Miss Lonelyhearts

THE LINK

2010-08-01T17:32:00.000-07:00

So it seems some people are missing the link.

So here's the missing link.

Following the link will take you to the new MissLonelyhearts blog. If this is the first time, boy are you in for it.

Please don't miss the...join us on the other side. It's not happier, but it does feel good.

THIS IS THE LINK.

MISS LONELYHEARTS

2010-06-06T20:42:00.000-07:00

Follow Me.

Death Is Not The End

2010-06-06T20:23:00.000-07:00

Q: If everyone was jumping off a bridge, would you do it too?

A: Only if things looked better down there.

And so comes the end of Miss Lonelyhearts as you know her. I have been to the other side, and I have drunk their wine.

Those of you who have known me for awhile, know that every so often I completely shed my former skin and reinvent myself. Sadly, I haven't done that nearly as frequently as I once used to.

Those of you who know me now might find it difficult to believe that I once used manic panic religiously, lived in squalor, smoked pot regularly, and lived on the wild(er) side. Those who have witnessed this know that it's but a single image in a series of many a persona I have built.

It's true that I've let myself slide. Way down the muddy banks into oblivion. I've been stagnant. I've been bored.

But all things must come to an end. September marks the beginning of yet another chapter. One in which I actively work towards a life in film. One in which I once again become an "undergrad". One in which hope is reborn.

If all of this sounds a bit dramatic, wait until you see my new blog!

Yes. That's what I'm on about. Turning a new leaf. Starting a new chapter. Becoming a new Miss Lonelyhearts.

Moving to WordPress like the big kids.

At first I wanted to carry this blog forward. I imported all my old posts. I set everything up. I waited. Then I realized that I didn't want that. I wanted "a new journal". I still remember that as being one of the best feelings I experienced growing up. The new journal, page, year, life.

One of my happiest moments was moving away and beginning a new high school in grade 8. I had similar feelings when I quit Abbott for Dawson in my late teens. Again when I moved to Venezuela and back. When I started Concordia. It's been too long. I want that feeling back.

No longer will I let myself be defined by my day job! No longer will I mope and sleep and will myself into oblivion.

This blog will remain here, untouched. I will link to it on my new blog, proudly. I hope that you will all make the leap with me! And I really hope that one day you can all have walk-ons in my movies. Some of you might even have a cameo.

Link to follow.

I PAY MY TAXES! I WANT MY MARC JACOBS!

2010-06-01T18:29:00.000-07:00

That says:

JACOBS
BY
MARC JACOBS
FOR
MARC BY MARC JACOBS
IN COLLABORATION WITH
MARC JACOBS FOR MARC BY MARC JACOBS

SIZE M

Some things I've learned in the past 24 hours

2010-06-01T18:20:00.000-07:00

Things are much better with a tower (a Mac tower, my sister's).

My therapist has the same pop pink nail polish as me. I probably paid for that. Twice.

Three days off are better than two. Even if it rains and you walk all day, stop in to work, and run into your manager in the grocery store. Repeatedly.

Some people don't mind it if the entire house smells permanently like curry.

Recycling is on Wednesdays.

Even Marc Jacobs does some silly things. And yes, that includes cartoonish tats.

Three days go by too quickly.

Don't press the big red button.

I love Marc Jacobs. No wait, I already knew that.

If I start crying in the middle of the street, it's premenstrual syndrome. I kind of hate that.

Schiap.

CDP recycles chocolate!

My tiny room holds a lot of junk.

More Nietz

2010-06-01T14:14:00.000-07:00

Twit

2010-05-30T22:31:00.000-07:00

Should I take the fact that I can NEVER remember my twitter password, no matter how easy I reset it, as a sign and give it up forever?

Fine Dining On Peel Street

2010-05-30T22:13:00.001-07:00

I spotted this little bugger all the way up on Peel. We're talking the lonely stretch just south of Pine.

Found:

2010-05-28T19:03:00.000-07:00

An old Valentine's card from my parents with a message urging me to "fight it in the name of Jesus". What were they referring to, I wonder.

Jean LeLoup, James Brown, Julie Doiron, and Tom Waits cassette tapes.

Photographs from the House of Slack. Writing on the wall.

The smell of the House of Slack. I kid thee not, it lingers.

My portfolio submission for Creative Writing at Concordia (yes, they will accept just about anybody).

A card congratulating my parents on my birth, May 25th 1983. I would have been 2 days old. My parents probably haven't seen or heard from these folks for 20 years. This gave me an instant stomach cramp.

A map of Manhattan.

A piece of orange wall. Formally my bedroom wall at the -- you guessed it -- House of Slack.

A bicycle tube.

Diskettes. What the fuck?

A series of letters from Simon composed on assorted writing surfaces and addressed to a series of my former homes. One was mailed inside a folded up paper towel. Wow, Canada Post, wow.

A photo of me as a very fashion forward child: white Mary Janes, textured tights, side swept bangs, a white cardigan with the top button done up and peter pan collar, a hot pink jumper, and a red leather satchel. That was the first day of grade one. My face says: please don't make me go.

A transcription of my first ever telephone message from DBW. I can actually still here it in my mind.

The best ID photo ever.

The Key to Berlitz! I think the key to Subway St.Denis is here somewhere...

Cowhide.

All lies aside...

2010-05-15T11:59:00.000-07:00

...I believe I am the luckiest person alive.

Constantly bouncing back and forth between feeling like a victim of circumstance, and really, really grateful to be moi.

I mean, you must know by now that at the end of the day I am. Grateful. No, that's not the right idea... just completely one with myself. So maybe that is the root of the problem after all. I'm fine, the problem is the world.

And yes, again (and again) this is something I'm dealing with extensively in my "sessions". How to be alive. In my life. Why am I justifying myself to you? God this is so boring.

What news?

I will be 27 in some days. Birthdays are always a weird time because people have somehow been conditioned to believe that everything smooths itself out for such an occasion. That everybody should rejoice in the idea of a mass celebration of the self. There's all this pressure to be happy and extravagant and have fun. Except that the reality is never actually like that. For me, I mean. Nobody really lives up to those expectations of birthday, do they? There's this mixed tension between knowing that the day is absolutely meaningless (and, to add, as of yet I have no qualms with aging), and still wanting to make it "count".

Registered for classes at the Mel Hop in the fall. Film. Film. Film.

Also, writing two shorts "on assignment" (translation: for free) for C's producer and his documentary film-maker bud. They plan to shoot these shorts this summer and submit to festivals. So, potentially (operative word) I will have two projects making the rounds. At the very least I will have some cred as a writer of things that get made. With or without funding.

My own project is still stalled, but not permanently. I will finish!

Also have another project in the works. Just submitted for funding. Planning to film with a volunteer crew (can you be bribed? Contact me.)and borrowed equipment.

Getting my bank account sorted out. Sigh. This may involve a "bail-out".

And now, the worst of all possible newses: Marisa. She's going. Going away. Of course I've known this for some time, but I've been partially in denial, even though I keep getting chocked up about it. This is so unlike me. Usually I barely blink when people zap out of my life. Sighs.

Let it Bleed

2010-05-08T11:17:00.000-07:00

I think this means they like me.

They really like me.

But somebody who really doesn't like me is all too present in my daily life. My coworker and fellow info desk mate. Except that I've been banished from the info desk and made to do drudgery out on the floor with the student workers. My silence, absence from life and blogger, and misery of late are largely the result of the problems I've been having at work.

It isn't safe to get into the details here, but I can explore the impact the unpleasantness has had on my personal life. This is pretty much all I think and talk about now. I've been having anxiety and dread attacks, something that I've been largely without since I started my meds back in 2008. I've been depressed, sulking, binge eating, and over-sleeping, all things that I had lassoed under control in recent months. I went off my meds because I felt stronger and ready to confront the world without 'em. Now I feel like I'm sliding back into the abyss. I can't even enjoy the progress I've been making in my life.

Work, never a fun time, has become the number one source of anxiety. Physically being there is making me physically sick. Dealing with the power politics, bullshit, and abuse has exhausted me.

Lady, you are cramping my style.

And why? All in the name of being the facebook queen of the kingdom? To assert your power, and be the only one allowed to plant turnips or corn in farmville? Trust me, I have no intentions of dethroning you as queen of the manure patch. But there ain't no one gonna talk to me like that.

***

It looks like if I decide to go back to school next year I will be doing so strictly between the hours of 6-10 pm, and working the delightful 9-5. For those of you who have never had the pleasure of working 9-5 everyday for extended periods of time, that is a third of your day. Minus the third you would ideally spend sleeping, 2 hour commutes, preparation to face the world time, time spent acquiring and eating the food you need to survive, and going to the bathroom, that leaves you with about 4 hours of actual living time. Notice how I've cut back on preparation to face the world time? No big deal? OK, do that for 2 years. 3 years. No flextime. No rearranging your schedule to accomplish more. No doing your job in exotic places. All in order to collect a fraction of the money it takes to do pretty much anything in the First World.

I'm not blaming you. I just think you should properly understand the situation. And quit acting like everybody chooses their lot in life. And quit expecting me not to be crabby. I am crabby.

***

On a lighter note, it's almost my birthday. That's a good thing, right?

Yay Rooskaya!

