| strawberries in the window |
[06 Feb 2007|01:34am] |
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mood |
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ma vie, tout ma vie |
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hello i am strong, i threw myself into a cold shower this morning, i wanted to feel good for feeling so bad. today a strange man named patrick came over, he made me call him pat, "pat". i thought why not pet? i hate your name vat rat, fender strat man giraffe. he talked about paper things with rolling eyes like my stepmother janice who is under five feet tall and has a watermelon smile, he was on drugs or mars. sort of like this taxi driver i had once, only he made me cry, and told me not to touch his ear.
i am getting a cold so my hair is braided in two and i'm eating tomato soup. i want to be good. okay. shit, where is everyone? everyone left with patrick. jennifer went home to see mom and i feel useless. i could cut out shapes and glue them to my face? probably not. i am listening to the easy rider soundtrack. i sound like a machine because of my cold insides right now so i apologize quiet certain. i love you bedtime story goodnight.
 
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[01 Feb 2007|04:41pm] |
...and i wonder wonder who
who wrote the book of love
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| monsters! |
[12 Jan 2007|05:03pm] |
i feel strange, like the heart of a winter man that has thawed for a victrola in a quiet way. i mean, i am his heart, i don't know those things. i am not responsible for melting out, i'm like real happy uh? yesterday i was thinking about the ttc killer on the loose in toronto who stabs random girls like me on the subway for not paying attention to life. i started to notice the man sitting across from me, his feet were caressing a crunchie bar wrapper and i waited for him to look down and see, he never did. i had an idea that he was the killer. his shoes were green. i should not get killed ever.
things are feeling really good, i don't know, i'm sorry. like last night when you were looking at the sky you could totally feel good about it. i was just floating all down town with the lights and squirrels in the park dying slow and a blue glowing sign behind my eyes, i was thinking about the internet.
then when i reached home i had some hot chocolate and phoned up my mother who is now back together with norm so i hate her. jennifer gave me her blanket and a lighter, we left steph a message. i forgot to take the garbage out again. there is a visitor downstairs, i will make him do it. come to my bedroom door, visitor. oh yeah i am sick. i also need groceries and garbage bags, garbage day garbage gray, fay wray.
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| fire flies |
[06 Jan 2007|11:57pm] |
how was your night? tonight i looked out my window and thought of all the moments i couldn't have. why? oh i don't know. i reposition my eyes and shape my mouth down further. then, i let them slide back into shape and i like what i see. words in the sky, colour lights, a glow potion, my pout to the ground. it hangs low and heavy, a full, silent droop. it comes up slow to smirk once or twice but every time it forgets to stand tall and strong it drops to my chin and my posture is round, i think my shape is circles, i was a sketchy youthful draft. it would make sense how i have been in love with triangle boys and men, then, since the eighth grade in my earliest creation. i dream of their elbows and collar bones and crooked faces and arms that are branches and pyramid eyes, and a diamond hip and ill posture with tooth shaped nail beds that kill people.
steve mcqueen and peter pan were both triangles. i would love them for sure. i think all girls are circles is the problem. real stupid, we just sigh and stare, crazy crazy girls...
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| love |
[03 Jan 2007|02:37pm] |
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LOVE
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| diamond dogs |
[27 Dec 2006|01:04pm] |
last night i realized that i am an idiot. the easily influenced, naive, sad human processor kind. he thinks my observations are flooded with junk. i can tell by the way he raises his brow. i was too honest, i finished his rum. i don't know. he believes it's easy to love one person and is filled with the luster of constancy, but i don't get it. i mean, he is going to die! my room smells like nail polish, and my desk is sad because it wants to be used. the wall is cracked from the mice that make love beneath it, a plastic deer melts under a lamp, the floor is covered in watermark tissue for a project, a boy drawing, paper bag, dirty dresses, december. i have a gold locket, which i just picked up and stared inside. i looked at my skin and it looks old. old winter lady!
man, what a bummer week it has been. nothing happens like in the movies because i am programmed to be this way, it's in my genetic makeup the way geoff became with his basement studio and collection of beer mugs, that will be me in twenty-five years. but i am happy about some secrets, and the end of my dog year, how everything is kind of rad, old winter lady and her sassy wine. i will visit my favourite aunt in switzerland and stay in her round mountain house with a stupid pointy hat. oh, someone is at the door. i'm too dramatic, i have this urgency for something new and delusions of decadence. this is why i have decided to be a film-maker! orchestrating things the way they are meant to play out, hopefully following through. i have to get the door. but it's a stupid life. maybe i will be a maid.
