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07 April 2012 @ 12:57 am
It's been a long, long time since I've been around, but every now and then I like to creep in the back door, poke around, and blow some dust off the past.

This is a test of sorts - who's still out there and listening? Hello, hello, hello, if you remember me at all! You might not recognize me now. :)
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24 May 2010 @ 08:56 pm
I have got to say that I cannot think of a single better thing to have done with my summer than going treeplanting. I have a tan in May. I am fit and sexy. I am getting laid. I am writing. I spend my days working hard in the middle of nature. I drink beer around a bonfire every four days. I have met the most amazing creative, smart, talented, and free people. I've never before come into a community where I felt like I belonged instantly. I feel like I just arrived; I feel like I've been there for years.
Now I am home for just a few days and I'm so full of joy at seeing my friends, my family, my cat, the honorary niece who was born just a few weeks ago. Delighting in bubble baths, rapturous at the though of sleeping in a real bed. I can't stop thinking about how blessed I am, how only a year or two ago I couldn't have imagined being so happy just living my life, but I am, I am.

It's a good feeling. I'd like to pass it on. <3
Current Mood: jubilantjubilant
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14 April 2010 @ 09:04 pm
What is the biggest major life change you've made in the past five years? Do you think it was positive, negative, or neutral?

I took up hula hooping and it changed my life for the better in ways I couldn't have guessed at a year ago. No, seriously. When I was a kid I could never figure out how to use the damn things - then one day my roommate came home with some irrigation tubing and some friction tape and was like, "I'm making hula hoops!" And I was like, "what? Girl, you crazy." Two weeks later she went out of town and left me with her hoops. That first night I practiced until I could keep it going around my waist and hooped for three hours straight. It was exhilarating; I don't think I've passed a day without hooping at least a little ever since.
I've lost 50 pounds and am in the best shape of my adult life. I get to dance (I've always loved to) and do tricks and still feel like I'm working out. It's silly, but when I'm inside that plastic circle this sense of peace and pure joy comes over me, and things just flow. I guess some of that joy has trickled out into the rest of my life because I don't remember being this confident and happy since before puberty hit, or maybe ever. In less than two weeks I'm packing up my entire life and putting it into storage, going out into the wilderness to pound baby trees into ground torn up by logging operation (treeplanting is, incidentally, rated as the hardest job that you can do in Canada), and living out of a tent all summer. After that...who knows? I'm nervous, but I'm thrilled too, and I don't think I could have ended up here, could have reinvented myself so dramatically, if it weren't for something most people consider to be a child's toy.
I'm not the only one. It's a revolution taking place in people's backyards, living rooms, and neighbourhood parks everywhere. Just look up "hooping" on youtube! :)

(That's me! :D)

Other sources of inspiration:

This is what I'll be doing this summer:
Current Mood: excitedexcited
Current Music: Shook - Emancipator
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05 April 2010 @ 06:23 pm
Via gehayi:

greyladybast needs help. She's broke and homeless--thanks to her father throwing her and her son out on their ears a few months back--and is unable to afford rent, food, gas, insurance or the medications she needs.

You guys have helped me a lot in the past. Now...please help her. All she wants is to be able to support herself and her son. And if you can't donate, then please--boost the signal, as I'm doing here.

I don't know greyladybast personally but I that hasn't stopped her situation from touching my heart, and I sincerely wish I had many more dollars than I do with which to help her out. I also know that the power of people (and fandom peeps especially) to pull together and help each other when it is required is nothing short of marvelous. Do what you can, even if it's just sending love and positive thoughts her way. <3
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20 February 2010 @ 03:36 pm
American halfpipe bronze medalist Scotty Lago volunteered to leave the Olympics on Friday after risque pictures of him showed up on the Internet.

This story showed up on my yahoo news feed this morning. Poor guy. I would hope that if this had happened with a Canadian athlete we’d just be patting him on the back and buying him another celebratory shot of tequila, since we are cool enough to not get all Victorian about vaguely sex-related antics. Plus, I know I’ve kind of got the anti-Olympic bias up in here, but does anyone else resent the implication that the Olympic medals are somehow sacred and inviolable? When it comes down to it it’s just a hunk of fucking metal (“bronze”, at that), and good on him for winning it. Dude should be able to party it up however he sees fit and not get shamed for being funny.

Oh, here are the pictures in question.
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31 March 2009 @ 04:27 pm
Can't: A Poem On Waking

get out of bed today,
and I thought I'd lift my hands to say:
Consumed by dispassionate
early-twenties malaise;
the weight of the world
pinning me to my sheets,
head too full to lift,
a little less Sixteen Candles,
a little more
"is this it?".

My bed be the sea and I,
I will there float,
stocked with naught but tea and bananas
on my mattress sailboat.
For, if it's me and me against the world
I want to call forfeit,
forget my cues, fumble my line;
forget getting up on the wrong side in the morning -
it's just that there isn't a right side, this time.

