LadyHunter

with a blink of an eye one weekend seamlessly melded with the next; whatever happened to monday, tuesday, wednesday? coming directly down from the stars and into a paper production schedule was a shower-and-sleep-less brush with partyworkdeath by fatigue. following a feature fiasco came yet another fucking st-laurent street fest and a pet shop boys surprise spandex evening that ended with chipping teeth on the vodka bottle. Fear and Loathing in Montreal.





wait, was that one week or two? is it september already? christ. the coming weeks are in denial. my burlesquing better half is leaving town and academia looms. Putting off the usual habits of lengthy list-making and power jogging for other (stupider) habits, notions of personal reform seem inevitable - so why not just search for another tree to climb?

though sleep should be a priority in these dying days of summer, spending wee hours inspired by moby ofallpeople (who was, in fact, inspired by David Lynch), I have decided to not second-guess the market either. that sounds ridiculous, but this position is hard, if not impossible, to come by in these trying times. the metamorphosis of not giving a fuck, while giving a great fuck, is a long road to travel alone. why do we work so hard?

there has been serious thought lately about totally going off the deep end. about changing it up. about moving around my home, priorities, friends, lovers, life. people stare intently at my mouth, like it is brand new, and I have decided to take it as an omen. what has been latent for five years seems to have changed quite suddenly.

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I should apologize for the random crazy that just happened there, but it should all come together soon. For the best and worst, LOCO