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| life |
[26 Dec 2006|06:49pm] |
sand blasters
face saviors
light sabers
youth quakers
nice mixing
sweet shining
eye lining
solid daughters
pill washing
gut wrenching
bone teeth
soul stride
macrame eyes
wafer thin sighs
blankets inside
half the time
circling his mouth
like an old ghost
kisses the blind
a shark smile
my golden helios
shines in the sky
still makes me cry
he died in the summer
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| moonshine |
[04 Dec 2006|04:05pm] |
so okay, i was walking into a paint shop down king street the other day with my tired arms hanging low, when a tall albino man pushed open the door and stepped right onto my foot with his buckled boots. i was wearing old adidas trainers in crimson with red laces, dirty mutant gazelles i cannot find anywhere. i've had them for the last nine years, and when this grease-dripping blond character stepped down with his fucking man heel, the suede cracked up the side. i started to cry softly because those shoes are probably one of the oldest things i own since my feet stopped growing. what a jerk! at seven, i used to clip metallic barrettes to my laces to make them look beautiful.
( i had a punky brewster complex, i was obedient and disheveled... )
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| 20 |
[03 Dec 2006|11:49am] |
black necked stork
painted honeyeater
olive whistler
blue faced parrot finch
radjah shelduck
sooty owl
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| shuggie otis |
[17 Nov 2006|05:54pm] |
today i teased my hair and went to class in a black turtleneck. it was ugly, i had some oatmeal. i was thinking about this dream i had as i washed my black turtleneck face. everyone hates hearing about dreams, well here you go. i had a dream where i was watching this porno with some african friends of mine when suddenly these beautiful hats started appearing on little cloud men, they were everywhere! there was a gold one, a violet one, a turquoise-blue one, diamond coloured ones. i took them home and wore them one at a time.
the day has been uneventful and i like it. i am so limited in my word type right now it is funny "ha ha". i hung out with my buddy jackman for awhile and then took the subway back alone to a bottle of whiskey where i now hibernate and write to my fathers, who are beautiful and lame. there is a fire burning, there are some things i still believe. i want to love and travel and make music and write and weep and wail and stomp and give and grow and sleep! i sat at the back where the wall crumbles and all i could think to myself was how i could see the circles around my eyes were floating through the room, and it's the year of the dog how i want to be loved.
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[09 Nov 2006|04:55pm] |
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| loverboy |
[05 Nov 2006|04:52pm] |
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music |
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the sonics played, i threw myself out the door |
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oh, er, uh. this was written four days ago. it's from my paper journal. you can have it, it's yours.
halloween was a dirty bitch. no eggs were thrown at me. oh good! yeah, no yolk sogging ribbon hairs this time (or limp velvet dress), no black mountain songs inappropriately so appropriate (speaking the truth!), no forty something dude in a negligee and his bozo recording studio, no pleading to the skies "why can't i" in my soulful tantrum, no shock horror sign about it cause we were in love but now i'm sad.
i was a french leopard, i wore a tail and jumper skirt. bloody lip, some whiskers, we walked to stones place, things felt GOOD. i laughed at travis, i like him with his hair black. stephanie was lovely and blue, i'm a bit sorry for making a fool out of myself when i stopped caring but you know me. there were some other people with us though i forget the names, i think garrett and tara, they were pretty cool but i think they were evil. it rained and my red beret came down, my whiskers were like "wh-wuhh?" and my tail went wag.
...now it is wednesday and i don't care that i can't translate my thoughts properly in this thing, or how my hair is falling out, how i am a mess is a delight, i feel like the days are nothing so what about it, y'know? no. i want to try something new, and move very far away. i bought a new book today and i might read it, i might set it on fire. here is a list of some things i hate: coffee, shoes, cold, toronto, food, walls, girls, banks, schools, words, guitars, fingernails, telephones, in your face, serious face, husband, tomato, computer, computers, kevin bacon, pony tails, douche bags, babies, hamburger helper, adonis, edie sedgwick, hard boiled eggs, ennio morricone man collectors, etc.