As if
I awoke in a breathless palace
bordered by thorns,
where dust bestows on
the sleepy court a lifeless pallor,
a misremembered testament
to a day stillborn;
as if in pillow-country the borders have been closed
and I dare not flee
with my dreams trailing from my dream-shoes
like so much toilet paper
behind me.

fathom the depths
of a pitiless planet
from this prone position,
don't want to rise
to the uncertain glory of a condition
that tries to make me wise through pain
so that I might tumble down,
loaded with knowledge,
only to stagger up
and offer my heart again.

while you were sleeping
I weighted the scale;
on the one hand, joy,
in the other the patchwork tale
of my life like
so many scraps stitched
by, among others, disappointment -
Life's just a cut-and-paste artist
with some wicked scissors,
that's why they call her a bitch;
she maketh wounds
for which there is no ointment -
and in that creaking balance I
could find no peace,
no deep-rooted stillness
under which I could lay my head,
so if it's all the same to you, sir,
I think today I'll stay in bed.
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So it's snowing (again). Time for a summer nostalgia post/random photodump!

But where to begin?Collapse )
Current Mood: lazylazy
Current Music: kids - mgmt
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02 October 2008 @ 01:41 am
He fell in love and left town; within six months the tall, lean, black-eyed young man he'd gone with was gone too and he slept under the roofs of half a dozen fledgling friends. Got a job selling ice cream, to keep himself in cigarettes and faith, called me from the chilly booth with his feet up on the counters, ignoring the customers, insisting quietly that everything was fine. Put an ad in the paper; turned tricks on the side.

True story.

Before this he had braces, and fell in love with a girl who had curly hair and a way of being beautiful that was all her own. Beautiful wasn't enough to save her from the fact that she wasn't a boy, but on a few sleepless nights beautiful was enough to keep his bed warm. She never got over the fact that sometimes love was something that got done to people instead of something they participated in. She never got over the fact that he was beautiful too, and for years it stuck in her throat like a stone. He was bad at choosing friends; they both were. I think it was why they chose each other. Sometimes the best things don't make sense.

She would mention that he could draw like he had god's own hands to new aquaintances, and he would curl them into fists and hide them in his pockets, pouting or smirking or both. If someone suggested a theme for a new piece he would punish them by dropping art altogether for weeks at a time. Yet point to pictures in store windows all the time, clean his camera, always something to remind you that he wasn't making anything. He implied it was her fault and after a time no-one knew what to believe.
They sat on cool stretches of tiled kitchen floor and drank wine, laughed and smoked joints from his mother's room. She got them dressed up in dark satin and a suit and they went to a dance. In all of the pictures he was looking away. I remember that the moon that night was thin like a scythe sharpening itself on the sky.

Oh, we'd say if people asked (they never did), we've been hanging around here for a long time.
I was there. I learned to say those things.

"I'm coming home," he whispers now, the line at his end crackling faintly, and I think the word joker and I think the word liar and I say the word yes. Also, I love you, and I wonder what Beautiful will say when I tell her. For so long she's been telling me that he's not ours to keep.

His father died and his ability to fall in love got broken. At first we chased him, filled up our lives, our forgetting, with movies and coffee spoons. This was before Mr. Dark Hair, after braces but before cocaine. When the bridge was still open he sometimes met me there in the mornings on my way to work. When he moved with his lover I forgot, and looked for him. Soon, the moon dwindled away and got so sharp it split everything open.
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30 September 2008 @ 11:52 pm
You know, this song is pretty much my life in microcosm.. Maybe it doesn't mean what I think it means, but still.

Poetry is no place for a heart that's a whore
And I'm young and I'm strong
But I feel old and tired

And I've been poked and stoked
It's all smoke, there's no more fire
Only desire
For you, whoever you are.

Oh yeah. I'm kind of...back. :)
Current Mood: tiredtired
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28 September 2008 @ 01:19 am
Dear Random Jackass,

Miss Manners would like to have a word with you. She thought it might be prudent to tell you that when my very dear friend, who you so kindly got too-wasted-to-stand-up, invites you over to her house to meet her roommate, a good starter topic for conversation might be, oh, say, the weather, or how much you like her decor. She's fairly sure that running your mouth about how you knew said friend's roommate is obviously gay from the moment you walked in the room, or about how every time you meet a gay man he practically begs to suck your cock, is considered a faux pas. She would also like to note that calling him a faggot, twice, is never acceptable, no matter how many "just joking, man, just joking"s you tack on the end.

She also wishes to warn you that threatening the physical safety of the host is very much frowned upon; she has asked me to convey the message that telling him "you know, if I didn't like you, I'd be beating you up right now" is a sterling example of such a threat. Additionally, Miss Manners would caution against engaging him in discussions of which gay men he knows deserve to be ravaged by various sexual diseases, remarking that at least he hasn't touched your penis yet, and asking him why he doesn't want to get high with you.

Also she thinks you should know that unless you take your slimy arm off drunk friend's shoulders, you are about ten seconds away from spending the rest of the night in the emergency room trying to get your head removed from your ass. On second thought, she recommends taking the trip anyway, and thanks you for eroding her faith in humanity just a little bit more today.

Utterly Disgusted