate in email
thats why I'm alone

When he sleeps I spy
Ann Coulter on his bookshelf
Slip out quietly.

I don't blog daily
Such foolish consistency
Says "I have no life"

"Latte with soy milk
But make sure it tastes creamy"
Lady, its soy milk.

Thanks, Aunt Polly. But
Chili's gift certificates
Are no good for me

Fuck your SUV
My vespa gets good mileage
You're a dinosaur.

The French bulldog test:
Women who own them are mod
Men who own them: gay.

A gal needs two bags:
A walk-of-shame messenger
And a hot shit clutch.

Why are you dancing?
Just stare gravely at the band
Act appropriate

My bike accident
Has helped me meet tons of hot
Critical mass girls.

I heart vintage clothes
But yes, I can admit it
I smell like moth funk



Actuellement Je lis :
Hipster Haiku
Par Siobhan Adcock
Date de publication : 24 October, 2006

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15 jan 2007


you know... we really don't have it bad at all.
Humeur actuelle : fuck oprah's book club
Catégorie : fuck oprah's book club Life

you know. we really don't have it that bad at all.

I've said it before and I'll say it again: it is worth the repitition and the banter. Be grateful. Be humble. Gain Perspective.

I recieved a telephone call today from my best friend. It is worthy to state that she is usually of an unfailingly upbeat temperment & is notoriously faithful to the tune of a divine plan.
Today - not so much.....
Since moving to Banff a couple of months ago, her life has been riddled with nothing but hardship. One test of character after another. relentless. The first - though miraculous - shook her to the bone. When driving home from Canmore from work, her car slid on an icy patch and barraled through the steel fence barracading mountanous traffic from a 200 foot drop.... by an act of higher power (and I'm not religious, people) she walked out of the rubble formerly known as ''jetta'' without a scratch. It was so bad, they found the cd player of her car in the trunk... needless to say she was thankful. and in disbelief ((as were we all)) of her live state.

Today, she is not so certain about the justaces that doctrine this world & Its twisted acts of fate....
her roommate (a serious, black diamond stomping protagé with sponsors looking in his direction) will never move his limbs again. One fateful boardride left his vertabrae in a twisted knot of damaged nerves that will never heal. He celebrated his 18th birthday a week ago. What a fuckin' milestone.

"unfair" , in my opinion, doesn't even cover it.

Needless to say, this whole tragic episode has left me unsettled and tossing about in my vain attempt to sleep. The series of unfortunate events have inadvertently washed upon my own consciousness - but how could it not? I feel forced to reflect on the fundamentals of my life (( which is huge when you just want to be twenty & not to worry about it.)) I mean, what am I doING with what I've been given?! How have I been so ungrateful?! To think on how little I look around and give thanks makes me ill. I mean, how often can you find yourself bitching about things that, when taken into perspective, really aren't all that awful!?
Independence, though illusory in its many forms, is one hell of a luxury. It's worth citing, and saying, and thinking. & It's a damn shame that this kid has to serve us all a reminder....

I'm sorry this blog is such a downer. but I had to let it out there.... this sucks. and I'm changed by it. pause. & reflect. You never know how temporary it all is.

Actuellement Je lis :
Night (Oprah's Book Club)
Par Elie Wiesel
Date de publication : 16 January, 2006

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09 jan 2007


can't sleep. binaries will eat me.
Humeur actuelle : mécontent
Catégorie : Religion and Philosophy

Before I begin, I should ground this blog in a little context. Just a brief abridgement, friends, as to ensure that the ramblings that are sure to follow aren't mistaken as a lofty, nonsensical, melancholical rant. This prose, maybe unlike that which came before it, is born out of me trying to make a marriage of things that may or may not work together..... but I'll digress:

First of all, the reason I am writing this is because I was struck with what I conceive as dead on to my current affairs in my cultural/critical theory class.

And here's the backstory:
Basically, I am being told, according to structuralists, that social concepts/meanings/attitudes ar determined and communcated through myth. Levi-Strauss claims that myth (read: societal truth) is structured in terms of binary oppositions. Saussure, in accordance, notes that concepts are defined negatively by their relatioshs with other terms of this myth system -aka their most precise characteristic is in being what others are not. aka. we know more about what something means if we know about what it does not mean.

I can't help but feel that we are innundated at every angle by merely one of these lofty opposing forces (drugs, booze & sordid relationships= bad. religion = good. westernization = good. etc) , and yet the latter difference of the binary still warrants union to the concept. The mingling and unmingling of oppositonal ideology defy and complicate each breath, each action, & each decision we make, whether we are conscious of it or not. These binaries, when pitted together against one another, birth a condition of absolutes. of extremes. They eliminate those pesky 'grey zones', providing a doctrine for our behaviors and attitudes.
& yet...

If you have lived in these complicated times and have seen these complicated days, one cannot help but recognize the binaric union that surrounds us. Can't these things, these huge concepts that compromise the basic classifications of people and their actions, simultaneously exist!?

good/bad. life/death. love/hate. truth/lies. man/woman. conflict/resolution. confrontation/passivity. intention/vulnerability. ecstacy/pain. fufillment/vacancy. rationality/irrationality. insider/outsider. strength/weakness.

Can they exist in synchronism? May these concomittant feelings/attitudes/ideas live together? Can they be expressed or realized in equal measure? Seriously: How can we glorify one element of the binary and demonize the other - they cannot exist without one another, right? there is a relationship there. there must be.

