can i watch while you cleanse yourself?

tune in soon for coverage of my cleanse. i'm on day four, so they're all be some retroblogging, but lot sof bloggage of unblockage coming soon.

sluts among us!

bremily went to see slut and sluts, two documentary (relatively) shorts as part of the film fest. it was awesome, because we're kind of both sluts. we laughed knowingly several times at different definitions. slut, as both films suggested, is a difficult word to describe. this crappy princeton university dictionary (not my favourite source-- the canadian oxford english dictionary-- but i'm such a slut, i can't find mine in all this mess) suggests:

slut

n 1: a dirty untidy woman [syn: slattern, slovenly woman, trollop] 2: a woman adulterer [syn: adulteress, fornicatress, hussy, jade, loose woman, strumpet, trollop]

so i'm definitely good to go on the dirty, untidy woman part. i've also been an adulterer at one time or another. i like the term fornicatress-- it sounds prettier. anyway, i'm a slut, or at least slutty, i've broken a handful of slut rules, but basically, i just like to do it. so call me a slut (you know i like it)-- just not in a drastic way. in junior high, i was called a slut for wearing black nail polish. in high school because i wore a t-shirt as a dress. now i'm only called slut in the bedroom or in the mirror. i don't mind being slutty, if it means i can wear short skirts or that i can show you my tits. i don't mind being slutty, as long as it's on my own terms. i use the word slut probably ten times per day. i call everything and everyone a slut-- from a pesky pricing gun to anyone with who i'm even slightly enraged. i use it a a cuss word, although attempt to consider my company before shouting it out. slut! slut! slut! are you a slut?

metal: you either get it, or you don't

i paid twice to see a metal documentary and i don't even care. metal: a headbanger's journey was so fucking worth the extra cash. sam dunn tells his life's story concerning metal, exploring themes such as religion, gender while touching on roots, history and exploring subgenres.sam dunn, the filmmaker, is an anthriopologist and i'm glad to see him using anthropology for metallic purposes. i should be doing it. perhaps he could use someone to feed him sandwiches or make his bed. sam's film made me smile, shiver, shake, get hot, wonder, lose my voice, cackle, tingle, choke up, nod, headbang, reminisce, tap my feet, feel proud, do a lot of introspection, and give him my "i'm fucking metal" button. he suggested that when one loses their inner 15 year-old, then metal no longer makes sense. i'm inclined to agree, as it's something no metal fan i know has shirked. metal spoke to me the first time i heard it-- hearing random metal on cbc radio and wishing i was a rock star, making a flying v-esque guitar from a piece of chipboard, and a headband from an old underwear elastic. my first exposure to a specific band was a glam metal one: poison in grade seven, upon recommendation from my boyfriend. it saved me from my wussy rap phase (not that rap is wussy, but wussy rap). my next source of metal was my best friend's older brother, who was basically into ac/dc, motorhead and metallica. i got a couple of tapes from him, and laid listening to them in bed with the lights off thinking about my horrible life, allowing metal to cover me in a warm dark cloak, letting me know there were others (who read metal edge magazine) who were just as shittily off as me. and then ozzy (who i hated for a week -- and one week only). soon metallica took me through high school, then white zombie and black sabbath and slayer and and and and... i painted ( i mean my mom painted) my room black and i liked boys with long hair and mom asked me why i didn't like things that other girls liked and if my poems meant i was going to kill myself and i'd finally found a genre of music that spoke to my nonconformity and dark leanings. i've not looked back. it's pretty much metal for life. it's just proggier, darker, more bizarre and closer to europe. as sam mentioned in the film, he's never met anyone who liked slayer "for a summer." it doesn't really work that way. you like metal and you have friends who like metal and if you see a dude on the street who likes metal you can nod or want to nod or you know inside that a nod was implied. metal crowds are my favourite, because they're kind and polite. it's the fucking pop crowd who're assholes. not so much the local indie pop crowd, but the kids who come out to see whoever's on the cover of the coast. those kids can suck eggs and eat shit and get drunk on someone else's watch. i could say a thousand words, i could keep metlin' 'til we're black sabbath in the face-- but it's for me to know, and for you to find out: metal just is.

