safety bear, safely bare, shapely/scheming/unaware

i'm not sure i feel safer with the army on my side. i don't feel safer smoking a pipe at my window. i don't feel safer with the hellfire tank in my driveway. i do, tho, feel safer knowing i have a watering hole beside me, some folks who will brave the harshest storms to visit and a brother who knows just where it's at. and in a closeknit hood. and i am still within five minutes from some of my peeps. and i can always take comfort in knowing there lives a mouse in my walls and that i can show my tits to the guys in green while i'm taking a shower and that i have a new place for everything and have lots of options-- endless options since all my cool dark things fell through a crack years ago-- a cold abyssmal crack that used to be half of me. not nice enough. not old enough. not bright enough. not enough. i have a bat and a ball-- and that is pretty much all.
p.s. just you and me in the end. we'll see.

isn't that awesome?

i'm afraid i might live. i'm afraid i might be ok if i run out of soymilk.i'm afraid to go out and afraid to come down off this.i'm afraid if i go to sleep i won't wake up, i mean that i will wake up.i'm afraid i have no mint chocolate left. i'm afraid because i don't want to do it right now. i'm afraid because i've never felt nothing while doing this before. i'm afraid that it's my right shoulder instead of left that's going numb this time. i'm afraid that it's my right brain oh my left brain oh my left heart oh my right heart that's failing me now. i'm afraid that i've forgotten you. i'm afraid i'm remembering. i'm afraid i don't want to see you right now. i'm afraid i don't want to help you. i'm afraid that you make me look smaller. i'm afraid that you look so distant. i'm afraid i'm too comfortable. i'm afraid this is it.

crassmass with the wanks

missmas was most often referred to as crassmas at our house this year. we went home, we celebrated, we were given a $40 budget for alcohol which we blew on american white and canadian red wines (ugh-- as per recommendation by a hick from our town) and kahlua (to be consumed with vanilla soymilk). we smoked outside. we opened gifts. we ate. we were warm. we went to a restaurant in truro that won me over by smiling and accepting the fact that i didn't want a paper placemat, and gave us menus that said "help us save the earth--water served only by request" and kicked me in the teeth by bringing me a placemt when she discovered i was in fact eating, and then serving us huge glasses of water altho we didn't request any. upon our return to the city, we were face-forced with the inevitable prospect of finishing packing our shit up to move. so instead, i went for a drive to wolfville and bro got wasted with joey. we convened at about midnight, and i attempted to match his state by geting as wacked as i could. he slipped down the stoop. we were glad we'd decided against taking the futon in the basement. while i was attempting to move something, blake said i would make the worst slave ever. i didn't know what kind of a comment that was, but shelved it beside his "you're the worst folder (of clothes) in the world" in my brain. always encouraging. we listened to dead prez and packed like mofos for hours and hours. he retired at 330, i at 630 to be up for 8. the movers (one hot, one not-- as per usual) arrived a little late, but certainly not never and moved my shit while i listened to a perfect circle and wrote. like the HB show, i fared allright until almost the end. if it weren't for rescue remedy, i would've surely been a wreck. the weather was not as the farmer's almanac predicted. no storm of the century (i guess we got a pussy version yesterday). the day was beautiful enough to not wear toques and to share the bottle of champagne our landlord got us before i went to work. next coupla days: unpacking. calls. primarily eating bread and mint chocolate and feeling surprisingly good. developing my wheat face. on crassmas eve, i saw a mouse in the living room-- twice. i was prety pissed that there was a mouse in my NEW house, for several reasons, among them not the fact that i don't like or am afraid of mice (despite my scream), but that they'll eat my food (doing only what is their nature-- i know) and that our new landlord might not be so receptive to live mousetraps. i listened to the henry rollins spoken word "'twas the night before christmas" and laughed when i heard "not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse." later, i cut the christ out of my finger while grabbing for a wooden spoon and instead lunged my finger at a curved food processor blade. it was cool because i hadn't unpacked enough to know where a bandage would be, so instead i bit on my finger for 20 minutes before i found a facecloth and an elastic. i smeared some "voodoo cream" (aka bach's rescue cream) on my inch or so long jagged cut and it began to heal almost immediately.
crassmass i spent answering the phone and unpacking and waking and baking. i highly recommend it to dealing with your relatives. ken kennedy once said "happiness is having a large, closeknit family in another city." yes on that. so this is what you missed: i was packing and unpacking.
this and the ball's party last nght.
yesterday brought chocolate oatmeal , star wars special features, 90s trivia, tea and chocolate and white wine and animal-laden desserts and a party with friends i hadn't seen in a while and some i had and symmmetry and asymmetry and conversation that took me nowhere and conversation that might take us somewhere and conversation that could take us somewhere but you won't let it and conversation that gives you a hangover and coversation that burns a hole in your head because you should've said it and conversation that burns a hole in your eye because you shouldnt've said it and words that flood your pen and paper, and words that you laugh while you say but you're not even close to laughing and people that you like and people that love and people that you don't like and people who you want to smuck in the face and people you don't know and people you'd like to know better and people you don't care about, and people who don't care about you and people who bore you and people you might as well run away from. last night brought out the usual for me as far as parties have been going lately-- i left early before i said something fucked up to someone. normally i don't have a specific fucked up statement in mind, but i know that if i tempt myself, i will. nice confidence in my actions. makes me feel real secure. so i go. i go on to skate videos, walks by myself, home to have tea or cereal or smake or shave my legs or write or jerk off or whatever. i realise this is the best place for me. and here i am, in the best place for me. i have all my comforts, and i'm not leaving but for soymilk and a cd.