2010-04-26T14:33:00.000-07:00

Apparently, if you reschedule a date with a russian, they will come back with an invitation to a modern dance show at Outremont theater!

I generalize.

Love Inc

2010-04-25T15:08:00.001-07:00

I have a date.

I had a date, but reading CDP's blog entry made me realize that I should reschedule it in order to attend the industry "schmooze". How's that for barf material?

So now I am waiting to hear back from, and have a tentative tea-date with a Russian. Apparently, if you invite a Russian to go for coffee they will reinterpret this as an invitation for a tea party. Leels says it's because of the cold war.

Porn Inc

2010-04-25T14:33:00.000-07:00

I take it back. After seeing a documentary about a depraved porn addict, I realize that sex/sexuality is not my primary concern. In fact, it only takes up about 5% of my brain space. And for this I've always been very far from the norm. Which is why, I think, my therapist instructed me to live as a libidinous Lynch.

And also because I said I wanted to be like Lynch (David, people) in the world. Which is not to say that I want to be Lynch (how can anyone even wrap their head around such an idea)or even like Lynch, really. But like him in the world. Unadulterated P*rron all the time.

Which brings us back to authenticity. Why is this even an issue? Oh, yeah, because it's one of those things that are forever in question and we live in a world that complicates reality as much as possible. Layers of representation.

Here I shed my onion skin.

Bye Bye Bye

2010-04-25T13:52:00.000-07:00

Since getting rejected for a grant by the Canada Council in November for not having published enough, I have increased my CV by 16 poems. Just this weekend I received acceptance letters from Echolocation and CV2, and last week it was Carousel.

Now the only problem is that I've been too busy and drained to actually write. So if this keeps up, I will shortly be left with no poems left to publish!

Please somebody out there, give me funding so that I may quit my job (sorry boss) and hide out in my room writing. I have three screenplays, 3 poetry books, and 1 non-fiction hiding in my head.

I need your time. And I need your money. It'll help me, I swear.

Won't you help a brother out?

Me Three

2010-04-21T20:48:00.000-07:00

I know it won't always be this good, but if only I could hang on to this feeling. Even in despair...

When I got home from work I received my third stroke of the day, in the form of an acceptance to U de M.

My friends came over (well, they were already on the way) and Celeste whipped out a bottle of bubbly.

Question: will keeping bottles of bubbly on hand bring us more success?

One step back, two steps forward

2010-04-21T09:33:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I suffered a major emotional setback in the form of a complete breakdown on my way to work. I pretty much collapsed in the street, and only the lone Hasidic dude in his car kept me from curling up into a ball on the sidewalk. I called in sick, gasping and trying to steady my voice enough to communicate my message "I am not functional".

Then I slowly made my way over to Bernard, where I bummed a cigarette that some guy pulled out from behind his ear (he looked clean enough, and i was desperate) and sat down on a bench inside a gated lawn that belongs to some ritzy apartments. I managed to calm down somewhat, but I was still blotchy and red, obvious signs of hysterical sobbing, when an old man came up and informed me that this was "private property". "So?" He came closer and threatened "This is private property. You're going to get some fines. You better go away." "I don't care." Then I saw him enter the lobby and start calling someone. It took all I had not to dump my salad out on that bench.

Old man. You are going into my screenplay. In fact, you are going to eat total shit when I insist on filming on that property.

So, a stinky day all around. But I managed to get it together enough post-therapy to go into work for a half day, and by the time I got home I was bummed, exhausted, and pessimistic, but calmer and more resigned.

But then! This morning, I got a call from a woman encouraging me to apply for a grant in a different category than I had originally. Which they, like, never do. Usually they just send a slip saying "denied" or "ineligible". This woman was surprisingly nice. Really encouraging, complimenting my work, even. I felt hopeful.

And then! I got a really positive email back from Concordia concerning the Mel Hoppenheim school of cinema. And a major in film production. The kinks have yet to be worked out, so I'm still on my toes, but good news all around. Good news. For me.

Artist is Present

2010-04-18T15:24:00.000-07:00

Hangover Pineapple Pie

2010-04-18T15:14:00.000-07:00

What you are is what you eat.

Strrrrange.

When did sexuality become my primary concern?

Overheard at a party "I'm a graphic designer. I blahblahblah..." Me: "Yes, but are you a lesbian?"

And then good intentions outed me to the entire party, and next thing you know people are whispering and making eyes and hey, we're suddenly on My-So-Called-Life or something like it.

My so-called sexuality.

Sometimes a dream is what makes you a slave

2010-04-16T18:43:00.000-07:00

... and i think that's what happened to me.

&

2010-04-09T16:08:00.000-07:00

I don't care.

Unplugged

2010-04-09T16:01:00.000-07:00

So much I meant to write. But stuff sweeps in and out of my mind, and with no 'net connect at home for the moment, much goes unsaid.

Stalled on my script. Hit the 1/3 mark, with ideas jumbling in the back of my mind, but sometimes the writing doesn't just pour out. I'd like to hit the 2/3 mark by the end of my sacred week/ le week-end.

And then it's back to work. And trying to keep on top of my ideas (sooo many right now -- i think it's being off the drugs), and stay motivated even though, oh, hi, here i am at the (blank)(blank)store. Selling blanks to blanks. Everyday.

But I mustn't think about that now. I must focus on this little bit of life that I've squeezed out and keep squeezing my brain until it gives up all its juice.

Waiting for everything to happen.

The Power of Product Placement

2010-04-05T17:02:00.000-07:00

Somehow, inserting this into my screenplay:

"To Aimée's right is a large, glass hot dog heater. Inside, several shriveled wieners turn on spits below garish lights. The buns lie open-faced along the bottom."

Resulted in my venturing to the grocery store, scrambling around the aisles, and later, frying up wieners in my kitchen.

At least I still had enough free will to get veggie dogs.

We are all victims together.

Y.O.U

2010-04-05T08:26:00.000-07:00

It seems that some people have been reading my blog and feeling singled out by my use of the word you. Which is funny, because I can't really be directing this at everyone, can I? Well, just to clarify people, I'm usually talking about people in general when I use the word you. If I'm talking to or about a specific person, it's usually indicated somewhere in code, and it's usually in the third person. Got it?

That said, it's pretty common to find a comment or elaboration on something we discussed once. OK you? I mean, I'm pretty much always going through this shit in my head trying to make sense of it and establish my position. Now get over yourself.

I wanna be (un)sedated

2010-04-02T18:14:00.000-07:00

10 glorious days off of work.

The goals:

Take my latest screenplay from first to last scene.

Polish off my current poetry manuscript and prepare for send-off.

Write!

What I really want:

To be isolated in a cabin with my laptop and a lot of whiskey.

Good and Evil

2010-04-02T15:46:00.001-07:00

Dead birds need not apply

2010-04-02T14:44:00.000-07:00

Lots of support from people who have been there and done that. And a healthy amount from some who haven't. Somebody suggested a complete and total transformation. I'm good at that.

Don't know what I'm talking about? Use your imagination!

Anyway, I think it's obvious.

White Flag

2010-04-02T13:46:00.000-07:00

Damn. Getting along with people is constant and hard work. Thankfully, I've learned to swallow my pride. Sometimes.

I sure as hell don't know what my "poetry-nemesis" thinks of me, but once people began to comment on my hostility and it became clear that the individual in question was getting a glimpse of it herself, I decided to extend a tiny little olive branch in her direction.

The result? You probably won't be reading about my distaste here again. Or witnessing me holla slurs in public. But if you're my good friend, you might still hear about it over wine in my apartment. A compromise.

Lunch time therapy?

2010-03-30T17:33:00.001-07:00

FUUUUUUUUUUCCCCCCCCCCCKKKKKK!!!

Putting the pro in crastination

2010-03-29T17:53:00.000-07:00

Accomplished today:

Cleaned kitchen. Including sink, faucet gunk (eeew) and floor.
Cooked. Something I never do.
Three loads of laundry.
Cleaned entire room. Dust bunnies be gone!
Dusted and swept apartment.

Work done on grant applications, poetry manuscript, and screenplay? Zero.

The right to bare arms

2010-03-28T01:50:00.000-07:00

"The Muslim Council of Montreal says there may be only around 25 Muslims in Quebec who actually wear face-coverings." - Yahoo

Quebec: We better get those fuckers.

3-D

2010-03-28T01:39:00.000-07:00

Whether it's true or not doesn't matter. It's about the kind of person who will introduce you as being "a better writer" than them. It's about generosity of spirit. It's about being in that kind of friendship.

To - mor - row

2010-03-28T01:24:00.000-07:00

Gotta remember that one.

Was saved at the last minute from a slumpy Saturday night by Celeste, who breezed in and invited me out with some people from the set of this nightmarish (accent on the arish) movie she's been working on. Learned a thing or two.

1. I should probably hang on to enough money to fund such impromptu soirées, and afford myself a drink or two. Rather than have to rely on Celeste to finance my mojitos.

2. There is apparently a mojito revival that I was not aware of. Perhaps if I went out more often...

3. I'd better get fucking good at what I do and want to do real fucking quick so that I don't have to cater to the people in the "biz".

4. I don't like to be touched. Especially not by strangers. Oh, wait -- I already knew that.

5. It's a strange culture shock to hear people talking about things like production value, performance envelopes, and licensing in respect to their actual lives.