12 million pus cells per glass- enjoy!

seriously. 12 million, drink up, suckas!

got hate?

this morning's most tarnished moment: i was listening to beethoven's extraordinary "ode to joy" and what kept creeping into my head was the dairy board's pathetic but obviously effective, "drink milk, love life" ad capaign which not only is insulting to beethoven and the history of music because they used his song while putting whorish lyrics to his work, but embarassing and sickening to me that i've somehow along the lines associated "ode to joy" with fucking milk of all things. what assholes. how hard up they must be! how scared-- and so they should be, because soyMILK is taking effin' over!

search til you can't search no more!

what is UP with blogger picking thru everyone's shit and hilighting certain words within my blog, and when clicked, taking you automatically to a relevant(?) result? this takes away from the aesthetic and freedom of blogging. it's not as if a) we don't know how to use google or b) google's not in a toolbar at the top of i) out internet browser and ii) each blogger page or c) want to have our search results chosen for us. what the christ is up with this? thanks, blogger, for providing a free blogging service, but seriously-- what the fuck is up? it's ugly and offensive. i totally have to run, but i needed a 30 second vent.

au rev...

(i'm probably leaving the county, hence no updates for a few days. sorry, dirty.)

rubber bracelet? you brought her!

i've hated those rubber bracelets since the beginning when my boyfriend bought one home and i razzed him because it was for cancer research and it only goes to meds not to prevention and he had no idea and the colours started spreading like disease and soon everyone had ten and they didn't know what they were for and if you didn't have one you don't care about diseases or if you did have them you were a trend pimp and my father had one and they sell them at dollars stores and rogers has them even the same colours as other diseases and they're a waste of fucking rubber and there's nothing i hate more than people collecting causes and feeling freakly because they're wearing yellow and i didn't even know where to get one if i wanted one which i didn't and i was hoping i'd never have to find out until today a friend of mine 12 years old gives me one for the disease we share and i acted excited and relay to her mother the controversy but hate them and feel i have to wear this indigo beast so i'll keep it at work and slip it on when i see them i feel dirty when i wear it i had it on for an hour i feel like a whore you can't cure my disease with pills but also not with samosas.

i am my own scheiss messiah

killer. bought three cds: :wumpscut:-blutkind, carcass-heartwork, hanzel and gretyl- scheiss messiah. it's been so long since i'd bought anything. i check out two books from the library- the botany of desire by michael pollan and acquainted with the night by chrisropher dewdney. on hold for me were the first seasons of degrassi the next generation and the second season of three's company. i also picked up exclaim!, a continuing learning catalog and the atlantic film festival guide. i got an order for ten bars today. i had an epiphany. i did my laundry. i made two really fucking good meals: (for breakfast i ate my own profits), lunch: chickpeas sauteed with onions and a zucchini that we grew ourselves, seasoned with cumin, coriander, curry, turmeric, bragg's and lime. for supper: a bbqd veggie burger with kraut and ketchup in a kamut wrap with steamed kale and onions seasoned with nutritional yeast, flax oil, bragg's and pumpkin seeds. with CRM, i enjoyed dio mio sorbetto and soy gelato: lemon and chocolate respectively. i also spoke french with my brother on the way to la blanchisserie. got the surprise of my life. read my journals from last autumn and laughed at its fuckededness. i concerned myself with the attitudes of others and then i realized i had my own shit to think about. shit is fine today: so fucking fine.

p.s. i hope shit's also fine with you.

a bonafide mummified mummy

an egyptian mummy, all uncovered and whatnot. i wish i could've seen a mummy like this yesterday. aren't i a greedy girl? i see one mummy and i want more.

c'mon and mummify me!