if blogging were flogging, you'd be flogged right now

readers: blog, ___! fuck! do you know it's been like two weeks since you've blogged? like holy fuck. i'll hit you if you don't blog soon. blog-- i'm bored. i need to fill up my life with your gossip. blog, damn you!
me: ok, i know it's been a long fucking time, ok. i get it. it is afterall me who hasn't been blogging. i hate when i go to blogs that aren't updated much. i fucking despise it. but i try to understand the plight of the blogger. you know me and you know i enjoy blogging and that i do it pretty freakin' regularly when circumstances are normal. circumstances are not however normal right now. as i know you know-- i've moved (which requires packing), had a different christmas than everyone else, have had to unpack, and it's xmas so it's been social. and we couldn't find the computer cords for a couple of days. and altho i don't owe you(s) an explanation-- here it is anyway. here's something-- if you want to know what's going on-- call me. if you want some personal juice-- ask me-- i may tell you. maybe i'll invite you over to read a passage from my paper journal from 95 or something. normally, it's the readers who don't blog themselves who are the quickest to harass bloggers to blog. they have no idea that pressures of the blogger. they're oblivious to how much it sucks to feel you've got to blog for your readers even tho you might just want to smoke a bowl and call it a night. this time, even bloggers began to harrang me. well here it is. a blog entry. sans sucre, in preparation for my new diet.
i was busy, ok?

grip my trip 

how mush-room do i have to eff around before __mas?

with the three of us having less than two hours of sleep each, we three take the #6 to armdale/spryedge and each chew a g of BC bluecap before noon. this was my first attempt, and within minutes i felt nauseous and needed my belly rubbed. i also felt some internal pressure, but it wasn't painful. ten minutes later, the wood panelling got all wacky, i recorded some of my observations on the laptop, then proceeded to make a warm nest for myself on the corner of the couch while the boys tried to convince me to go outside with them. not a chance. i closed my eyes and saw some amazing images-- lots of stuff that reminded me of lots of weed and shroom-inspired art i've seen-- especially those designed with computers. lots of stretching and expanding, flowing and bright glitter. haha. around the time when they mention they are definitely going outside, the images render themselves frightening and dark. i begin to weep lightly, and try to remind myself that i'm fond of dark images-- so what the fuck? after prodding me and touching me and making sure i was ok, they went outside to chill for a bit, and i decide to get up and record some shit on the laptop. i decide to let go of what needed to be released, and cried out of concern for othersand pecked out (with fair difficulty) my dark sightings. decay and fright-- but it was beautiful. lots of golds and dark crimsons and everchanging but definite darkness. as i wept at the laptop, his roomate (who i've never met) returns home and i try to stay composed as i explain to him who i was, shake his hand with mine wet from tears, and tell him the whereabouts and whyabouts of his roomate. he fled. i retreated again to the couch and covered myself with the grey blanket, resuming the terror/delight. i didn't want to open my eyes. i began to feel kind of alone, but was aware why i was feeling it, and in control enough to not let it engulf me. they came back inside, wiped my tears and held me and teilo needed to leave and said i didn't need to go. i could scarcely move, so i stayed. we popped in alice in wonderland, the cartoon which is what i needed. television stopped my trip. i wasn't terribly engrossed in the story, but i watched with great interest-- the interest of keeping me grounded and present. once i finally opened my eyes to watch the movie, i couldn't imagine closing them again. we chatted throughout the movie (after hearing that altho it was really nice to hear me chat that he really liked movies) which was ok. i stayed prostrate and when the film was over, i wanted the tv marathon to continue. the cosby show. beyonce and missy elliott videos. western movies. oprah. whatever. i needed to be entertained. something familiar-- even if it was something i normally avoid. at some point i sat up, smiled, ate two veggie dogs and some garlic soynuts, packed our bags and fled into the blueskied day. nice. i probably should've gone out earlier, but i just couldn't. we walked home and watched the ducks and clouds and i watched him skate and it wasd refreshing, altho fresh i was not. in retrospect, not a bad trip, especially since i was well-taken care of and comfortable. i have a very specific and exclusive plan for my potential next one. for supper i was craving sushi, so after listening to the radio show, i went alone to andy's for vegetarian combo a and wrote while i awaited the sushi for my soul-vag. i read exclaim while i ate. came home, packed, made cookies and ate them with soymilk. such was my day. such is my night. i should probably get some sleep. don't fret-- in january i will be hardcore. i feel pretty awesome right now. shit. i have to get out of here and get ready to celebrate jeebus's something or other. eff.