6. My job. That is all.

7. I can hold up the silent end of a one-sided conversation reasonably well. If I have to.

Now the metro spouts philosophy at me

2010-03-26T09:14:00.000-07:00

Let there be blood

2010-03-26T08:55:00.000-07:00

I'm baaaack. I had a bout of hostility there. Set off by a combination of things in my personal life, the demons awakened in therapy, and somebody at work quoting (for, like, the millionth time)those Rolling Stones lyrics.

Here's some lyrics I like:

Here in this hole that we fixed
We get further and further and further
For what we must do

That's what the 'net says. But i think it sounds much more like from what we must do.

Fixin', fixin', fixin'. Constantly working to try to plaster up broken and ugly pieces of myself. Working over time these days. Thinking constantly. Analyzing everything.

Forgive and forget? Not my strong suit. But so many times i've had to ask this of others. I think maybe i'm less accommodating than most. When something angers or hurts me, i have a hard time swallowing it. Other people seem to have this instinct to smooth things over. To get along with the rest of the world. I'm much more prone to want to distance myself from the world. I care less now about people liking me. I care less about "getting along". It's like i want to aggravate. I want to challenge and rebel against what people are saying and thinking and doing.

Something that i noticed long ago, is that without really thinking or scheming, i have this instinct to contradict other people's ideas of what people in general (or at times me specifically) should be.

So, for example, if somebody thinks that people should be "happy" and complacent, i will find myself constantly using myself as an example of not being so. Or if somebody thinks people should be earnest and serious, i'll constantly act the opposite. Caring, i'll be callous. Sweet, i'll be sour. And if somebody thinks i should be angry and unforgiving, well you'll never see me be more generous.

Thankfully this isn't a reaction to all people and situations. But maybe i'm like a human sacrifice. Trying to provoke people into thought. Haha. Yup, i'm a martyr. Jokes all around.

Just so you know

2010-03-24T19:34:00.000-07:00

I searched for this photo. I wanted to post it. No intentions of writing anything. Just the image. You know, a statement.

When i hit enter on the search engine i realized something. I'd written "half empty glass".

Real secrets of a jersey housewife

2010-03-24T19:15:00.000-07:00

"You can't always get what you want.
But if you try sometimes you might find
You get what you need."

I have always hated these lyrics. They always seemed stupid, trivial, and deluded to me. They seemed like the easy way to not acknowledge the possibility of not getting what you want, not getting what you need, and dying in the process.

That is a real problem real people face.

I acknowledge that all combinations are possible: what you want, but not what you need, what you want and what you need...

Is this what separates me, and others like me, from them? I just don't want to pretend that things always "work out", that there is some "greater good", or that everything happens "for a reason". I think thinking this way is stupid. Just plain stupid. It's not hopeful, it's not optimistic, and it's certainly not healthy. It is ignoring a really big part of being human. Of human suffering.

And i hate the half-way philosophers in this vein. Oh, it's like this sometimes. But not always. So, basically, you're saying that whatever happens to a select group of people is for a reason, but denying that say, somebody getting HIV would also be for a reason? Or are you saying that it's ok as long as that person getting HIV somehow impacts somebody else's life, thereby making it have happened for a reason? I need to clarify this -- according to your philosophy, are people out there contracting HIV for a reason? I mean, at least they're starving for a reason: to feed other countries.

I think the real crises of my life came, not when i found out about death, but when i found out about AIDS. Nothing makes sense in a world where people get AIDS. Not life, not death, not even fucking love and sex. I can not get past this.

hard work and something like it

2010-03-24T15:42:00.001-07:00

Sometimes the best thing about people is the thoughts they inspire in you. Can i learn to learn from my reactions to people? Can i learn to function within the ideas they present?

Today has been a fucked up day. But not in the traditional sense.

Another day lived for tomorrow. Trying to eke out a sense of satisfaction, a promise of greener pastures, a greater reason for being.

Dr.TB suggests that i am forever unable to overcome the feeling that i don't belong where i am. Perhaps, but what does that mean? I belong somewhere better? I don't belong anywhere? And why me? As in, why do they belong and not me? Perhaps because i don't want to belong. It's complicated to say i don't know how to. I can intuit the way to belong. And it scares me. But i've done it too. Commented in passing about somebody's book, or jacket, or other identifier. Forced an acknowledgment of kinship.

Concrete list of fears:

- Being identified as the kind of person you can't be around for long. The kind of person who can't forge long-term relationships. The kind of person who says "fuck this shit" when things get complicated, and inspires others to say "fuck this shit".

- Dying before my time. As in, before i have time to accomplish something meaningful.

- Failing to accomplish something meaningful.

- Burning up in the acid of my anger.

- "Settling", "giving up" and "being satisfied".

1.

2010-03-21T20:45:00.000-07:00

It's official. I am 1. As in, solitary, independent, and yes, single.

The verdict:

Yes, it is possible to love somebody you don't think you will love.
Yes, you can move in together, move back out, and still stay together (for up to a year... or more, you decide).
Yes, you can plan your break-up date months into the future, and see success.
Yes, somebody who sees all my flaunts... ooops, faults... can still love me.

and finally

Yes, I am open for business.

Waitress

2010-03-19T19:13:00.000-07:00

Waitress at Cafe Republic on Bernard. Ignoring my (small) orders in favor of larger parties will not prove beneficial. You've done it 3 times now. Rushing away to get the other tables their water, beer, wine, food, whatever. I know I've been here for 2 hours and have only ordered 2 things (3, but you never brought the Perrier), but you will not get rid of me this way. You'll only keep my tab low, and your tip lower. And I will be back.

Money's Morality

2010-03-19T13:35:00.000-07:00

"Human beings who have been lucky often confuse this with skill. The rich have been lucky."

BE STUPID. BUY MORE SHIT.

2010-03-18T20:04:00.000-07:00

This Diesel Be Stupid campagain has to be the stupidest thing ever.

Most of these claims don't even make sense. Hey, morons, get a dictionary and check out the definition of the word. Nope. Stupid is not synonymous with brave, daring, avant-garde, brilliant, or any thing else suggested here. Smart does not always equal safe.

Here's one for you: BE STUPID. HUFF SOME GAS.

Clarity

2010-03-18T18:37:00.000-07:00

Just realized: V listened to me discuss the complexities of sexuality and sex for a good hour. Later, without thinking anything of it, she showed me a nude photo of herself. Thank you for putting faith in my not being a pervert. I'm not!

Conflicting Ideals

2010-03-18T12:25:00.000-07:00

Let's go back to kindergarten. In order to understand "myself" I have to reconsider myself in regards to my position in the world. In order to do so, I will now (re)enter into dialogue with my *ideals*, *motives*, and *ambitions*.

So what is the number one thing that I can't escape, though I'd like to, and which, as I aged, has increasingly come to govern my existence? Dosh.

Such a horrible god. My relationship to money is insane, hysterical, and paradoxical.

When I was younger, I thought I could live without it. I mean, I knew that I needed it for certain things, but overall, I did not feel that money governed my day-to-day actions. I thought that I could exist (comfortably, no less) in a money-free zone. I thought I could separate myself in the world from consumerist, capitalist culture. And live happily ever after.

It was really only through my relationship with others, and seeing how they interacted with, and reacted to, money that I became perverted. Yup. It's your fault. But I don't blame you.

Although, to be sure, it's you all out there that have led to my connecting the number one thing I've always sought with the number one thing I've always disdained. Hopefully, not irrevocably.

But for now, in my mind:

MONEY = FREEDOM

And thus began the paradoxical climb of Miss Sisyphus.

And another thought!

2010-03-17T14:52:00.000-07:00

Does unhappy have to be the other side of happy? Can't i just be neutral? Yes! Towards a neutral state of being!

Taxider me

2010-03-17T10:22:00.000-07:00

Conflicting ideals? A sense of self that has slipped away? A need to both blur and compartmentalize? Defiance of what "they out there" prescribe? Uncertainty? Feeling fucked over by the world?

Is this me?

I thought I was done with "who am I". Isn't it better to abandon that question and just exist? To remain in flux and go with it? Do I function better now that I'm done wondering who i am and what it means to be me, and instead wonder what my place is in the world? Or am i still tackling these questions? Are they two sides of the same coin? Is there a coin? Does there have to be "me" and "you"?

I feel like i've just sort of been declaring myself. "This is what i am. Right now." and "Now" and "Now" and "This is what i do, or did, or will do (unless i decide not to)." But then, it's not like i never examine myself, or decisions, or psyche. No, not at all. It's more that i'm less invested in the idea of self-definition, and no longer feel that every decision is monumental, or excruciating, or final.

So, rather than focus on defining myself, i spend more time examining why i do things, or how certain decisions affect me, or when to change a behavioral pattern.

But now Dr. TB thinks I've "let myself go". Not just physically, although, yes, that too, but psychologically, and, um, well, i don't exactly know how to express this... but my imprint? or whatever it is that a human being impresses on the world.

Do we return to exploring these ideas? And if not, what kinds of questions should we ask instead? What kinds of questions will further? I think that, while it might be helpful to determine what i need to feel ok (as she and, you know, everybody else, suggests), and what i need to eliminate to feel ok (goodbye world...) it may prove more helpful to discover what i need to explore now to feel ok.

So much to think about. Just one hour of discussion.