i returned from the valley because i had promised my customers i'd deliver today and to see c'mon at the pavillion. somehow i missed another c'mon show. i fucked up and got the date wrong, or the motherfuckers changed it. being too lazy to make with the goods last night, i redeemed the day by seeing a mummy. my brother and josie invited me to the art gallery to see christo's work (yeah, mostly nope) and we realized that the art of the ancient world exhibit was also on. mummies are fascinating! lots of cool ancient shit, some 6000 years old. six thousand. s-i-x t-h-o-u-s-a-n-d! unfuckingbelievable. that ancient greeks, romans and egyptians bothered to craft such remarkable works floored me. "ok, honey, you need a tiny pot for your perfume? let's see, i have a pyramid to built by friday, but i think i can fit in engraving an intricate scene on your perfume pot while you grind the kamut for supper. whaddaya say?" seriously. i realize they didn't have a lot of choice. our things are such shit. if something we have is pretty, it's generally a copy of a copy of a copy manufactured at some stupid christly factory or it's crafted by a talented, caring artist and i often can't afford to have it. i believe pieces created by small artisans are worth purchasing, but at this stage, i can mostly only afford to buy something utilitarian, manufactured and made without a care. anyway, back to the mummy. i was teeming with anticipation of seeing the mummy and finally we came upon it. first, the inner case. it was made from a paper-mache-like substance and fitted around the body of pennu, now mummified. it was so incredible to know that i was staring at a mummified body that was over 3000 years old. you could make out the indent of her kneecaps. the case was decorated so ornately with lots of scenes and shit, assumedly representing her life. the bottoms of her feet had a bull painted on them. this bull carried the soul into the afterlife. pretty. fucking. cool. i just stared at her for a while and got lost. christ. then i made myself look around a little more, althogh my thoughts were with pennu. i did manage to become fascinated with four urn-like jars, two (which ones!?) of which still housed the extracted organs (bowels, stomach, lungs) from a mummy. a mummy's brain is discarded, which seems so fucked considering the egyptians took so much care to preserve the head. hmm... anyway, pennu's outer case was pretty fly too. after seeing her, i couldn't concentrate on anything else and the pottery exhibit we for some reason bothered to check out afterward was laughable and ho-hummy by comparison. ooohhh, those cups are from the 16th century, how old! whatever-- i just saw a MUMMY! i must say, i was tempted to ruin history and attempt to jump thru the glass and try to pry pennu's papermache coat off, but i knew i wouldn't get far. the jailtime would probably be worth touching a mummy before anyone else. it would beat buying a metallica album at midnight on the release date or even coming across a copy months before its release. it would be the coolest thing ever. but then i'd probably regret, or at least feel bad for, ruining history.

p.s. i've changed my mind. move over cremation, i'm gonna be mummified. my embalmer gets to wear a cool anubis helmet mask. any takers?

maven is bravin' it

here you can barely see maven atop the cliff ready to jump. it's because it's so fucking far that it's difficult to see him. he's brave. note the tag which reads, "michael jackson is the man." how true.