NO MORE HORSESHIT

... so now you know our new year's resolution (to be applied to all areas).

so, i didn't fall off the face of the earth. it's december. i've been busy.

gunts n' roses (awesome. rock and live topless babes)

staff party (bottomless red wine, spicy peas and talking cellphone ads in the bathroom)

heather's party: (ok, spatted about milk prices with some mother, was too wasted, so decided to leave, early)

skate video: a fun departure from what i normally due. you should try it.

hangin' out: when i do, it's fun

HOLY FUCK

so it's unbelivebable what you can get away with in your own occupied house that you can't get away with without someone in a different timezone discovering.

today i almost had about fifteen aneurysms.

too many coincidences for comfort.

i have to pack like a moterfucker, do christmas shit (blast you, jeebus), go home, deal with shit, move, unpack, weep, drink soynog and hope for visits.

it's been suggested that i go to bed and sleep rather than, well, not going to bed and not sleeping. thank you(s) for your concern. i think (hope) i just might.

R.I.P., dimebag. see you at the cemetary gates. 

an open letter to the as-yet unnamed murderer of dimebag darrell

dear heartless killer,

why did you have to kill dimebag darrell? i mean seriously. ok, so i know that pantera was a great fucking band and it does indeed suck that they broke up. sure. it also sucks that damageplan doesn't even come close to reaching pantera's awesomeness. agreed again. BUT, if pantera wanted to break up, and damageplan decided to form-- you have to respect that. you don't have to buy their albums or go to their shows. and you DON'T have to shoot and kill dimebag darrell and three fans. this is going too fucking far.

christ, guy. fuck. i don't even know what to say! fuck, guy. if pantera was ever to reunite, you've certainly fucked that chance to hell. good going. good going ruining my breakfast and the breakfast of countless others and fucking up everyone at the show and devestating dimebag's mother and his brother vinnie paul who was ON STAGE WITH HIM YOU COCKSUCKER and everyone else who loved him.

i'm not angry just because dimebag's a celebrity, it's just a good public example of a serious tragic fuckup. fuck. ok, for one-- you're probably mentally ill-- and while that's not an excuse, it's an explanation. for your sake i will blame this at least partially on the system.

it's too bad that we need metal detectors in our nightclubs. when i was first scanned at the marquee after the incident there, it made me feel unsafe (that the prospect of weapons present was there), yet at the same time of course, safer.

the only possible benefit to this is for my late friend tommy. if there's a heaven or some sort of metal afterlife cafe, hopefully dimebag and tommy can jam or even share some hash or beer. if motherfuckers and talented guitarists share the same afterlife, dimebag will kick your ass when he sees you (or be a gentleman and not bother-- either way: you'll get yours). i'm also glad that i got to see damageplan in june, and that nick got to walk right past dimebag and vinnie.

pantera was there when i first got drunk off cold duck in grade 9. pantera's been there ever since. pantera will still be here for me because i have the albums and i'm not fucked up enough to find dimebag and shoot him. i mean come on, it's not like pantera was still improving. far beyond driven was their last best album. it was time for them to disband and pursue other interests. i wish you could've understood that. i wish that you'd been more understood in your life, and perhaps none of this would've occurred.