One thing i can say with confidence is, i'm not happy. Ok, but have i ever been happy? And does it matter? Do i need to be happy? Can i function as a person in the world with only fleeting instances of this ambrosia? To drug or not to drug. To be or not to be. Is happiness the new opiate of the masses?

TB Sheets

2010-03-17T10:17:00.000-07:00

Me: I'm telling you. I'm not trying to be self-deprecating or garner pity. People just aren't attracted to me.

Dr TB: How did you find this out? Did you get a memo?
"We aren't attracted to you. - People"

WANTED

2010-03-17T10:16:00.001-07:00

Allow Me to Stagnate

2010-03-14T18:01:00.001-07:00

I don't know about my life anymore. I just don't.

Leelsypoo and I have officially "broken" as my mom would say, except that we are still the bestest of pals, and not actually broken until April 1st, which means, you know, that we basically are.

So now I am doomed to a lifetime of dating sites, and missed connections (you can hunt it out), and weirdness when I lock eyes with people in a crowded room. I'm not very confident in that regard at this moment. But all things in flux infinitely.

Hey, there's this great new movement in Canadian literature. I call it "Allow me to stagnate". Yup, you heard it here first.

I had brunch with a couple from NYLON GUYS today, and I guess I'm going to be in their Montreal issue giving my top five underdog Montreal writers. Trying to think of some people with balls. We don't want the world to think we're a city of stalagmites, after all.

Got myself a Valentino shirt, Rebecca Minkoff Morning After Bag, and NARS Kabuki brush. Yup. Me, Britney, and the Morning After Bag. Class. But mine is purplish. And while it was on the floor (on its dustbag) next to my electric violet, so-not-the-same-shade Marc Jacobs my mom was like "why do you have two bags in the same color?". I mean it, my family just does not understand nuance or subtlety.

Stayed in bed for a long time today, but to be fair I was plotting my next feature for a long while before I drifted off into an insane sleep, during which scenes from this feature were revealed to me. I've decided (with a little help from my friends) that it's really high-time I put a completed feature (or two) beneath my belt. Actually, I think I'll stick 'em into my bra cups and go to battle.

I'm applying for a grant. Did I mention? Getting some help putting this together too. Hooray for helpful, wholesome folk.

In other news, I have moved on to sleep-cooking. In the middle of my afternoon nap, I got up, cooked a box of kraft dinner I'd been keeping for a gourmet business dinner, grated in some mozzarella, and ate THE WHOLE THING. Six hours later, I still feel sick.

Also, I have developed this thing where every time I see something disgusting (like dog poo, barf, garbage...) I actually gag and almost puke. In public. Often while walking alone. This has been going on for about two weeks now. It's really freaking me out. I can't control it and it reminds me of when my dog used to eat a bunch of grass and dry heave. And now I must stop before it happens again here at the Cafe Rupublic.

No seriously

2010-03-07T20:51:00.000-08:00

Sandra Bullock is now standing on stage holding a trophy and crying.

I just can't participate in an event that makes this possible.

I mean, is she even still in movies?

Seeing her up there, though, made me remember how much she looks like my former shrink, Dr. TB. Who, incidentally, will be former no longer.

It's the little things

2010-03-07T20:27:00.000-08:00

I.

Celeste: Are you watching the Oscars?
Me: Oh, is that tonight?
Celeste (laughing):Ok, I guess not...

II.

Leighland is watching the Oscars on the couch while I clean my room: dusting every object on my dresser, washing my earrings with toothpaste, cleaning my make-up brushes with shampoo, etc...

I run in to catch the nominees for best foreign film. Some jerk with an affected accent is reading.

TV: A Prophet. Un Prophète. De France.
Me (through my laughter): How can you take these people seriously!?!
Leighland: That's Quentin Tarantino reading.
Me (more laughter): See! Exactly! How can you take Quentin Tarantino seriously???

III.

Leighland: Don't you want to win an Oscar?
Me: Yeah, sure.
Leighland: Well you won't find it so silly then.
Me: Sure I will. I'll say "Well, I finally have all you fools fooled!" (pause) "Do they ban you from future awards if you address the participants that way?"

What my parents didn't tell me

2010-03-06T20:50:00.000-08:00

Apparently, even if you're talkented, (haha, ooops, that was a funny slip!) talented, if you want to accomplish something, you'll probably have to work.

Sound obvious? It's not.

a) Society at large doesn't really stress the importance of hard work. Most people are trying to cruise by sans ambitions, or else smugly concealing any work trying to make it look like hey this comes naturally/ I'm just charmed.

b) All these writers/ artists/ musicians we romanticize just make that whole gifted genius over-night sensation thing seem *attainable*.

c) Belief in god's will and help makes you lazy. Often.

Ever since I was a kid my mom has been telling me the same old thing "Life is not a party. It's not about having fun. It's about sacrificing." which isn't the same as "Yup, you can have fun and party, but you'll probably have to work and sacrifice first to make that happen." Nope, not at all. Because for a rebel such as myself, somebody telling you that it's not about fun or parties just makes you all the more determined to do just that. Especially when you see other people living lives that are obviously full of fun. And parties.

Then there was the whole "If it's meant to happen, god will make it happen." and "pray, pray, pray". Not to say that my parents were of the do nothing, let god decide school entirely. It was more like, try but make fucking sure you pray if you even think this could happen. Pray, pray , pray. For somebody who doesn't really believe in prayer, or god, that translates into "don't bother, you obviously can't do this on your own/ based on talent, or work or whatever". Which led me to believe that my parents didn't think that my talent (for that's really the only thing I've ever held out for) was enough.

Which led me to believe that my talent wasn't enough.

Except, nobody ever told me about the work part. I swear, they did not. When you're the kind of person certain things come easily to, it's well, easy, to fall into a pattern of giving up on anything that does not. Especially when you are the author as a child. Yup, i conditioned myself to only nurture the things that i was good at. Other things, no matter how appealing, got brushed aside. Want proof? I have a bass, guitar, saw, and keyboard all collecting dust in my home. Pourquoi? Because I always wanted to play music, but never had the determination or patience to put in the required work. Same for painting or drawing.

When I look at drawings such as this, i like them. But i stopped drawing years ago because it wasn't as easy as i thought it should be, and therefore, i thought i was no good.

I like to think that i am always learning. And this year, i've learned a thing or two about work. I'm still not an exceptionally hard worker. But damn it, i've never worked so hard in my life. Uh, official paying job aside. I've really been trying to get my writing out there, i've applied for grants, schools, and contests, I've had more poems published in the last 4 months than ever before, i've tried to connect with people. I've taken some blows. I freaked when i applied for my first grant and didn't get it. But then, when my second application got denied as well, i shrugged it off. Yes, i was disappointed. But i didn't read that letter and see "We would like to inform you that you are a complete failure and will never accomplish anything in your life. Fuck off." instead i thought about it, recalled a certain homicidal moose (you know, that $40 000 disaster), and exhaled. Oh yeah, sometimes you're dealing with idiots.

If you've been working for years to get to where you are, and you're still not at the top -- well you've got about a decade on me! But for the first time i'm beginning to realize that it isn't always about sheer luck, or sheer talent, or work alone. That it's not always the assholes who get rewarded or have it easy. And that hey, sometimes people do get what they deserve.

So probably i don't deserve to be exposed as a brooding genius and fly automatically to the top. But, on the bright side, i'm probably not some pathetic talentless and deluded hack who will rot in the hope of recognition.

Maybe i'm, like, normal and kinda talented, and in need of a shot in the arm.

All I want for Christmas

2010-03-06T20:04:00.000-08:00

On the topic of expensive tastes, i really, really want this ring. Sigh. Probably won't happen.

III

2010-03-06T20:03:00.000-08:00

The third thing that i did in those crazy 24 hours is a secret. If you're lucky, i'll tell you.

II

2010-03-06T19:49:00.000-08:00

The other devious thing that i did was also not really bad, but much more annoying and time consuming.

I'd been eying this cute Dior make-up bag that came with some creams at the pharmacy. I tried to buy it, but alas, it was a gift with purchase, and you had to spend around $140 to get it. Well. That's all fine and dandy, but i don't really have $140 to spend on creams that i don't know and love just for a free make-up bag.

So Tuesday, there i was walking home with the rent money in tow, when i was distracted by the pharmacy. I decided to use this money (pretty much the bottom of my account) to buy the creams, score the bag, then walk to the pharmacy further along Van Horne to return the creams, cleverly removing the free gift from the bag and into the depths of my purse where it would remain. Forever. Well, with the freedom to move around from purse to purse, but definitely in my possession.

Except that pharmacy doesn't sell Dior. And you can't return products they don't sell. So, without a bus pass, and assuring every driver along the way that i would buy my March pass at the metro (a lie -- in order to save cash and get some exercise, I decided to forgo the pass this month), and walking where it wasn't possible, i went down to the one on Queen Mary. The return was successful, although they really make you go through a song and dance. Except i forgot to have them give me cash back, so the money went into my account, and i have a withdrawal limit, so when i got home, i was short some dough, and i had to confess my insane adventures. And now i share them with you, in hopes that you find it humorous, and that you too look for small and undetectable ways to beat the system. Even at the expense of your own time and energy.

Oh, the woes of being broke and having expensive tastes.