the valley of good times

it was maven's birthday yesterday, so he took me to do two things i'd never done. it seemed like my birthday, but really he just wanted me to do these things with him. he's swell to think i'm so swell. so, the first event took place before the birthday party. i was to bring a swimsuit--- specifically the skimpy silver bikini that my tits have all but grown out of. so i did. we stopped and asked a kind hick for specific directions, as the entrance he once knew isn't for use anymore. the hick's directions, "...and just go up two houses dere, and you'll see a gate. you kin jus' pa'k theh an' wok frum dere," were good ones. our trek through the mossy woods were fun and bright. not too treesy, i didn't have branches all in my face. when we first came upon water, i was fucking floored. it was gorgeous and shimmery and unlike anything i'd seen before. i started overreacting when mav showed me a thick rope on which we could swing into the water far below. i was all like "i hope you don't think i'm gonna fucking swing on that rope, cause i'm not gonna and i hope even more that it doesn't ruin your day that i'm a pussy because it's your birthday and all, and i..." and i was cut off by maven saying of course he wasn't, that we were just here for the pretty sights, and perhaps a dip and whatever else we got up to. we kept a-walking. by this time i'd figured it was a place that he'd talked about in the past, "three pools". this place was inredible. three waterfalls and three pools and lots of rocks and trees. we laid in the sun on the rocks and waited for the sun to pass over the last pool, into which is, supposedly!, a common place to jump. mav showed me the two main spots to jump from, and even though i was absolutely frightened, i decided that jumping from a cliff was the best way to get wet. holy FUCK it was high. i'm not sure how many feet, and although almost 20 feet doesn't sound too high, picture a jagged rock cliff right next to a deafening waterfall. i guess i'm not scared of heights as long as i don't have to jump from them. mav effortlessly went first to show me how it was done. i hummed and hawed and shook and screamed and when i finally jumped, it was pretty effin' cool. it was as if i were plunging to my death, as if i'd keep dropping underwater and meet both poseidon and hades there. i finally resurfaced, having gunned handfuls of water through my nose. plugging it with my hand would've prevented me from flailing them, you see. i'm not so much an outdoors adventurist. in fact, it's something i've pretty near to never done. i've been laughed/scoffed at for saying when asked if i'd like to go bungee jumping, "I'd rather be reading." that may or may not still be true (but if i ever go, i'm totally wearing a shirt with that slogan). i'm still stuck in the "why bother risking life and limb" camp from my time with g. i said yesterday that i'm not scared of dying, i just don't want to be paralysed. so anyway, i jumped again, and it was again cool, but i didn't come close to jumping off the 80 foot cliff that maven jumped from. maybe next time. definitely fucking next time.

the second experience i actually guessed (along with the possibility of it being a ferris wheel ride). we went to a drive-in theatre! i was made to close my eyes (i assume so i wouldn't see the sign) and all i heard was a lady saying "here's a bag for your trash." i thought for a minute we might be going to clean up a dirty island or something, but at dusk, i didn't think so/was hoping not. i was fucking tired. anyway, the drive-in was awes. we turned our dial to get their frequency and enjoyed the spectacular? neon green-only pre-show that included appearancs from the simpsons, the beatles and an appropriated "walk the dinosaur" video. anyway, the features were brothers grimm and the great raid. we'd already decided to say fuck the last film, and i was keen to see brothers grimm, altho i heard it was terrible. it pretty much was, but the experience was awesome. two unfortunate things: 1) i was tired as christ on the cross, so we tried lots of creative ways to keep me awake. 2) there were baby seats in the back (no-- not fucking mine or those of my babies!) so there was no backseat love. we had to make creative use of the crowded front seat, cluttered with bottles and idents and shit.

i had a cool fucking weekend. i shared my bus seat with a historical military cartographer. i made a kickass cake which even the best baker grandmother asked for the recipe for. i took soy ice cream in a special bag and it lasted the four hours i needed it to. i entertained twins who missed me. we got caught up on what we were sharvin' for. i miss maven already.

the country was beautiful.

leaving was dreadfully difficult.

since last we met...

