i look for life in every word... to the extent that its absurd...

hot seat
so i'm home. and things are the same and different. each time i come home, i wonder what will be different and what will be the same. it usually starts out on a hopeful note. we all play the roles we wished we lived. we ignore the shadows in our corners. baring their teeth. waiting for the light to shine on them. waiting for their time in the ring. and we manage to live this mini-utopia for awhile. we all try harder. push the shadows away for as long as we can. but we can never hold them back for long. its only a matter of time before they emerge. even our utopia is tainted with the knowledge that the shadows are there. no matter how happy and well we are getting along in the beginning... there is a tension. we all know its only a matter of time. i'm usually the one who cracks first. who acknowledges the shadows. who refuses to pretend anymore. meh. i wonder if we can ever get rid of those shadows. move on. change the roles. i am so ready.

as sad as that sounds, i'm glad to be home. i missed my cat. i missed cable tv. i missed living in this family. as hard as it sometimes can be... i definitely missed it. i missed driving. i missed scarborough. i missed friends. i can't wait to be downtown again.

i think i'm just tired. home is strange. i can't figure out where home is anymore. i call both cities home. this home is losing it though... its slipping as home. and i kind of like that growth. this is my parent's house. and its starting to feel more and more like a place to visit. my room is bare. its like a hotel room now. there is no me left in it.

i'm feeling quite boring right now, so i will sleep.

when you write a poem
i know the words
i know the sounds
before you write it down

when you wear your clothes
i wear them too
i wear your shoes
and your jacket too...

rest in my arms
sleep in my bed
there's a design
to what i did and said
- sufjan stevens

if only i knew the design. but it is quite comforting to believe in one. comforting like fall and a warm blanket. like love and scarves. like everything romantic. o my god i'm losing it. ROMANCE... where are you?

i almost married your sister, just so we could be closer
- i had a dream in which i was a sword weilding ninja. sans ninja costume. it was kind of like that jet li movie, "hero." it was amazing. if i could have lived in that dream for a little longer... i would have.

- i watched garden state yesterday. and i know that its been said that perhaps its not very original... perhaps its too wrapped up in itself (specifically the main character)... and i know that some scenes could have been better. and i hated the ending. and some of the lines were like ouch. but regardless... the movie had me eating tears through the last half hour. there were some really nice shots and really nice conversations. and some truths. you should see it. and at the part where natalie portman and the guy from scrubs meet... and she tells him she is listening to the shins... what if... what if she had told him she was listening to michael jackson? i think it would have turned out to be a cooler movie altogether. lol.

- whats the deal with movies about the quirky girl saving the boring/lost guy? don't get me wrong, i love the quirky girls... but... i'm not so sure about this new genre. maybe this is my stupid pop culture class talking out my ass... but i'm a little wary about the idea of these seemingly amazing girls just being vessels for the transformation of the main character. anyways.

- did i mention the way i hated the ending?

- i wonder what makes me so restless to change my appearance so constantly. i wonder what drives me to want to dye my hair. tattoo my body. pierce something. and i wonder when this need will stop. if it will stop.

- so its official. i'm selling my body to research. they're going to shoot me up with protein shakes and alcohol. and i'm gonna get paid. sweet sweet money.

- what to do about you... what to do. i'm not sure if i've made things up in my head. i can never figure it out. i'm pretty sure i'm not crazy. you stayed. you waited for me to come. you waited for me. i just don't know... should i go back? is it worth it? will anything be different? do i want it to be? i'm such an over-thinking girl.

- i know what the right answer is. i know what the sane answer is. but if the sane answer just doesn't sit right with me... then maybe its not the right answer. sanity is over-rated. who wants to make the sane decisions? when do the sane decisions ever lead to anything good? and even if my other option... will inevitably drive me crazy later... maybe this is all i have. maybe this is it.

she's the prettiest girl at the wake...

vulpine - like a fox
and i am getting used to the lazy days. the soap operas. the pyjamas. the coffee. and the crocheting. i actually feel like i am truly on holiday. i keep forgetting about this one last exam. but let's not think about that right now, ok?

i will never understand my family. and if i can never understand my family... will i ever understand myself? i am such a product of them. literally and otherwise... but sometimes i can barely figure out how i came out of them. i don't see it. i don't know where these parts of me formed. how i could have come from that soil. i wonder if most of my life has been spent rejecting that soil. i did spend a lot of time rejecting the soil. i am still unsure if i am ready to embrace it. as the place where my roots lie. no matter how hard i strain in a different direction... my roots will always always be there. its a strange thing to come to terms with. i always figured i could uproot. i thought i had uprooted. but maybe its not that easy. maybe i should just give up this metaphor and spare you.