Jail Bird

2010-03-06T08:10:00.000-08:00

It seems the followers are worried. I would have written sooner, but I've been in the jailhouse.

Ok, not so. Actually, while I am a rebel at heart (would have been Bonnie or Billy the Kid had time permitted), what I've been up to is not that bad. Just a little mischief, rule bending, and heroic confiscation in the name of -- freedom?

It all began after an intense week during which the lovely and accommodating Rissa-Roo came over thrice to assist in the creation of my film portfolio. Then a sprint to finish up on friday, and edit like mad Saturday through Monday. By Tuesday I felt like I was coming down with whatever it was my sister and richard had (which my body miraculously fought off), and was delirious from staring at a computer screen nitpicking video clips for days.

Now, even though my sister was being a big ol' bitch --

example: when i begged to stay at their place working into the night (silently) as they slept, her and boyf refused, claiming they feared I'd film them in their sleep (WHAT THE FUCK!), disturb their peace of mind (although they let Shelley crash there all the time), and cause them discomfort. They didn't seem to care that by forcing me to quit prematurely they were jeopardizing my portfolio and my attempts at getting the fuck out of the current rut and pushing my life forward. They were actually exceptionally unaccomadating, unreasonable, and unhelpful, setting a new low for themselves as anti-mariannists. No, really. Her boyf challenges everything i say like i'm an idiot, but then doesn't listen to my responses, attacks my world view for not being as "open" as his, and yet doesn't believe in gay marriage because marriage is a sacred term. And sis just stands there following his lead. Oh, did i mention that he thinks corporal punishment is the only way to dicipline children? But studies world religions and goes to a meditation group. Oh, he's enlightened all right. But i digress. --

in spite of this, i felt protective when my sister mentioned that one of her photographs was now hanging in the office of Dawson, her former haunt, with which there has been a fair bit of trouble. She didn't feel she could contact anybody about this for fear of being punished, and was distressed. So I decided to take matters into my own hands (again, i stress, she neither requested nor deserved such heroic actions) and settle things with my charm, which is to say, irreverence and disregard for authority. Which is not to say, oh, my nosy employers, that i condone such actions at all times. We must all play the game, n'est-ce pas? Anyway, i basically stormed into the office of the culprit, scanned the walls until i found the illegallaly (for they own not the rights)displayed photograph, and confiscated it. Now the assholes working the office were pretty confused/ hostile/ and stupid. But the job was successful. I advised my sister to leave this one alone, lied about my reasons for thinking this, and dusted off my paws.

Alas, the next day my sister messaged me with an urgent confusion. Why, according to her sources, had the photo been taken down and replaced with a close-up of the sticky-fingered offender -- moi? What had i done?

Again, i lied, feeling it best to keep her knowledge and involvment to a minimum. But, without going into details, i requested to option the rights to her photography for two years. Basically, i had to spell things out for her, and since she doesn't trust me, suggested we write into the contract that she didn't have to consult or attain permission in order to distribute her own work, and that all profits went to her. Basically, i would just own the rights to her work for two years, and take care of things without her having to worry or get involved.

Well. My sister accused me of wanting to rip her off, get a quick buck by suing over rights infringement, and other sinister motives. Fuck that. I risked my ass out there, and really, after she treated me so badly (time, and time again)it was pretty generous of me to even think twice about her predicament. I wash my hands.

to be continued...

I am a criminal!

2010-03-02T20:51:00.001-08:00

Details to follow.

Peanut Butter and Jelly

2010-03-01T19:37:00.000-08:00

I couldn't resist! View my silliness here.

Barf

2010-02-28T08:52:00.001-08:00

I'm trying to edit the shorts I've been working on all week. My sister has the best and newest computer of everyone I know (I think she spent, like, $5000 on it), and it's equipped with imovie '09, which has all this user-friendly and super advanced technology (well, for a free program). It did not occur to me that she would not let me use it.

Leighland says that I have to stop expecting absolutely anything at all from anyone, and then I'll never be disappointed, hurt, or offended when they let me down. It's not that easy to get yourself into this state of mind.

Recently back from Cuba, my sister ignores my texts. When I finally get her on the phone, she interrogates me harshly for having gone over to her place last Monday, when she was away and our former roommate Shelley was house sitting. She is hostile and antagonistic when she asks why I don't use my computer (possibilities: a) her laptop from 2004, which crashes at random and doesn't support any semi-modern software, including an internet browser new enough to play youtube videos or b) my computer, circa 2005, which freezes, and also crashes at random, but is unique in that once it crashes the only way to get it to turn on again is to reboot the whole thing, wiping out everything on it).

She and richard have the flu, or some such ailment acquired in Cuba. She uses this as an excuse, saying it's for my own good. Forget about me making my own decisions. And really, what choice do I have? After interogating me further on the amount of footage I have, how long it will take me to edit, when it's due, how I made the film, etc.. she hangs up on me again, yelling "I'll call you back" as a warning this time. Two hours later she texts me saying her washer broke and she's off to Brossard to do laundry at the parents. Why wouldn't she let me access her computer while she was away? Why didn't she call me, or warn me? Later Leighland begs her to let me come over and use her software to stabilize my images on Sunday.

It takes me about 4 hours to upload my footage onto this crappy computer. Things crash, there isn't enough space, so I have to constantly delete material, and it won't let me insert a DVD to store what I don't need at the moment.

Afterwards, we start playing around with the editing tools. This is version 3 of what is now in version 9. The things it allows for are very limited, the software is confusing and rudimentary, and precision is an impossibility.

After many arguments with Leighland, who helped me immensely but doesn't quite know how to handle me and therefore receives the brunt of my frustration (repeatedly), I whimpered, gave up, and crawled into bed.

Mama Pajama

2010-02-28T08:21:00.000-08:00

Telephone conversation with my mother (following my sister's refusal to let me use her computer to edit my film).

Bee: How are you?

Me: Not well.

Bee: You're sick?

Me: Emotionally.

Bee: Why?

Me: I have to finish this movie by Monday and I don't have any software to edit it with (note: movie has been mentioned to both parental figures in the recent past).

Bee: Movie? Is this a homework? (Note: I graduated two years ago, and have not taken a single class since)

Me: No. I don't go to school. It's for my portfolio for my film school application.

Bee: A context?

Me: No, not for a contest. A portfolio. My application.

Bee: Ohhhh. Well I just wanted to tell you that we were at the couples conference today (church) and we're going to Niagra tomorrow (Niagra? WTF?).

Me: Ok.

Bee: Bye. Your mother and father love you.

Me: Yup. Bye.

Sigh. Why doesn't my mother know that I'm not in school, and therefore, do not have homework? Why can't she retain the things that are important to me? And why didn't she acknowledge that I had a problem that was a major obstacle that I didn't know how to resolve? I know she wouldn't have had any solution, but no acknowledgment? Sigh.

Fleurs de Mal

2010-02-27T07:23:00.001-08:00

Working on this project, and seeing people's reactions to the destruction of a book, has made me realize that I hold nothing sacred. Is that good, or bad?

domiMATRIX

2010-02-25T18:18:00.000-08:00

The best spam ever!

MatrixMagazine: hi, i'm 24/female/horny... i have to get off here but message me on my windows live messenger name Paris928love@hotmail.com

Looks like the people at Matrix are more in tune with what I want than I thought they were.

Patricia Allard

2010-02-25T11:43:00.000-08:00

I've been making a short for the Mel Hop. It's about spying, and image distortion. Very art school.

Perhaps it's because a criminal always returns to the site of the crime. Having mentioned the Hotel Omni episode circa 2008, I was tempted to step in at lunch and do some spying. If I didn't stumble across an elite conference. It was breaking up, but I managed to get some good footage of stuffy suit types enjoying their final coffees before moving on to whatever the corporate world had in store for them that afternoon.

In my sleuthing, I chanced upon a table with discarded identification tags. No reflection necessary. I scooped one up and thrust it into my pocket. Once satisfied that the remaining diners were sparse enough to not recognize (or question) my impersonation, I donned the id tag and infiltrated. At once I flagged down a waiter and requested some wine. Then another, carting away a few uneaten desserts. A third was consulted about the whereabouts of clean forks. And then, happily, I settled into one of the newly abandoned tables, and commenced my life as Patricia Allard.

In those stolen moments, I was able to fantasize about madame, and, self-satisfied, was relieved to find my irreverence intact. Prost.

Um, hi

2010-02-24T15:00:00.001-08:00

The ultimate triumvirate.

Allen Ginsberg, Anne Waldman, Robert Creeley

Maxtrix

2010-02-24T14:41:00.001-08:00

Yes, the new feminisms is the best Matrix cover yet, but why did they choose to sully it with those two dirty, dirty words? And what about X's terrible poems within?
1) Featuring a gaping grammatical error
2) To quote Mike Lake: "really?" What is this 1995?

Trash The Dress

2010-02-24T14:25:00.001-08:00

Um, I sort of love this. Trash the dress movement. It's so symbolic. You spend all this time and money choosing the perfect dress, then you burn/sully/destroy it. It's this thing brides are doing to prove their individuality, have a memorable wedding, and make a statement about how they won't need to wear the dress again. Except nobody seems to realize how this gesture turns the wedding ceremony into a farce. And how can you not interpret this as an analogy for the marriage itself? It's amazing!