took melatonin. wrote. made a list. closed my window. fell asleep. woke up to danzig's demonthrallsweatlive. got up an hour later. felt like sleeping. got up anyway. made yerba mate/soymilk/maple syrup. made and drank smoothie: soymilk, maca, greens, banana, blueberries, flax oil, flax meal and protein, acai. paid my phone bill. checked by bank balance. fucked around. walked to scotia square, bought gold lettering, a small photo album, glow in the dark bats, a folder. hated the temperature. came home. fucked around. changed into something more exciting. packed my goods. walked quickly to work, stopped at the supertstore on the way to try to print digital photos for the second or third time: no success. continued to walk to work. priced sale items. didn't care about customers. delivered my goods. donned my shuffle, listened to random dark tunes and walked home in the dim light. ran into g and his tennis partner and helped them decide on a place to eat. was offered a ride to the valley. cool. shitty feeling swollen gland. brother's home. we resist deef. complain. a couple phone calls. i don't make jam yet again. check blogs, mail. ate kamut bread with hummus. tried to stay awake. listened to :wumpscut:. was reminded of last autumn. wrote. took vitamin a, zinc, mushrooms, vitamin c, colloidal silver, primal defense, melatonin. read a bit of the coast. write. fell asleep early. dreampt of working at heartwood bakery. woke up at 7:11 to :wumpscut: wished i could stay between my three quilts. opened my window. ate cinnamon date manna bread with my homemade strawberry jam. ate smoked tofurkey slices. drank soymilk. made yerba mate. decorated gift. made birthday card. listened to :wumpscut: reminded of autumn again. wished i could stay home today. was solemn but content. packed for the valley. brushed my body. showered while looking out the window. nobody was watching me. got dressed. now i am here.

sometimes i think i might die

i'm old. i'm old and crumbling. it fucking sucks. i was an insomniac for my first 21 years, and i've always been used to the night, fucking loving staying up and getting up early if i so wished. i could function on 1-2 hours. i'd act kind of like a crackhead, but i could totally do it-- sometimes even functioning better mentally than usual. this has shaped a good deal of my personality. odd hours of sleep like 1 and 3 and 5 and 7 seemed better on me than the even ones. i thrived on and bragged about how little i needed. i spent last summer being as debacherous as beanily possible and it worked. my black pills kept me alive. fastforward to summer '05. while i look better and can fit past dilem at the desk, i can't fucking go with no sleep and get wasted and walk home at dawn, sleep 2 hours, wake up drunk, go to work and be a champ. no christly go. it hurts. it kills me. my bed is begging for me. i feel like i;m about to cry and throw up and fall over. i want to make blueberry jam instead. i want to read and write and generally just appreciate the world at night. then i want to wake up at 7 and smell the fresh, quiet morning and not need greens and mate and a hot shower and danko jones and six jumping jacks in order to leave the house. often i actually feel like vomitting i'm so tired. it's only now that i'm admitting i might not be able to run like this anymore. i'm not entirely willing to relinquish these practises but my body's probably telling me that whisky and gin and 2 hours of sleep is not the formula for healing several inches of rotten bowel complete with a tear in them. so perhaps i'll listen. so perhaps i'm a little stubborn. perhaps i'd rather punch myself in the face than go to bed early. perhaps waking up miserable every morning for the next month or so will teach me something. i have no wrinkles, i've found two potentially grey hairs, but i will not accept that i'm too old to stay up late and still get up early. fuck off, self. wake up and keep up and stop being an ass. ow.

ow.

ow (help).

ow.

these boots were made for flowers

pictured here, are my old pair of vegetal leather boots i bought in 1998, cut open and filled with soil and billowing blossoms. dad is pretty much famous for planting flowers in boots. i feel kind of honoured that he used my old footwear. dad is awesome.

fox news is for the birds/has gone to the dogs (in a bad way)

thunder, our german shepherd/ chocolate lab/ chesapeake bay retriever brother is pictured here not caring about fox news.

the answer is in the chocolatey portrayal?

yeah, okay-- but i don't think they should be getting along so well. do you think the one on the left looks conniving, and the one on the right looks duped? i kind of hope so. that's kind of us.

astrological confession

hello, my name is beany and i'm a gemini.

i have too many ideas and i wish i were organized, independantly wealthy and fearless enough to pull them all (okay, the decent ones) off. just so you know, i'm getting closer (but not close enough) to this point. care to push? i piss myself off. this morning was slow going because last night was acrobatic. yerba mate saved my ass once again. i brewed it good and strong. thanks, paraguay. i don't feel like punching myself in the face. in fact, i smiled a lot today. a conference of geminis confirmed today that too many ideas are indeed a burden.