where is the crack in everything?

i'm listening to prog metal-- but that's not all: the prog metal is on the radio. an entire station. no talking. 24/7. on the internet(s). on our computer. my brother and i have officially entered the 21st century. hi-speed, mofos. yeah. oh gawd. if you called me right now the phone would ring. what a novel idea. prog metal-- an entire station. life is good.
we also got a very efficient and effective b o n g so our nights have been more rightoutofit yet we're wayway inuit.
a new:
bong (dear lord)
and computer
and a new pair of (relatively) expensive shoes which bring forth contentment in myriad ways
and i've knit four wrist bands
and i fit into three more pair of pants (merci, kickboxing)

and i'm in charge of my own fertility

and tomorrow i can be satiated.
life is (nearly) grand.
pessimism is killa killa.

it's been... three weeks since you've blogged at me

yo yo yo yo yo yo yo yo yo yo yo yo yo yo yo yo yo yo yo yo yo yoyoyoyoyoyoyoyoyo.

yeah, i know.

my brother's computer's been assraped by a gang of feathered monkeys or something.

it sits gathering dust and pus in the corner of the green room that we've tried rearranging several times.

the mouse still finds his way in and dances around in the night to the tune of glasses of romulan ale clinking at quark's bar on the promenade. one mother fucking mouse left. he shows up in my dreams, between me getting meat and punculation scholarships and flying on angel's backs and refusing to (or complying to) have sex with boys.

little mouse remaining: please leave.

it's spring: happy ostara.

halifax has been sunny enough for spring jackets and watching the action at the bowl and writing outside without mittens and feeling pathetic because being holed up inside this winter hasn't provoked me to produce

anything

anything

anything

anything

oh, and uh, anything.

... but i'm content, except for the odd tuesday or wednesday full of tears and icelandic metal gods.

seriously. this winter has been unlike any other. it's warm in my house. no toques necessary. joy. joy. quadruple google joy.

but yesterday's printemps observations begat a vommitous spree of beating the shit out of myself: on paper and in speech. i didn't weep. i was just huffy.

slackers write plays and slackers play shows and slackers end up with their face in stale rose.

a small but strong pinko meeting rescued me from my self-loathing cocoon. je suis pret for taking down the man (again). peppermint tea primed my left wing into sharvin' for some organized flapaction.

but other than that:

i'm going to see nine inch nails in toronto. we paid an inordinate amount for the tickets. i am too stoked.

may brings such amazing events:

motorhead in halifax

nine inch nails in toronto

e p i s o d e t h r e e

my birthday

sunny days: whisky on the balcony

things may just be falling into a reasonable place. it may be snowing today (your hair looked fine anyway), but spring will rock our socks off. and our clothes off. and we will run to the south shore and whisk our fall and winter catalgue of assorted blues and greens away in the christly frigid sea. this is my wish for all of us.

p.s. i hope the next time won't be so far away. we are on the lookout for a great new com pu tear.

je suis amelt

flower petals leading to fresh dates on my bed.
seriously.
... laid carefully on a skull shirt, as to not stain my bedsheets.
no joke.
and a note in a scroll.
i am amelt.

dear readers

dear readers,

i haven't been writing with your desired frequency. i'm sure i'm sorry. everything lately seems to be intensely personal or tragically boring. since my most likely temporary decision to not give so much away about myself (as i always receive much less from most of you), there's not so much to go on about. bro and i always have each other for this. the most mundane or depressing or exciting thought we promise ourselves not to bother to tell the other-- but it's impossible. it gives us the most pefect comfort to drop the basket or bomb as soon as we step over the threshold. so i haven't been saying much lately. someone picked up on this while wishing i blogged more. she said, "yeah i know she's okay-- this is how she was last summer." blush.

whoa, consider my life last year at this time: my job, house, roommates, cashflow, my relationships--both romantic and otherwise were different than they are now. this is so fucked in the face. but the best part (not my favourite part, which is thankfully shrinking) is: i'm way more content. life is often rad. darkness still swoops down, but i would never ask it to not. it is my pocketsleeve (kind of like panty bundler), my geminian other half.