At least I think so -

Regretably, I do not have a great deal of luck in personal expression. Things happen to me and I tend to let them happen. Only in afterhought I realize the things that I should have said, or the things that I should (or should not have) done. I rely, always, on the pen in this aftermath of post-action. I use it in an attempt to explain my actions and quell any sword like tongues that negate an exalted, extremist binaric opinion upon them.

I am - consistantly these days - tossing about the binaries. They are thrown- are then caught- and each become equalized in this juggle.

You can tell me this is dysfunction. You can tell me this is a routine or a (bad) habit. You can tell me this is an abject self destruction, or that I am being foolish, or weak.

Whatever. keep talking, I suppose, if you think that I will benefit from the wealth of your opinion. - I am just really tired of people thinking that I do not recognize the danger in what I do, or that I do not understand it. Don't lecture me. Some actions are bad, true. But they are also good: they are both. Some things I do are irrational, I acknowledge it, but they are also rational: They are both. You can't convince me that I am expressing endearment, because it could just as easily be disesteem: it is both. in union. in equal measures. These binaries are not black and white. they are grey. They are meant to be grey.

So that is it. A little synopsis of structuralism and how it has inadvertantly taken the tune of my life. this was for everyone and for no one. It's just a message:that I get it. I understand it. I know what I do & I recognize it. I'm a smart lady, most times, despite what you may think of my actions. But I appreciate your concern, nonetheless. You just want what's best for me & for that, many thanks. The end.

Actuellement j'écoute :
Bring It Back
Par Mates of State
Date de publication : 21 March, 2006

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02 jan 2007


hot chip. the warning. track four. my life...
Humeur actuelle : méditatif
Catégorie : dancing with myself Parties and Nightlife

Laid back, Laid back,Laid back I'll give your play back.
Laid back, Laid back, Laid back I'll give your play back.
Over & over & over & over & over,
Like a monkey with a minuture symbol,
The joy or repetition really is in you.
Under & under & under & under & under,
The spell of repetition really is on you,
And when I feel this way I really am with you.

Laid back, Laid back, Laid back We'll give you play back.
Over & over & over & over & over,
Like a monkey with a minature symbol,
The joy of repetition really is in you,
Under & under & under & under & under,
The smell of repetition really is on you,
And when you look this way I really am with you.

k-i-s-s-i-n-g
s-e-x-i-n-g
y-o-u
m-e
I

I started thinking what I wanted him to do
I got to thinking and I knew just what to do
I started thinking how you want to hurt me good

repeat.

Actuellement j'écoute :
The Warning
Par Hot Chip
Date de publication : 13 June, 2006

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21 déc 2006


the men & women are merely players....
Humeur actuelle : méditatif
Catégorie : Life

All the world's a stage
And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances
And one man in his time plays many parts

Shakespeare, As You Like It, II 7: 140-143

It is amazing what a little perspective will grant you. A little scope. A change of environments. I have been blessed, during these last few days of dissent and discomfort, to reconnect with people who make me remember what it feels to be loved and respected and cared for. Its astonishing really, how you can be pitted against the face of antagonism, and feel completely consumed by it, and then in the next moment another person will pull you out, saying all the things you didn't think to tell yourself in all their sincerity - and the feeling of futility passes. These last days have been trying on my nerves and on my heart.... indeed I am sorry for being short and sullen. I attempted to shuffle my feelings to the side, and perform a considerate composure.... telling myself I am contented and busied by my studious work. in preparation. in scholastic endeavour. in writing.... yet repression always rears its head (in it's bittersweet, innate temperment), exhausting and consuming me once again. breaking it down. & It is a stressful task to bare it alone.

and then. from nowhere, a friend emerges. offering quiet words of comfort and condolance. offering affirmation. telling you -what you could not think to tell yourself.

valued friends. old and new. those who know me best & those who are green to my poor state ( yet pick me up (though teary eye'd and snotty) to talk, and console, and relate. & those who are impartial but offering. & those women who make me laugh and smile as we sing to mariah) Much love. grand love. good karma and many thanks.

Actuellement j'écoute :
Illinois
Par Sufjan Stevens
Date de publication : 05 July, 2005

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17 déc 2006


trippily accurate horoscope
Humeur actuelle : emancipated/terrified
Catégorie : emancipated/terrified Life

Pisces (Feb 19 - Mar 20)

Today presents challenges for you if you cannot own the magnetic power that others can see in you. You may be in a state of self-denial that could leave you feeling victimized by the unfolding circumstances. However, you can learn a lot about yourself and the changes ahead if you face your fears instead of avoiding them.

This is my horoscope today. It seems hella legit. I believe in lots of random stuff, but don't take astrology all that seriously, as a rule... yet, every once in awhile I am totally struck by how accurate it is and how pertinent it seems to my life at large - to the bigger picture. The stars are aligned.... it seems. & what they are telling me is that it is the time to face my antagonists head on, I suppose. Time to grow up. To be empowered. To learn from this whole utterly messy thing. this is growth, no? & If all else fails, I'm outta here in 5mos right? right. (Oh, by the way, upon my acceptance I am going to teach english in south korea starting in May. for a year. fingers crossed.)
I realize, friends, that it is foolish to rely on my flight response, but this mechanism is hard-wired into me, for better or for worse. It gets me nowhere and everywhere; Although escapism is a temporary route of safety, A false pretence, transitory sanity - it also is the seemingly bottomless source of my spontanitey, upon which the greatest roads to self discovery have been traveled.
its a toss up, really.
there is nothing left to do : I must OWN my magnetic power. hahaha.
Time to sleep. Tomorrow will be an interesting day.

Actuellement Je lis :
The Beauty Myth: How Images of Beauty Are Used Against Women
Par Naomi Wolf
Date de publication : 24 September, 2002