i'm going home soon. and i'm starting to get that uneasy feeling. i build home up... and then i get back. and the fights start again. the straining starts. the stress levels increase. i know that in some sense, they're happier when i'm here. there's less rustling. less arguments. less struggle. they don't have to worry about controlling me. they can let go when i'm here. and i don't have to worry about pushing them when i'm here. but when i go back... we play the same game... pull, push... pull, push... i'm getting tired of my role there. very very tired. i figure they should be tired too. but the pulling doesn't stop. and so i have to continue pushing.

Rhapsody on a Windy Night
Twelve o'clock.
Along the reaches of the street
Held in a lunar synthesis,
Whispering lunar incantations
Dissolve the floors of memory
And all its clear relations
Its divisions and precisions,
Every street lamp that I pass
Beats like a fatalistic drum,
And through the spaces of the dark
Midnight shakes the memory
As a madman shakes a dead geranium.

Half-past one,
The street-lamp sputtered,
The street-lamp muttered,
The street-lamp said, "Regard that woman
Who hesitates toward you in the light of the door
Which opens on her like a grin.
You see the border of her dress
Is torn and stained with sand,
And you see the corner of her eye
Twists like a crooked pin."

The memory throws up high and dry
A crowd of twisted things,
A twisted branch upon the beach
Eaten smooth, and polished
As if the world gave up
The secret of its skeleton,
Stiff and white.
A broken spring in a factory yard,
Rust that clings to the form that the strength has left
Hard and curled and ready to snap.

Half-past two,
The street-lamp said,
"Remark the cat which flattens itself in the gutter,
Slips out its tongue
And devours a morsel of rancid butter."
So the hand of the child, automatic,
Slipped out and pocketed a toy that was running along the quay.
I could see nothing behind that child's eye.
I have seen eyes in the street
Trying to peer through lighted shutters,
And a crab one afternoon in a pool,
An old crab with barnacles on his back,
Gripped the end of a stick which I held him.

Half-past three,
The lamp sputtered,
The lamp muttered in the dark.
The lamp hummed:
"Regard the moon,
La lune ne garde aucune rancune,
She winks a feeble eye,
She smiles into corners.
She smooths the hair of the grass.
The moon has lost her memory.
A washed-out smallpox cracks her face,
Her hand twists a paper rose,
That smells of dust and eau de Cologne,
She is alone
With all the old nocturnal smells
That cross and cross across her brain."
The reminiscence comes
Of sunless dry geraniums
And dust in crevices,
Smells of chestnuts in the streets,
And female smells in shuttered rooms,
And cigarettes in corridors
And cocktail smells in bars.

The lamp said,
"Four o'clock,
Here is the number on the door.
Memory!
You have the key,
The little lamp spreads a ring on the stair.
Mount.
The bed is open; the tooth-brush hangs on the wall,
Put your shoes at the door, sleep, prepare for life."

The last twist of the knife.

- T.S. Eliot

welcome to art class.
and we walked home. with our bag fries. and we saw a bus... when we thought the buses had stopped running long ago. we hopped on for two stops. and then we walked up the hill. we fell into the snow for about the millionth time that night. i stared at the sky. we drunkenly told each other how much we loved the other. and she asked me if i was ok. i was surprised by this question. i told her i was. and i meant it. as surprised as i was... it felt nice to be checked up on like that. then some snowplows came by and scared the shit out of us.

sometimes the best parts of nights... happen when the beer has stopped flowing. when your feet are cold and wet... when all you want is a warm bed. you trudge along home... complaining about how windy it is. but when you get home... you kinda wished the walk had taken longer.

i'm praying for a trap door trigger.
here's some randoms for you to gobble up. what is life anyways but snippets? at least that's what i thought before i read coupland. i remember in generation x, there is a point where one of the characters says something along the lines of each person having to make their lives into a story... or else it will just remain a series of tiny, insignificant moments. i wonder. what if all i want are the tiny insignificant moments? what if i hope that they will connect themselves? that my story will write itself... effortlessly. and i can just go on living my tiny, insignificant moments. that would be nice. or am i missing something? are these moments not enough in the end? will i yearn for something more? something sound? am i already possibly yearning for that thing? some connectedness. maybe i am. maybe the moments aren't enough. not in the long run. are they empty? or just so full that we don't want to acknowledge how each moment can be like a lifetime? i'm so eager to defend the moments. maybe there is something wrong with that. is anyone ever lucky enough to make their life into a story? am i scared of trying? is it safer to be happier in the insignificant moments?

anyways. here's the randoms.

