Monday, July 27, 2009
Party time
I am in dire need of a house full of friends. It's been oddly quiet around the gallery lately. Look out weekend.
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
The Moth
I was sound asleep, then a light tapping sound woke me up. Initially I figured it was the branches of the tree knocking against the window above my bed-it wasn't. It sounded meatier than that, had the heater kicked on and started to ruffle papers on my bedside table-nope. Then I heard the sound that made me spring out of bed and head downstairs to grab a candle. The buzzing and fluttering of a full out aerial assault of a moth.
It's now 4:45 am, and I am wide awake and lighting a cigarette while nervously scouting the room, remaining at full attention for another strike. I thought about waking up Lisa to come up here and catch the motherfucker, but she had already killed her insect for the day. Not to mention the thought of her having to clickity clack her plastic corset together just to come up here to destroy an insect seemed far too tragic. I suppose if I had some weed I could have coaxed her with the idea of a 4:20 joint-maybe next time.
I am not even afraid of the moth, for all I care it can fly into the closet and feast on a vintage t-shirt. I am not nervous of it flying around me right now, as I sit her typing this, a bit of a headache, a glass of water and incense burning to my right. I am terrified by the idea of closing my eyes and hearing the buzzing of the seemingly kamikaze mission start over. Part of me wishes I could be a really heavy sleeper all of the time. There have been nights where you could have crept into my room, played a game of yahtzee, blended a couple margaritas and maybe even played an acoustic cover of some top twenty song without me even flinching. Sadly, there have been instances where I have been alerted by a car backfiring outside or the intensity of sirens blaring from some strobe light donning emergency vehicle off to hopefully rescue whoever is in harm. There has even been mornings where the plastic wrapped thunk of the newspaper being delivered on the front porch has stirred me from my slumber. I considered ear plugs, but my paranoia would kick in and I would end up imagining all sorts of goings on happening around me.
I am looking down at the Franz Kafka book I have been meaning to read, and the few super painkillers I have remaining-both are really bad ideas while trying to fall asleep I have concluded.
The trick to moths is that they always go bonkers around the brightest source in the room. I, being full of mixed emotions am certainly not giving off much of an inviting aura I suppose. Moths always have and always will be suckers for a flame. Spending the night flying around neighbourhoods, bouncing off of front porch lights and eventually creeping through cracks in the screen. The only thing separating my room from the summer breeze that is five am. Moths have no idea that they are spending their entire life rushing around, investing in all of the bad ideas and either smashing their heads over and over on some unrequited front porch lantern or bomb diving into the inviting glow of a torch. Come to think of it, I hope not to wake up and find the poor winged assailant encased in wax. Only some creatures deserve their place amongst the Madame Tussaud replicas.
It's now 4:45 am, and I am wide awake and lighting a cigarette while nervously scouting the room, remaining at full attention for another strike. I thought about waking up Lisa to come up here and catch the motherfucker, but she had already killed her insect for the day. Not to mention the thought of her having to clickity clack her plastic corset together just to come up here to destroy an insect seemed far too tragic. I suppose if I had some weed I could have coaxed her with the idea of a 4:20 joint-maybe next time.
I am not even afraid of the moth, for all I care it can fly into the closet and feast on a vintage t-shirt. I am not nervous of it flying around me right now, as I sit her typing this, a bit of a headache, a glass of water and incense burning to my right. I am terrified by the idea of closing my eyes and hearing the buzzing of the seemingly kamikaze mission start over. Part of me wishes I could be a really heavy sleeper all of the time. There have been nights where you could have crept into my room, played a game of yahtzee, blended a couple margaritas and maybe even played an acoustic cover of some top twenty song without me even flinching. Sadly, there have been instances where I have been alerted by a car backfiring outside or the intensity of sirens blaring from some strobe light donning emergency vehicle off to hopefully rescue whoever is in harm. There has even been mornings where the plastic wrapped thunk of the newspaper being delivered on the front porch has stirred me from my slumber. I considered ear plugs, but my paranoia would kick in and I would end up imagining all sorts of goings on happening around me.
I am looking down at the Franz Kafka book I have been meaning to read, and the few super painkillers I have remaining-both are really bad ideas while trying to fall asleep I have concluded.
The trick to moths is that they always go bonkers around the brightest source in the room. I, being full of mixed emotions am certainly not giving off much of an inviting aura I suppose. Moths always have and always will be suckers for a flame. Spending the night flying around neighbourhoods, bouncing off of front porch lights and eventually creeping through cracks in the screen. The only thing separating my room from the summer breeze that is five am. Moths have no idea that they are spending their entire life rushing around, investing in all of the bad ideas and either smashing their heads over and over on some unrequited front porch lantern or bomb diving into the inviting glow of a torch. Come to think of it, I hope not to wake up and find the poor winged assailant encased in wax. Only some creatures deserve their place amongst the Madame Tussaud replicas.
Sunday, July 12, 2009
Stampeded.
Trampled on, exhausted and ready to go back to being subjected to the soulless rotation of the "top 40."
"The Greatest Outdoor Show on Earth" has once again ended. The country music has ran out of it's chances to fire it's victimizing twang at my inner child. The straw hats, daisy dukes and shit kickers are being packed up again until next year. The baby calfs no longer have to participate in some "barbaric" spectacale in order to satisfy the crowds of drunkards, and the wait times at abortion clinics and price of plan b are about to triple--Stampede is over.