Misunderstandings and Everything in Between

2010-02-24T10:12:00.000-08:00

A lot of the old ideas bore me. Is that normal? If you're bored, you're boring. But in many ways, although I'm not proficiently skilled at articulating them, I've internalized the things that used to interest and excite me. They now seem obvious when addressed in art or communication. Unfortunately, being out of school, and grossly immersed in the upkeep of the status quo, for reasons financial and psychological both, I'm not really exposed to new ideas, more complex thought patterns, or intellectual stimulation. This has resulted in my being almost exclusively bored.

It's been said that I act intellectually superior. The truth is, in many ways, I feel infinitely inferior to those living predominantly in the mind. My obsession with material possessions, my appearance, etc, is sick. Yes, I know. When it comes to great ideas, I'm stumped. My language and thought process is rudimentary at best. I'm not an enlightened despot because I'm not enlightened. I can't even use punctuation. And yet, there are things that I comprehend intuitively. The aesthetics of images, words on the page, the things people don't express but exude. And I like to think that I am working towards something. That even though my memory is nearly worthless, the information that passes through me is deposited, and leads to buildup in my brain, and that this "knowledge" informs my actions as I move forward. Chances are that if I read a book more than a year ago, I won't be able to tell you the characters' names, maybe not even the plot. But I can feel what it was putting forward, can trace the essence of the work in a hopelessly abstract way.

Miscommunication? That goes without saying. Still there's something to be said for triggering any kind of idea in somebody's mind. And if that happens to me, you better believe I'm going to run with it. And if my spikes rise because I feel challenged, provoked, or confused? Well, I don't know. It happens.

Doctor Me

2010-02-24T09:54:00.000-08:00

Recently got in touch with my former psychologist, circa like 2004 or something. I left a message on her machine, not really expecting her to remember me. When she called me back she said that she not only remembered me, but also recognized my voice right away. I wonder if she's one of those people with a mind able to catalog every patient she's ever seen, or I'm just memorable. She said she might have an opening in the spring.

This is the woman who had me make lists describing the kind of person I wanted to become. She believed in me as an artist. Knew I was always late. Coaxed me to take steps to separate from my family at a time when I was reliant on them, knowing that they were the ones who paid her. I don't remember how I found her, or where I was working. But I remember our Monday evening sessions in the old building on McTavish. The problems with the door. Her attic office with its zen rock garden, as incomprehensible to me then as it is now. Her voice, yes, that's still clear. Her boots. How she hated my clothes, but tried to conceal it. Once she had me come in dressed up as an adult. That was pretty funny. I didn't really own any "adult" clothing. This was before my mom threw away all my crazy vintage finds. Actually, Doctor T.B. (initials, people) was one of the first to try to separate me from my former attire. Convinced it was holding me back. The first to concretize ideas about how seriously our appearance influences not only how others perceive us (obvious) but actually plays a role in how successful we'll be (less obvious to me then).

Trying to decide whether it's best to look for somebody else or to wait around and see if I could work with her again. Pros and cons. For one, she already has an understanding of the kind of issues I've been dealing with for years, and I already know I don't hate her. But then, is it better to start anew, and not use her as a crutch? Not sure. But one thing is definite, private practice is very costly.

Lady Lazarus

2010-02-24T09:28:00.000-08:00

Hey Jane L. While googling your sister's website I remembered you and decided to see what you were up to. So I entered your name into the search engine. There were a couple of entries about you. Mostly stuff about the folky/ jazzy/ baroquey music you like to play. But right at the top of the list were Miss Lonelyhearts posts, circa 2008 when I stalked you at the Omni Hotel. I felt pretty bad. I mean, do you really want that to be what people see when they google you? Accomplish something already. Anyway, I decided to release you and remove your last name from those old posts. I mean, everybody else in these pages has been granted anonymity. At least until I'm successful enough to no longer give a shit about whether people are insulted or compromised. In the meantime, I'll embarrass you by pointing my readers in the direction of this little gem. Nice sandals. And that green jumpsuit? Priceless. This reminds me of the kind of thing I would have done while a student at Dawson. Today illogical, attention seeking, and probably fueled by pot. Where are those search for god cassette tapes, I wonder?

Six Minute Vanitas

2010-02-21T22:25:00.001-08:00

Emily Shanahan, from live in the lost.

live in the lost

2010-02-21T21:59:00.000-08:00

Emily Shanahan & Corina Kennedy

Liminal, fragmented, disconnected. Live in the lost sandwiches existence between the past and the present, alluding to a cultivated nostalgia that is made intelligent by distance. As a whole, the exhibition questions what it is to be present, complete, missing.

From the classical references in Shanahan’s study, to the avant-garde perdu in Kennedy’s 77 Yoko Ono Hair Pieces, the work moves through a non-linear timeline and carries into each era a notion of the fractured; many of the pieces fail to be complete in the traditional sense, and although selected pieces appear to form clusters in time, there is no overarching progression to define the experience. What then begins to appear is a hint of time – more specifically the “past” – as both here and gone, minus the measurement of how far gone, and how exactly here. The paradoxical imperative, live in the lost, becomes increasingly attainable; as the live (adjective) locates itself within that which has slipped away, it pulls the whole brouhaha within mind’s reach. And yet, the lost here is not exclusively temporal.

As one examines individual pieces, the pattern becomes prominent. Things are missing here. Limbs, faces, life – even Yoko Ono. The art, then, becomes a study of what constitutes a whole; and the question of whether life is carried on in the severed appendages teases the viewer.

Shanahan especially investigates this theme. Many of her classical inspired paintings feature statuesque figures and sculptural renditions from which key parts have been removed. Crumbled and eroded by time; or broken off by the artist? Both possibilities are entertained as one moves through the analogous representation of representation. Within this dialogue, an exploration of horror and darkness begins to emerge. The duo Head of Alexander and Head of Athena flatten and wash out once corporeal sculptures. The result: eerie and vacant glimpses into celebrated mythology. The disembodiment, then, becomes symbolic rather than incidental.

On another level, Nyx, Seer, Cupid #4 and Cupid #5 introduce a philosophical exploration of the void. Rich with dark, glossy strokes, this group of paintings pushes meaning forward from obscurity. Seer mirrors the disfiguring fear of Munch’s The Scream with blurred intentionality. Put into context by the surrounding theme of time, it gains a sickening sense of anxiety in the face of death. Paired together on a single wall, Cupid #4 and Cupid #5 enter into a charged exchange: the limbless #4 appears to emerge from a swirl of black, the headless #5 to retract into one.

Independently of these pieces, the video installation Six Minute Vanitas invites spectators to strap on headphones, turn their backs to the gallery, and meditate on death and the nature of transience. Contrary to the traditional stasis of the genre, Shanahan’s version employs technology, light play, sound and, delightfully, the human breath, to engage with the symbolism of the featured objects. A cow skull is framed by flickering candles – which are later extinguished – and adorned with plastic flowers. The limited life of the candles, imitated life of the flowers, and intimated life of the skull posits a modern eloquence in the execution of the vanitas, which is furthered by the chosen medium. And while the six minute clip suggests brevity and constraints, its cycling ad infinitum captures transience perhaps more accurately than the original model.

If Shanahan is concerned with enabling discourse between the classical and contemporary, Kennedy reconfigures the iconic. An interest in the fragmented is present alongside an investment in the effects of repetition, both acutely addressed in the aforementioned 77 Yoko Ono Hair Pieces. The sprawling arrangement is comprised of 77 black and white paintings on identical blocks of wood, forming a seemingly random pattern, the result of which is a rather arresting checkerboard portrait of that very famous hair. Individually, the pieces vary in texture, ratio, and complexity. Some are simple – nearly entirely black or white, unintriguing in their monotony. Others are complex to the point of creating optical illusions, poetic in their rendition. Together they challenge identity and the absolute, playing with the multiplicity that constitutes the individual and, cleverly, hair.

On a distant wall, AHair APart teases the memory of the hair pieces. Separate from the others, yet similar in style, this one stands a hair apart, so to speak, and yet, without the reference suggested by the previous work, entirely different, unidentifiable, mysterious. Barely resembling hair, upon closer inspection, the painting yields a humorous clue: the sweeping black is separated by what, in the hair world, is known universally as a part.

Kennedy’s paintings often take on a haunting quality that remains like an imprint upon the eye. From the first work encountered – a soft, wallpaper inspired vase whose flowers blur and bleed into the background – to the bizarre The Ambassador Inn – the exhibition literature offers another clue, and the answer it seems, is also in the wallpaper – color is muted, shaded, and layered, often having an otherworldly effect. Often the allusions in her work must be deciphered, at other times they seem private.

Glazed Girl is set apart from the other pieces by its ethereal eeriness and penetrating skill. At once zombie and flower child, the subject is rendered in wispy and hazy colors: across her belly stretches a gauziness that is suggestive of a womb into which we may peer, and flowers imprint a halo behind flowing hair that frames a hauntingly vacant face. In a collection of work that shows Kennedy’s skilled hand, Glazed Girl is exciting because it clearly pierces an entirely other level. This is the kind of coveted early work that will one day appear in a retrospective and garner marvel at its concentrated innocence and sophistication.

Warren G. Flowers Art Gallery, Dawson College, 4001 de Maisonneuve Ouest, through February 27.