in metal i trust,

beany

*****editor's note: if you read this blog earlier today, you may've noticed that i was addressing the murderer as if he was still alive. the shock muddled me a bit this morning. i totally knew that the police officer shot him. anyway, i basically just amended those parts. the rest of the letter remains the same.

there's something wrong with my face-- but i can't quite put my finger on it?! 

there's something wrong with my face

... but i don't know what.

i also don't know what was wrong with our whole household not to get up before 11am this morn. so after 11, blake and i chilled with the golden girls and some green film for a couple of hours before i spent many more rummaging thru my stuff, looking for objects once loved or at least cared for slightly that i can now toss in piles to be given away, recycled or otherwise turfed. found a bunch of pounds of stuff that i can do that with, roused lots of dust-- hence me not knowing what's wrong with my face: a cold or allergies. so i natural-medicated myself with both types of remedies, but mostly those for a cold: aller-7, colloidal silver, vitamin c, astragalus, yin chiao, zinc, corzalyia, onion soup and a hot toddy. oh yeah, hot toddy-- that's what i'm talkin' about. and i got a free movie for being a cute girl in a totally non-sexual way-- i got a free movie from a nice gay boy. it would've been even cooler if it were my free movie, not g's. blar.

well i do!  

good vomit or bad vomit? vomit nonetheless.

sometimes when so much good and bad shit occurs simultaneously that it makes me wanna vomit. sometimes this vomit is good, sometimes bad. i am over and underwhelmed at once. times like this are when just living wins out over any sort of productivity. plans are dashed and foiled, and i laugh until i realize what i may have missed. like FUCK, that job posting that paid $55 thou/year. oh yeah, and it was a perfect job for me. qualified? not by their needlessly rigid standards, but i know i could do the job. eff and fuck. eff and fuck. nobody would take my cool clothes when i went to sell them downtown. why? because they're not in season. christ fashion's hard. grey sweatsuit revolution here i come. so here i am listening to cannibal corpse and eating granola just like last night when i was about to blog and blogger was just simply too busy to be my enabler. so here, now blah. watched whale rider tonight which was a wicked good time. it's snaining or some shit, what a crappy walk home. yikes! i like how my finger always seems infected but never is. i like how my trip downtown was nearly a waste of time. i made some fantastic pasta and blueberry crisp tonight. and we ate dates. bought blake golden girls season one and part of my mother's present. had a shower. did most of the dishes. almost froze and baked in my house within minutes of each other. summer plan ideas are: learning french with mg(w?)stp, hitchhiking across the country with nrm, being productive in a variety of ways, thinking of something other than that, working at GO still. i dunno. fuck, i've had to deal with sears about my stereo like umpteen fuckillion times in the last three weeks about my stereo being repaired. to all sears ears: listen asswanks-- here's the deal ---> my stereo's already been fixed. it's under warranty under my father's name. even tho you don't know it, my stereo's somewhere at the halifax shopping centre location. send it to game world on quinpool (NOT the halifax retail store whatever the christ that is, not unit 1616, not baker's lake or the halifax shopping centre or its annex) NO QUESTIONS ASKED and PRONTO. and if you connect me to regina or hamilton one more time i'll cut your nipples off with a plastic fork and then push you into a kiddie pool of balsamic vinegar. eat my care, sears.

have yourself a rutabaga, give yourself a break! 