I read yesterday that taxi drivers didn't profit off of the latest installment of insanity, but on the flip-side, I was able to get a cab easily every night of the show. I am a little bewildered by my exhaustion right now, it can't possibly be from Stampede. I feel energetic, but drained. I was only on the grounds for a total of 3 hours, and 1.5 of that was watching Reba McEntire. I think that brilliant Niki B is right about all of the energy from Stampede Park spilling onto 17th Avenue and through the city.
With the midway being disassembled over the next twelve hours, I feel it only fitting to hop off of the merry-go-round.
I feel like slipping off to the sidelines for the rest of the month, that could be foolish.
Lately I have been feeling quite unrealistic, sometimes I feel like I got my emotional ass kicked. This will end up being one of the great stories that I can tell later about "back in the day." Boy meets boy. Boy meets girl. Boy fucks boy over. (Unintentionally, of course.)
I got stoned and listened to the fireworks from the porch tonight. I never did make it down to see them. I suppose I could have made it down to the show tonight, but for some reason, the energy from that part of the city just didn't feel all to inviting. Tonight I raise a toast of sleepy-time tea to the party 30 blocks away.
Until next year, you crazy bastard!
"The Greatest Outdoor Show on Earth" has once again ended. The country music has ran out of it's chances to fire it's victimizing twang at my inner child. The straw hats, daisy dukes and shit kickers are being packed up again until next year. The baby calfs no longer have to participate in some "barbaric" spectacale in order to satisfy the crowds of drunkards, and the wait times at abortion clinics and price of plan b are about to triple--Stampede is over.
I read yesterday that taxi drivers didn't profit off of the latest installment of insanity, but on the flip-side, I was able to get a cab easily every night of the show. I am a little bewildered by my exhaustion right now, it can't possibly be from Stampede. I feel energetic, but drained. I was only on the grounds for a total of 3 hours, and 1.5 of that was watching Reba McEntire. I think that brilliant Niki B is right about all of the energy from Stampede Park spilling onto 17th Avenue and through the city.
With the midway being disassembled over the next twelve hours, I feel it only fitting to hop off of the merry-go-round.
I feel like slipping off to the sidelines for the rest of the month, that could be foolish.
Lately I have been feeling quite unrealistic, sometimes I feel like I got my emotional ass kicked. This will end up being one of the great stories that I can tell later about "back in the day." Boy meets boy. Boy meets girl. Boy fucks boy over. (Unintentionally, of course.)
I got stoned and listened to the fireworks from the porch tonight. I never did make it down to see them. I suppose I could have made it down to the show tonight, but for some reason, the energy from that part of the city just didn't feel all to inviting. Tonight I raise a toast of sleepy-time tea to the party 30 blocks away.
Until next year, you crazy bastard!
Friday, July 10, 2009
Day Off.
I enjoyed a very rare moment today. A day off.
I had big plans of making the best of it. I took a bicycle ride to my grandmother's and taught her all about itunes, how to use her new ipod and enjoyed some coffee. After, Lisa and I went down to the Stampede Grounds to see Reba in concert (again), and met a cow named Beyonce.
It started to pour rain just as we were leaving the venue, and there wasn't any thunder-at the time.
I made the decision to meet up with the kid, as we did have plans to watch the fireworks. I don't know if they were rained out or not, but the display was moved to Kensington... and ignited by the accidental kicking of a plastic cup.
Lately I feel that I have seen far too much of his dark side, and I start to wonder when, if at all, there was another point of view.
I don't know what it was that had me reduced to tears in my kitchen for several minutes tonight. Perhaps I am just frustrated. Perhaps I too feel blanketed by anxiety in regards to the return of Lady O.
I had big plans of making the best of it. I took a bicycle ride to my grandmother's and taught her all about itunes, how to use her new ipod and enjoyed some coffee. After, Lisa and I went down to the Stampede Grounds to see Reba in concert (again), and met a cow named Beyonce.
It started to pour rain just as we were leaving the venue, and there wasn't any thunder-at the time.
I made the decision to meet up with the kid, as we did have plans to watch the fireworks. I don't know if they were rained out or not, but the display was moved to Kensington... and ignited by the accidental kicking of a plastic cup.
Lately I feel that I have seen far too much of his dark side, and I start to wonder when, if at all, there was another point of view.
I don't know what it was that had me reduced to tears in my kitchen for several minutes tonight. Perhaps I am just frustrated. Perhaps I too feel blanketed by anxiety in regards to the return of Lady O.
Monday, July 6, 2009
Paranoid
Paranoia.
I have always had a belief that people were out to get me. I think it stems from highschool, when on more than several occasions there were guys trying to jump me. I all but once managed to escape. The fear I used to experience was lost over time, and then one day it resurfaced-as paranoia.
There were tons of people on the dancefloor the other night, the bar was busy, I was having a great night out with the kid... and then out of nowhere, I could feel the evil eye creeping up on me.
Some of Oatmeal's friends were following us around the club, keeping tabs on us whenever we moved to a different area, and eventually resorted to take photos of us with their camera phones.
I wish I could have blamed my paranoia for what amounted with the rest of the weekend...
I have always had a belief that people were out to get me. I think it stems from highschool, when on more than several occasions there were guys trying to jump me. I all but once managed to escape. The fear I used to experience was lost over time, and then one day it resurfaced-as paranoia.
There were tons of people on the dancefloor the other night, the bar was busy, I was having a great night out with the kid... and then out of nowhere, I could feel the evil eye creeping up on me.
Some of Oatmeal's friends were following us around the club, keeping tabs on us whenever we moved to a different area, and eventually resorted to take photos of us with their camera phones.
I wish I could have blamed my paranoia for what amounted with the rest of the weekend...
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