Tired of blocking

2010-02-21T11:40:00.001-08:00

Internet! Stop sending me viagra spam! If I consume any more viagra my member will explode!

Olympic Hurling

2010-02-20T12:31:00.001-08:00

Yes, I'm on my period.

Last night Leelsy-poo (he's formally requested that I no longer refer to him by his real name in this space. I will not, however, be indulging his desire to be referred to as Mr. Big), and I stopped in at that (relatively) new pharmaprix express on Sherbrooke at the corner of Cote-Des-Neiges. It's mostly a prescription filling station, so they don't really have much merchandise lining the four or five waist high shelves.

I picked out some pads, and we made our way to the counter. The two girls were busy filling prescriptions, and didn't even acknowledge our presence. After about 5 minutes I tried to convince Leels to abandon our mission. He insisted we stay. Another few minutes later, a girl finally came over to the counter. She looked at us, then called over to this man that had been waiting on the side for his prescription. Now normally I would not have reacted. However, this man was pretty dirty looking, and I did not want my feminine hygiene products handled after an encounter with his contaminated particles. And I was irritated by the fact that both girls were ignoring us. And they didn't have any Orangina, which I was craving.

I grabbed the pads, let out a sigh of frustration, and turned away. I could sense Leels moving to attempt to beckon me back. At this point I had reached the aisle. I let out a grunt and hurled the pads at the shelf. Luckily, as Leels pointed out, it was so bare that nothing tipped over.

Outside in the snow Leels was cross. "You just had a tantrum in the store like a two-year old!" Instead of being embarrassed, remorseful, or even still irritated, I instantly became amused. I started laughing. Asking about their reactions behind me. I mean, it wasn't a very serious offense, and I managed to vent some major frustration. "I'm on my period. I'm allowed to be irrational!" This won Leels over. He started laughing too. "Must be the Olympic spirit. A sudden burst of athleticism inspired you to slam dunk those ipads right into the shelf!"

As we continued on our way, I was suddenly in high spirits. I yipped at a dog who passed us wearing a flashing rain jacket (I kid thee not, there was a flashing warning light adhered to the back), and howled at another who came around the corner. I ran into one of those snobby apartment buildings between Cote-des-Neiges and Atwater and randomly dialed numbers on their intercom, then ran back out and tried to shove Leels into the snow. I worked myself up into such a tizzy that by the time we got to Atwater I had depleted my energy and was dizzy and faint. So it goes, with (prescription) drug withdrawal.

Now, one might make a case for being of such a rock-solid nature that emotions and circumstance don't hinder performance or dictate behavior. But what about those of us who define ourselves by exactly that? Must we rationalize our actions and adhere to a predetermined code of living? It might not make me a more ethical person, but I prefer to let the living go on in the moment. I choose to act genuinely in conjunction with what a given instance puts before me. I hope to continue to surprise/ embarrass/ delight myself, and defy definition. Isn't there a philosophical treatise on that?

Queen of the Knit

2010-02-20T11:06:00.000-08:00

Sonia Rykiel for H&M? Pretty disappointing. Especially the discovery that this cute canary dress is not a dress, but an ensemble comprised of a great skirt, and a not-so-great ruffly top emblazoned with tacky jewel/stone things. Sort of like what treasure trolls used to sport. The skirt will look cute with these white spider-webby fishnets I've recently acquired and a white top. It's bejeweled counterpart will look awful on somebody else.

ipod Part II

2010-02-19T09:15:00.001-08:00

It seems that putting a password on your pod is the stupidest thing you can do. Turns out the only way to get past it is to reset the pod to factory settings, thereby eliminating the possibility of locating the owner. Conscience clear.

Why I Am Not Zen

2010-02-18T09:01:00.000-08:00

I'm really irritated right now with people who make decisions that have an impact on other people's daily lives and act like they have a brain made out of cheese just because they sit at the head of the table.

I'm tired of the motivation for everything being money, power, and hedonism.

How can I avoid being trapped in this cycle?

I used to be really obsessed with questions of identity. I don't care about identity anymore. I care about freedom. This evil trifecta can't possibly be the only way to freedom.

But even if true freedom exists only in the mind, it would be nice to have a little leeway where external factors are concerned. And yet I box myself in everyday. I know I have an active role in building the prison. I don't deny it. And yet, the bars are there. And the bars are money, power, hedonism. I guess it depends on what side of them you stand on. And how badly you bash your head up against them.

This isn't very deep thinking. But it does help to articulate even the most simple ideas. Even if only to prove to myself that I haven't drained my soul completely. Yet.

!@#

2010-02-17T20:53:00.001-08:00

I know I only swore off ebay less than 24 hours ago, but how can i possibly continue without this Marc Jacobs tshirt?

i pod

2010-02-17T13:23:00.000-08:00

Forgot to mention that i found an ipod touch the other night on the street.
I almost didn't pick it up because it looked run-over and dirty.
Then i almost threw it back because it didn't turn on and looked broken.
Turns out the battery was dead, but there's a password.
To Chinatown! Where they make the illegal possible. Does that sound racist?

Vote here. To return, or to keep?

Meme Me

2010-02-17T08:30:00.000-08:00

Trying to get my work out there as much as possible. Sending poems out on a weekly basis, applying for another grant, writing about everything.

Good news! Turns out that I'm not writing this short screenplay project out of love for film, but actually for money. Not a whole lot of money, mind you. But almost enough to book a flight to Mexico.

More good news! I manipulated the work schedule to tack on my measly 2 1/2 vacation days, and 1 1/2 floater to Easter break. Vacation! Vacation in Mexico? Yes, I think so. April is the cruelest month after all. Sorry. I can't resist the urge to use that line every single year. But it is one of the best poems of all time. Am I boring for thinking that?

I did not make the shortlist for the CBC lit awards. But, on the bright side, neither did anybody, uh, questionable that I know of.

Amour Fou

2010-02-15T15:01:00.000-08:00

Is it crazy to be in love with a gay man you don't know? Because I swear, I am actually in love with Marc Jacobs. Look at this! Thankfully he agreed to my request and sent me this valentine in the mail. Now I'll be wearing my heart on my wrist.

Bumble and bumble

2010-02-15T14:22:00.000-08:00

Uhm, I'm sorry, but when exactly did I become busy?

On my plate: 2 bar reviews due yesterday, a film school portfolio (which includes 10- 20 photographs!), art show review, anarchist magazine review, a short screenplay to complete, poetry reading to attend, stack of books to go through (and review), doctor's appointments, payments to make, deadlines to meet... WTF?

Leighland and I went to see Geometry in Venice. I was rooting for the precocious kid to die, which of course, he did. The audience was very, uh, mature. Their reactions reflected this. They gasped at the most predictable moments, including when one character touched another's breast. Seriously? Another old woman yelled at a stranger for disrupting her by passing by to exit her seat. There's really no other way out of the aisle, lady. Leighland got embarrassed when I wanted to run onto the stage at the end and steal one of the many bouquets used in the play. It was the last show, and I'm sure all the actors were bogged down with flowers from the previous performances. Then he got miffed when I snuck down to look at this cool vintage purse used as a prop. And then he got pissed when I tried to bite his ear. Apparently I am a public nuisance. Especially when taken to one's place of employment.

After that I went alone to barfly for the first time in years. I'm writing a review, you see. It was entertaining, but nowhere near as good as it was in the golden days. There were only a handful of musicians playing. None of the old faces. Oh, before getting there I took the 80 the wrong way from Parc metro and got lost in Parc Ex. Not fun. It was dark and all these weirdos were eying me. I waited 20 minutes in the cold for the same bus driver to loop back and pick me up. Why didn't he just tell me when I spoke to him that the next bus was him in 20 minutes instead of telling me to get off and go to the next street? This is what I mean about people being assholes. Of course the driver is not obliged to act like a human being. I don't think it's specified in his contract. However, it's undeniable that he knows the route and schedule he's on. And he knew that the bus going south would have passed, and I'd be stuck in the cold. Alone. In the dark. This is why I am a hater. Also, on the bus this crazy woman spat out some weird huge white thing at me while talking. Gross.

Ebay is full of maniacs. These people instantly leap into an insane rage at the drop of a hat. Ohmygod. And what is with the whole defensive crackpot thing? And using feedback as a threat. Fuck you.

Eureka!

2010-02-13T10:00:00.000-08:00

Just like that -- at work, an idea! A great idea for my next poetry project.

Love Bunny

2010-02-12T07:16:00.000-08:00

Trying to figure out where to go for dinner on Sunday when I came across this on the menu at Suite 701.

“Energizer bunny wings”
«Ailes» de lapin au Red Bull et sirop d’érable
Red Bull rabbit “wings” and maple syrup

Sick.

Spring Ahead

2010-02-09T13:32:00.001-08:00

In my attempts to stay ahead of the, uh, pack, I've created a formspring account. So check it out and ask me deep and philosophical questions that will allow me to demonstrate how talented and, uh, deep I am.

Ask me anything.

Earth

2010-02-09T12:11:00.000-08:00

This all reminds me of another installation I did while staying at my parents house a few years ago.

Earth, Marianne P*erron, 2007.
Coffee grinds, melon peel and pulp, orange, grape on stem.