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| dandelions |
[02 Oct 2006|12:34pm] |
how is life to you or does it matter i feel nothing you are ashamed of it, we are friends i'll be fine.
we are not friends so i keep it in my childish arms buried and i am a child, i am a child, my laugh is used and starved for you i am a child i want to fill a face with tears do you remember when we were loved and beautiful now just a pale sail it walks and moans to the moon “catch me”, you don’t know what i mean it’s been tried how you smoked like a child now you’re lit on fire so you’re aflame with a wave of your shoulder but fuck that you look like her lighter’s fluid and the stars would laugh, doesn’t mean they’re jealous of your blaze anyway, and it’s the same, doesn’t mean anything to me...
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[01 Oct 2006|01:38pm] |
you are going to hell (i'm coming with you)
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| watercolours |
[18 Sep 2006|10:18pm] |
 
tonight was nice. i barely moved a muscle. crystal played me some of her music, i played guitar, we called some old loves, and sent them to hell, then talked about bus stops, as i fell onto the floor with a broken string. i love it here, i never want to stop. now i am writing to you as i sit in the window, my new bed is cut into the window, can you believe?! it was my dream at four to live in a window and i would like to tell you about the days i've had but who cares about that, i have forgotten by now and besides, my white fingers are cut as i type. oh, i can tell you about the boys. or how yesterday i bought a new black shirt with tiny buttons up the front. i have been visiting a new park, it looks like a baby garden with virgin flowers in every grass patch and a bench where i write the secrets. last week before my birthday i was telling the letter about the pollen we sucked and how i hated my life, i was looking for adonis but he was a fertilizer and i wept, and a man walked up to me like a briefcase sort, he had the nerve to read every word into my bee stung face like i was free, and so i stormed off and tucked the letter under the gazebo beside a sleeping stranger. if you go to st. james park in torontonio please find it. it is folded into four, there is a drawing on the front with puffy eyes it says "why don't you love me" oh well. he doesn't love me, and how i grow in the baby garden. but i forgot my favourite marker pen triplus fineliner thing and the briefcase man called me "miss", he said "here is your pen miss, i know how it works well for you, GOOD LUCK!" i swear he said this, quite polite, i smiled, and now he is a character in my story. i wanted to kiss him for being so kind, what have i done to deserve this, but he was ugly and wore a crooked hat that would look better on a bird.
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| chewy chewy |
[17 Sep 2006|03:41pm] |
 
hello,
i am well. 'i'm a sailor', 'i'm a coffin', 'i'm a steamboat', 'i'm a giant'. how have you been? everyone around here seems to be enjoying the almost fall, they are grossly confident and free, there is no truth to what they say, as they dance in a corner with seductive behaviour like a social leper. and now the moon has exploded into galactic confetti, it is lonely for sleeping with everyone.
but at least you know how to put on a show, corner dancer-type! those who robot it will never be free. well my new place is great, i really like the floors in my room. there is a secret removeable panel which i'm pretty sure is meant for storing self-letters if you are me. one of them writes, "floor panel, mom keeps phoning about the u-haul delay, i am fine with the porch, i don't know why she always freaks out on me. oh and my key won't work so i have to scream jennifer's name to get her to open up downstairs, i sound retarded when i scream, pretty sure the neighbours hate me by now. one of these days someone's going to hide inside that little tree forest and tackle me with a net." i have a roommate named crystal who is beautiful and compliments my whiteness with beach babe glow. she is way cooler than a comatose katlah any day. oh yeah, i met a tall blue-eyed french canadian with a horrible accent named greg. his friends also speak with the horrible accent. do i sound like that? he dressed well, he was okay but made me feel alone more than ever, i left early so i could come home to write and cry, how am i doomed to feel this way for the rest of my life? holy shit. i want to pretend some things will stay the same but i romance these thoughts to a fault, and i am not a poet. who is to blame for this? i'm going to the flea market.
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magicpony's journal