- i'm sad that all my romantic memories are connected to you. you are my only reference for romance and love. my beacon. it gives you a lot of power. i'm ready to strip you of some of that.

- i am almost done this semester. 1 more exam. and it will be easy. just have to wait for the 21st to come.

- i'm crocheting a scarf. its soft.

- maybe you aren't my only reference. maybe you aren't. you know what... i think i was being too restricting on my definition of romance. you may be my only idea of love. but romance... i don't think that belongs solely to you.

- i have a date with two lovely ladies for brekkie tomorrow. we're going to go hipster watching.

- i spent 2 hours infront of the tv today. eating curry and watching soap operas in my underwear. it was a lazy day. i kind of liked it.

- i got onto the subway today. and almost immediately, the lights went out. and the driver announced that the line was shut down for the next hour. i got out and let all the people rush by. and then i kind of stared at the dark subway train. looking at the people that HAD to wait... that had no other way of getting home... or to where ever they were going. it was strange.

maybe you're right.
no. maybe i'm right. i told you. we aren't friends. you don't call. we don't keep in touch. there is no effort from either side right now. you're letting me get away. i'm growing and changing. and you aren't around to hear my stories. to help me through things. to talk with. i don't know where you are. i don't know what you're up to. it has slipped. slipping. slippy slip slip. i invested so much with you. so much to let slip away. so much that i'm losing. you better feel like you're losing too. but maybe you don't care. and i was right. i'm not sure whether i feel satisfaction in being right... or just a kind of sad feeling. that you really didn't want to try harder with me. i'm just like the rest. you're apathetic. towards ME. unless i call you... you won't make the effort. i'm not worth it. you're losing me.


(you know how i hate to be forgotten.)

let's get together and talk about the modern age
all of our friends were gathered there
with their pets just talking shit
about how we're all so upset about the disappearing ground
as we watch it melt.

it's all the good that won't come out of us.
- rilo kiley

i'll replace you with machines.
so here i am. montreal is the best city to watch people fall. its practically a sport here. i've already seen my first of the winter season. and i almost had my first montreal fall ever. *knock on wood* i was lucky enough to escape the falling last year. although i fell up the stairs to our apartment on friday. but that was due to alcohol not to ice. but i digress. back to people slipping. the weather right now is perfect for it. the rain is falling and freezing. and people are slipping all over the place. a city on a hill + icy streets = hilarity. and i don't just mean "oops, i almost fell"... NO NO NO. i mean... face plants, screeching falls... slipping, trying to stop, making it worse... falling into people... sliding like that water game i used to play when i was little... what the hell was that thing called? you know... you ran up to it and slid on your stomach on this wet slide thing? wow, i'm drawing a complete blank here. anyways, its like that.

i feel like this post was very all over the place and hard to follow. does not bode well for my two exams tomorrow. tomorrow night... i am practically done. o tomorrow at 5... it cannot come soon enough.

he kinda shoulda sorta woulda loved her
i feel like being romantic. like smiling at strangers. like buying mittens. like driving somewhere just to drive. like riding the bus just to ride. i want to build a fire and fall asleep beside it. wrapped up in blankets. maybe with a bottle of wine tucked under my arm. i feel like changing my appearance. like running until i feel like puking. and losing it in the middle of the intersection. screaming and spinning. and crying. and i'd fall down with my cheeks flushed and my voice hoarse. and maybe traffic would stop. but maybe it wouldn't.

and maybe he'd love me. maybe you'd love me.


(i think you might.)

december 1
well. hello there ms. december. aren't you looking perky. some smart person told me that november was going to fly by. and they were right. here we are smack in december already. i woke up to slushie rain. when i finally woke up that is. one more paper baby. one more. i can do this, right. right. and then friday. o man i can't wait until friday. you wish you were me on friday, that's how much fun i'm going to have. and how much i am going to sleep that night.

but until then... i'm off to the gym. to wake up from this groggy state, to fight the bulge (ha), and to work off some of this sexual frustration. muah.


because sometimes you can't come back
like momma said that if you need 5 cents don't ask for 3
ask for 10, that's for sure
- de la soul