turnip or die

i am fucked today-- my bowels are fucked. i'm trying to be better to them, altho i'm not sure what i did to make them so edgy/weak/active/bad. i cried because my turnip (actually rutabaga) was too white and all i wanted was turnip (actually rutabaga, but i hate calling them that!) it was decidedly a weak moment. so instead i steamed some carrots, potatoes and onion for supper and ate them with pesto and garlic. fucking amazing. not so long after, i took a bath which was one of the most fulfilling baths i've ever had. usually i get fidgetty and pissy and red and awful and need to get out. as i submerged my acidic, swollen body into the water infused with epsom salts and sprigs of jasmine, i sighed big and thanked the gods and goddesses that i could experience something so phenomenal when others don't even have clean water to drink. i sighed and moaned and got some pretty good effects on my voice with my ears below water. i almost dropped off to sleep. my heart rate slowed to a concerning pace. i curled up to the side of the old tub as if i were in bed. toss. turn. fuck-- i'm in water! i gathered the jasmine sprigs and put them in a pile on the edge of the tub so g doesn't yell at me. i wrapped up tightly post-bath, so i could sweat out the toxins let loose by the salt. as i sat on the bed and wrote with the heat on, my thighs felt as though they were on fire, my heartrate was still crawling and i felt nausea creep thru me briefly. i felt as though i'd just smoked a bowl and gotten myself off-- but i'd done neither-- just a bath. of course i have the house to myself, as blake is with keefeco and g is @ school as always. he is always there always always until 4 or more in the a.m. we are meshing better now, altho he gave me the dirtiest look this morning as i emerged three minutes late from the bathroom. "fuck, dude, such a dirty look." "i'm not dirty," he shot back. so asleep still. red wide eyes and bushy hair. perhaps you know the egg i mean. it's saturday night and the second weekend i've intentionally done nothing social. and it's so awesome. i'm preparing for the potential onlslaught of holiday socializing. j'espere j'espere j'espere all goes smoothly.

fade to nope

coming down off last night's high, i got off right before work (thanks) then took some spaz pills and all was well for as long as i needed to be. apres le travail, we hung inside because otherwise we'd've been chilly on the out, then figured i might as well go over: tea/homegrown/ kamut bread/whisky/vomitting emotionally/the doors/insence/looking thu duds and giving me some/you not being the swiss/you telling me to chill out and stop burning your bed and stumbling (i'm lost without you) all over the place and that i'm fading and you're shocked and that i need to buy new clothes and that i was so so so whatev for getting that price tag off--that and listening to fashion talk for hours and oh my gawd i can't believe you do that it's something that yeah i do it but i hope my friends don't oh wait it's not that bad oh oh oh he needs a raise and a blowjob and a shave and biore strips-- we could drag him into a bathtub and i'd even rub honey on his feet and i must pass out and also steam a turnip and onions (not necessarily in that order).

one of life's proudest moments: brother gives the finger to the leader of the free world

booyakasha!

we were up early and rarin' to go to be part of the largest protest the city's seen. among the thousands present, i managed to see most everyone i expected to see there. it was pretty rad, and inevitably a bit disorganized when put into practise. communication is pretty tough when there are three times as many people as there are in my hometown. fuck! one of the organizers got our hopes up by letting us know that there were more protesters in halifax than in ottawa yesterday which was frankly a load of shit, but whatev. we did boast large numbers fer sure. it was so adorable how the kids in the window of the discovery centre were waving and giving us peace signs. it was beautiful that there were families there. at the rally, a nova scotia cattle farmer said that he was losing a geezis ton of money, but that supporting bush is too high of a price to pay for his small personal losses (i was pretty broken up at this). take that you twerpass backward alberta beef farmers! the weather was the best i've seen for almost any protest that i've been involved with. it seems they've all been invariably pissy with rain, slushy with snow, fucknuts cold or christly hot. today's weather was the porridge that goldilocks would've chosen if she were picking protest weather. or course i didn't get to see ol' george, altho i didn't expect it either. i ate sushi and dio mio with kelsey which was awesome. so later when blake wakes up he's like, "so, i didn't tell you, eh?" and i was all like, "whut?" and he was all like "so i saw george bush today." and i was like, "shit, dude-- you were with me the whole time, how the fuck did..." and apparently "he drove by with this motorcade which had like one of everything -- like even an ambulance-- no, not an important american ambulance-- one of ours-- yup, someone in the hrm will probably die today because george bush needed an ambulance reserved just in case-- so i saw him and he was waving and i waved back, but of course not with all five fingers and there were some high school kids and they were like i can't believe he's waving, i mean come on-- what the fuck-- and it was so great." so then i was like where the hell was this? and apparenly it was robie street, and there were peeps around representin' with the signs still, which was killer.

then later i fucked around here, reading, trying to stay awake, listening to scandanavian symphonic metal-- pretty, melancholy and luckily without any rotten memories attached (so far) and then later he who is determined to steal my toque came over and we watched trees lounge which is an awesome steve buschemi flick, pretty fucked and funny and worth a videe. a good time. we got fucking soaked on quinpool rd (ok, so we were jumping in lake-puddles) and i had to give him a bunch of clothes because the poor fellow biked here in the pissing rain. i gave him a cool black hoodie that was given to me because i was wet because i fell in a lake (ok, trevor fucking sank the canoe-- remember when?).

i want more rice.