3rd floor, complaint department

2010-02-09T07:17:00.000-08:00

Yesterday I went to see Dr. L. Told her about how the depression has been building up again, about how much I struggle to stay productive and lucid, how exhausted I am all the time. How difficult it is to stay on top of work, curb my irritability, combat feelings of uselessness and futility.

I expressed my frustration at my inability to convey these feelings to the people around me. She said not to expect anybody to understand. Really? I think some people do, but probably, if you've never been really, I mean clinically, depressed, you don't. It's like being underwater all the time. Yes, you can move. Sometimes more easily, other times with great difficulty. You can even laugh while underwater if you get your head up long enough. But you're always working against something. It's always that much harder to keep breathing.

Am I going to spend my entire life submerged underwater? I don't know.

Doctor L wants me to try a different drug. Think about it, she said. Call me.

Vacancy

2010-02-09T07:14:00.000-08:00

At work. I am seriously expected to sit here and stare off into space for 8 hours a day, 5 days a week, until there's something for me to do, or a client snaps my out of my coma.

Why? Because I get paid while at work. Not to google, facebook, write, or, apparently, think.

Is this not completely depressing? How am I supposed to get out of bed in the morning when this is what my life looks like?

My life as an artist

2010-02-08T18:51:00.000-08:00

This morning I had some grapes. Still half asleep, I stumbled back to my room. I stood there, grape stem in hand, and contemplated. Then I slid the stem into a glass of water I had hanging around on my dresser.

Later, my monthly injection of art came in the mail. I grabbed the magazine and perused it on the metro. I was pretty excited by the picture on the front cover, and the other work by that artist. When I got back home I stepped into my room, magazine in hand, and the forgotten installation on my dresser caught my eye.

1. The root of my trouble, Marianne P*rron, 2010.
2. From HIC SUNT LEONES, Danh Vo, 2009.

Slip Limbed

2010-02-07T16:33:00.000-08:00

What better time than now to purchase my book?

Ditch Me

2010-02-07T12:52:00.000-08:00

A very productive Saturday night resulted in my work being published on the ditch website.

Some of these are new poems. Some are older and more experimental pieces that nobody else wants to publish. Yay ditch.

This One's For You, Dave

2010-02-06T20:02:00.000-08:00

Harlot

Julie Ruin died a long time ago.
Secretarial assets silenced
by a friendly revolution.

Hands off.
Kill the lights, jump in, let go.

Dynamite in the lungs.

Love: Melissa, Justine, and Clea.

Discussing the world
in obituary terms

they fall out of dissension
and back in line again.

When she was bad, she was bad

2010-02-06T09:17:00.000-08:00

I know I have to try harder to be supportive of people, and like them more, and not be so bitter, and disgruntled. It's true that people generally have to work to get me to like them, rather than the opposite, but that doesn't make me a bad person. It's just that I'm usually indifferent. There's so much stuff going on, and things to observe, think about, do... how could I possibly maintain the energy to keep myself together if I were always cooing, and fussing about other people? I also have issues with people that I don't think deserve things getting them. And it's not always a question of liking, really. But then, who the hell am I to decide who deserves what?

I like to be around people that make me want to try harder, and be more positive, and kinder. I'm a tough critic, but when I love somebody, I love them entirely and am loyal to the end.

My issues lately have been around my own lack of success and that of others. But it's so hot and cold. I have absolutely no resentment for some, and nothing but contempt for others. What changes things? Is it the attitude of the other towards me? Is it the threat or lack of? Is it that verb: to deserve?

In the past year or so I have written a lot of emails to people. Some that I know, others that I don't. I've been utterly disappointed by the lack of empathy, encouragement, and support in our community. I've had people simply ignore my questions, where a polite can't help you would have done. I've had strangers take moments in their busy, busy schedules to give me some words of wisdom (example the remarkable Erin Moure). I've had friends suggest me for jobs they were more qualified for, turn me on to aspects of my writing that I could be developing.

Heard a woman (who in turn ignored my questions about how to make a career as a freelancer) praise the support of another woman, X, (a stranger to her) who was absolutely cold, and even condesending towards me. What was the difference between stranger A and B in woman X's mind? What changed the way she reached out to or recoiled from us? Was it experience? Rank? Sucess? Why would you offer help, support, a fucking bed to sleep in, to somebody already known in the industry, and disdain to somebody with little more than a toe in the door?

I've sent my writing and resume out a thousand times. Asked people if they knew people. Had my hand slapped. Been told that an income of 15,000 a year is a lot of money (Celest laughed at that one). Had a great idea pretty much put into my hands by a friend's boyfriend. Been passed over for awards I deserved and grants I needed. Been ignored, ignored, ignored. Discouraged. Been told that interns must come from Paris, France. Had a former professor turn his head on a crie de coeur.

I don't want to be that kind of person. Don't want to destroy people instead of building alliances. Don't want to hate you because your poetry is boring and your name is on everybody's tongue. Don't want to envy your paycheque and schooling. Don't want to begrudge you your book deal. Don't want to prove anything.

Bitters

2010-02-05T06:40:00.000-08:00

The amazing Jessica Dolan is currently editing a pile of poems I've been hiding in my room for an eternity. I have so many poems now that I really need to get them out of the way. I'd really like to publish a book sometime in the next year. If you're a publisher (or sleeping with one) and you're reading this, contact me.

Working on footsies, a short film about a foot and a hand with Celeste. Pretty glad that she got me on board this project. What at first sounded like a questionable idea (not hers) is actually turning out to be pretty creative and interesting. Now all I have to do is woo the director/ financer and convince him to let me co-direct.

A Serious Man. Not that good, people, not that good. Not bad, don't get me wrong. But not nearly as darkly humorous, and attentive as everyone has led me to believe. The film seemed to me just a bit off. Nothing hit the mark as I think it could have. The characters were soft, the irony pickled, and the jokes, urm, threadbare. I think there was real potential here. Obviously brilliant writers/ directors, a poignant idea about humanity, and everybody's favorite -- Jewish humor. I can't quite put my finger on what spoiled it for me. The timing, maybe. The punches. Not quite cynical, or dark, or tragic enough.

In other news, Celeste is experiencing a long overdue turn of events, and is championing me not to give up; I applied to grad school at U de M, and am in the process of applying to film production at Concordia; Gareth fought the law and, unfortunately, the law won; people want to write for Grasshopper Reads; there are pretty girls around; and I've got 3 more projects on the horizon.

Late late late

2010-02-05T06:38:00.000-08:00

Wednesday, I was so paranoid about getting to work late that I actually set my alarm, got up, did my whole (rushed) morning routine, caught the bus and got to work. An hour early. I was not pleased when I found the doors locked, looked down at my phone and realized what I'd done. And all for nothing, because there was nobody there to notice. And let me tell you, nothing is happening at the bookstore at 9:00 sharp. Nothing.

Burgundy

2010-02-03T12:24:00.000-08:00

My latest incarnation: bar reviewer. I got a job reviewing bars in Montreal for a travel guide. It's surprisingly easy, and pretty fun too. Well, so far. It'll stop being fun if they send me to Foufs or Mad Hatters. Shudder.

My next incarnation: Stylist. Celeste suggested this the other night after the gym. It would be pretty fun, and I think I'd be good at it. But now, where can I find people who can afford to hire a stylist? If you know anyone, pass this on.

Shadow

2010-02-02T12:00:00.001-08:00

"It's an opportunity to shake off your bad habits, your state of disillusionment, your resignation to bitterness and routine... and make something extraordinary happen." C.

Sigh. Is this directed at me?

Slip

2010-02-01T01:04:00.001-08:00

Me, you, and everyone we know

2010-02-01T00:40:00.001-08:00

Back by popular demand.

Yup that's me. Good and bad things have happened. I'm being published X2. I've been rejected for another grant, this time for my second screenplay about nuns. I'm co-writing a short about feet(?) and hands (?). I have a poetry nemesis, and boy do I think she's boring. Especially when she reads in that sex voice. I'm obsessed with Muybridge's horse. I review bars for cash. I'm late for work everyday. I no longer take pills for depression and other casual ailments. I have a new obsession with designer bras. I can recognize a Marc Jacob's in a crowd any day. I think Leonard Cohen is boring. I do laundry at my sister's. I read Canadian literature. I want to live in the Guggenheim Bilbao. I hate, hate, hate the silent Z.

Brand Me

2010-02-01T00:31:00.000-08:00

Am I a brand? Sometimes I think I'm the furthest thing from it. If I was a brand, I'd be the kind of brand you could always rely on to surprise you. But is that a good thing, or a bad thing?

The kind of unpredictable brand you'd have to judge on an item by item basis. Sometimes so rock solid and amazing you'd have to tell everyone you know about it -- at other times a reimbursers nightmare that'd make you go "what the fuck is this shit?".

Brand me.

I mean it. Turn me into something I can market to somebody out there. But please don't take away my bad hair days and sloppy spelling and uncontrollable urge to tell everybody everything about myself/ the world as I see it/ everybody else.

Rage

2009-12-24T20:33:00.001-08:00

It's been brought to my attention that it seems from reading my blog that I've developed a certain rage. The truth is, I'm really not angry at all. Frustrated, yes. Angry, no. I've been way angrier at other times in my life than I am now. My public outbursts stem more from an annoyance at people for acting as though they are the only ones in the universe. Why do we let people get away with acting this way? It's criminal.