Give me your address!

What has happened to my mother? How did she used to be, before i met her? What was she like when she was ridiculous enough to marry my father?

How could she go from my father to George? My father was one of a kind, with wild passionate energy darting him from one end of the earth to another, but he was a troubled man from a broken home. George stays still. Always. He was a fireman, famous for being lazy. He's older than her (My father was a year younger), and far from spry - he has two fake hips. He fixes things and watches CNN and hockey. He's not very smart. He breathes through his mouth and is just like a million other North American suburban men. She became a travel agent because she loved to travel, and she traveled to exotic places. Now the farthest she goes is San Diego.

She's getting old, I wish I'd known her when she was young; she was very pretty. What was the woman who married my father like?

But she was never the love of his life - she died in a car accident before he met my mother. He even named me after her. My grandmother never forgave my mother for not being Michele. What was Michele like? What would it be like to see them together?

By the time he was my age, Arthur Rimbaud was already considered a visionary. He was blessed with parents who didn't love him. He was blessed with a lack of obligation.

I keep thinking that Craig Thomas is after me for stealing his half-a-bottle-o-liquor. When I see him come online it's as if he's jumping out from the bushes to attack me - the bushes where he's waited in the cold and filth for hours, sucking strength only from his hatred for me. I think that every time he hears my name he spits.

i don't want some dvds i own. i don't suppose anyone wants to buy any of them? $10 each?

Boondock Saints
Snakes on a Plane
Spiderman
Spaceballs
Suicide Kings

just checkin'

you guys! i miss stefan! says:
fits of laughter
fol: the new "lol"

>Katie< <3 Breakerz says:
haha, cute

you guys! i miss stefan! says:
you do'nt get me do you katie ):

I am thinking of a book, or rather a series of books i think it was, that i read in elementary school. I can't find anythign about them, and am starting to wonder if i totally made them up and they dont' exist. does any of it sound familiar?

it started out with a tear in the sky, there were two children, a brother and sister. they witnessed this rip in the sky and this piercing screech along with it, and a bunch of weird shit started happening. they talked about the dimensions, the 4th ad 5th dimension. at one point they were in a world that only existed in 2 dimensions, and then it explored the implications of that.

they rode on a pegasus.

at another point they were in a world of aliens that had no eyes and they were trying to describe what things were like to the aliens, but the aliens didn't understand what it meant that the pegasus was white and had feathers of blue and whatnot, because they had no concept of vision. they had to describe what the pegasus WAS.

they went to find their father, he was all wrapped up in this. they found him on a world controlled by a giant brian in a pyramid i think it was. the brain controlled everyone and everything in the world through pulsations, and the children had to maneuver their way through the world and to their father by doing math equations.

the brother was in danger and his father made him find the square root of five to save himself.

there was something about the teachers. the teachers were of some other world or something. ghostly faces. they came from he forest.

and then there are times when it all catches up. you slow down or stop, maybe you just want to eat a piece of pie at that cafe down the road, the one that's always empty until the sun goes down.

their pie is sweet and it reminds you of thanksgiving at your grandmother's, when pie crusts were made with lard instead of butter or crisco. you can appreciate that not all new advancements are nessecarily better, especially not in the big picture, but that's all in your head. if you asked the cook, you'd probably just get a shrug.

and my lord, how you've grown. the last time i saw you were were only yay high and you carried the loudest laugh i ever heard from a child. why now do you seem so heavy, so weighed down, like you're made of lead or ball bearings rolling around under your skin?

you know that things aren't really so bad but when you keep on running with them it sure tires you out in a hurry, and you can't even stop for a piece of rhubarb pie without it costing you more than you earn.

"i asked for a fork, please, not misery. no, that's okay. it's an honest mistake. i understand that you're tired too, i know your tragedies are as great as mine. could i have a cup of tea as well, please? if i'm going to visit i should get reacquainted before i take off running again."

i do love you. i do. i honestly do and i'm sorry i'm not more attentive. you know how it can get. we've been damaged.

but don't you know that scar tissue is so much stronger than regular flesh?

i don't know what you're waiting for, sitting in this cafe, watching the door as if he might walk through it any time. you know he won't, and i don't know why you insist on trying to make him into something that he isn't, and that you aren't. it's not like that. he's more like a letter being carried by a carrier pigeon to a man who is already dead.

why can't you just love it for what it is and not resent it for what it isn't?

why are you eyeing the exit, thinking it'll give you a way out?

mr. salad,

i'm sorry that i drowned you in dressing.

i didn't know what i was doing.

i didn't know my own strength,

or the strength of blackberry and cabernet sauvignon vinegarette.

god, i'm so sorry.

( Patrick Wolf )

Come on, love, open wide.

Fri 12 Oct – Patrick Wolf, bishi

Patrick Wolf seduced me last night.

Well okay, not actually. I mean not for real. But I was definitely seduced.

Going into the show, I had my doubts (like always). I most certainly have a soft spot for fruity boys, but I worried: was he too gay? I knew he wasn't actually a left-handed hitter, but even still, I was afraid that his flamboyancy might be contrived and showy.

When he came on, he was dressed like Peter Pan and his skin was painted with sparkles. But as I watched him play and sing and dance I started to realize that he didn't seem gay at all. This image he had, it wasn't any variation of flamboyant homosexuality, or even faux homosexuality. His shirt was made of felt and his torn corduroy shorts were ripped straight up the legs as far as they could be without getting an X rating. It created a strange sort of juxtaposition between a seven year old boy who doesn't want to grow up and a twenty-four year old man in his sexual peak.

He played with the reckless enthusiasm of a little boy, though. Stomping and kicking, his subtle yet rich English voice echoed through his whole body, spilling out his pores and filling the air (sometimes literally) like a siren. He danced in an almost unethical collision of charades, unmethodical bouncing, and pelvic gyrating, painting a vivid portrait of a highly sensual, yet childishly vulnerable aesthete; of someone who is too busy being a human being to worry about tired ideas of normalcy. Like a kink in a cat's tail - damaged, and skewed, but functional.

It's just too bad that our minds instinctively equate "colourful" with "faggy".

I'm glad he's found his major key in The Magic Position, and that at the same time he hasn't lost the desperate sense of dread and dismay that laid the groundwork for his career, particularly his previous two albums, 2005's Wind in the Wires and 2004's Lycanthropy. Within these three albums he's created extraordinarily palpable worlds which are very distinct from one another, yet which all intertwine in his live show to give the audience a full palette of the highs, lows, shades, and tones of human emotion.