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Friday, February 2nd, 2007
4:55 pm - at the end-beginning
And here I am, at the end of a week where I can say, I WORKED HARD, about to meet my mum for drinks and burgers at a pub on the way home; the snowy way home. From the top floor of my (office) building the human eye penetrates the fog only so far. On clear days I feel as though I can see straight up to the tundra, but when it snows, Ohhhhh when it snows, the Peace Tower and the library, all the old buildings on parliament hill, seem spectral, haunted. I must remember to look out the window more often. People scoff at working in an office building, but do they not realise how wonderful it can be to appreciate SUCH A VIEW?

The plan is to meet up with my, literal, home-girls, tomorrow night, to catch the film we saw being mixed in LA. Reconnection and continued connection are important things. There is no need to explain myself to these girls (or women rather), it is ok to share moments of silence, there is no demand, only a history of caring, and bickering, and crying and travelling and playing music, and falling in love. THANK YOU FOR BEING IN MY LIFE YOU GUYS!

Mmmmmmm hamburger, is all I have to say right now (thoug minus the bun of course as we are now GLUTEN, CAFFEIN, POULTRY, DAIRY, AND SUGAR (OF ANY KIND INCLUDING CANE, HONEY, SYRUP ETC) FREEEEEEEE. You know, that's something I thought I could never really acheive, but for me, and my self, it is worth it. Though I have been really really craving yogen fruz...when it is time to cave, yogen fruz and I have A DATE.

peace
n

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Thursday, December 7th, 2006
10:19 pm - it's been a long long while in the snow
This whole time...this entire time, I've been here, in Vancouver, doubling my sweaters and wearing my tuque with the sparkly pink and purple pom-pom on my frozen way to my first 9-5 job. And I swear, Stanley Park in the snow is a fairy tale come to life. Gigantic trees in white. Sigh. Like any German fairy tale you ever imagined, like the Nutcracker was going to dance you to the Sugar Plum Fairy's palace right there and then.

And in a week I am off. To Seattle. Another city of my heart that I haven't seen in a couple of years. I'm going to go to the market, and the university, and drop in on my old landlord, and puruse the gorgeous downtown and hang out with all the old friends who were fellow celebrators at the winyls (wine and records = winyl). I HEART THE PACIFIC NORTHWEST IN A BIG WAY. And yet I am half a south-wester now. This is what I plan to do - but who knows...

Oh, and my southwestern self can indeed confirm that YES, Kimmy(ie) and Leanna, the lady that I saw at the Grove in LA was Gwen Stephanie (I saw this old paparazzi pic of her in the exact same dress, with the exact same ultra-blonde hairdo, and the exact baby sleeping on her shoulder).

I am sitting alone, for once, in the home of my adopted Vancouver family, who has graciously let me live with them while I hang out in Canada.

I have just eaten a delicious and huge raw kale salad. My body thanks me.

In other news, there is little news, my mind feels sometimes like outer space, and I love this. I poke at my Russian. Mir is the Russian word for peace (though in cyrilic it looks cooler). I am reading "Snow" by Orhan Pamuk, a Turkish novle so beautiful a paragraph describing a man standing at the edge of a street in a country he has not seen in fourteen years made my eyes spill over. I met a man who speaks five languages and escaped the Algerian civil war as a stow away to Spain on his brother's boat. The world is miraculous. And like Ivo Andric (great Yugoslav writer, Bosnian? Serbian? Forgive me, I forget) but as Ivo Andric says "We are all witnesses to one another's stories". Yes. Let's look at life like that.

What a healthy life is made of for Nova:
eating greens
stretching
running
play with words
learning new words in different languages (Russian yes. German, Greek, Turkish? Oh the abundance)
USING MY BRAIN FOR SCHOLARLY PURSUITS HOW I LOVE TO LEARN OH YES

Oooooh, and le Christmas giving must begin! Indeed.

Mir
N

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Saturday, October 28th, 2006
5:48 pm - parpateticism
Parapateticism is about to reign again as I find myself northward bound. It's gypsy time, a time of so much great unknown, I'm attempting not to quiver at any little future monsters, any ideas of what MIGHT happen, and instead just let it be. I'm reluctant to write, but feel the urge to say, that I'm looking forward to work, hopefully something monotonous and physical so that I can do two jobs at once. Everyone who makes art has two jobs at once. Everyone who makes art is a loser until they "make it". This is not how I feel, of course, but what I observe, and it makes me feel like I'm playing a little game. Didn't some wise woman once tell me that if I could but view life as a game I would feel light and free? No one knows what you're doing in your head, and so you can always be working, always be creating on top of the external form that your life is taking at say your DAY JOB.

On the subject of said DAY JOB, a dear friend wrote "our patient lord has many other plans for us" and somehow this phrase was so comforting and bautiful, I think it was the word "patience" that was most attractive to me here, and so this one has stuck with me for use at many opportune moments.

So how to make my next move? You will know your next step from the step you are taking right now. I read that sentence over and over in one of my favourite books. I keep that sentence as the main weapon in my arsenal at the moment. And I've been outright denying myself, I've let myself get a little lost in past habits and have a lack of eyelashes to show for it. What I've been denying are the WORDS. Let's face it, I'm a wordie. I thought, what is the point of writing, what is the point of the novle, what is the point of the fucking poem or essay. Plays, I see a point to, because of their political abilities and so I've befriended the idea of stage again, though it is, for me, the most unfamiliar genre. But then I realised that there is nothing external in any of these attempts, they are all ESSAI's, and the point is really only to please myself. Though my thoughts are bungled and unclear, this is a symptom of me not taking the time to do what I need to do for myself. This has been a five month roller coast and it's time for me to take more responsbility again.

Though over these five months I beleive I have begun to learn how to be silent and still, and this has been a great gift.

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Monday, October 9th, 2006
6:47 pm - bike gliding
I am now twenty-three, and suddenly I feel that YES I am an adult, I am capable of making my way in the form-filled part of the world: mostly what I mean by this is the job part, an aspect of life that I try not to dwell too much on, as ultimately, it's not the WHAT but the HOW.

since the eve of my birthday (when I was up till 4 AM with the muses rocking out around me...how lucky am I?) I have suddenly been inspired to do things, whereas, for the past five months something in me has been telling me to stay very very still, and very very quiet, I couldn't even write, was anxious at the thought of putting words together because there came a point when they all sounded the same. But now the fire has returned. Will 23 be the year of fire? Like the painter has her periods (hah hah, she's a fertile one)...ahem...while the artist has periods when they explore related themes, or the same themes over and over, so too does life?

Anyway; suddenly the words seem possible again, I am a word-artist, a story-sculptor, why do I always seem to forget this and think that I should be something else? That's the impressionable nature of my self.

So current writing projects include: too many to mention until they are done, I get superstitious even talking about it all just in case it never works out. The flipside is, of course, if you make your projects known, then it pushes you to finish them. Let's just say that suddenly stories are becoming much more visual to me, maybe I'll take some sort of design class, something I've never considered until I couple of months ago. Design is something I know nothing about...shapes and colours, light and shadow, texture...alright I know a little bit from all of my film study, but it would be cool to learn a little bit.

A call to the S-bird if she reads this and any design-type book come to mind? This is a very broad request, I realise, but whatever strikes you.

Some films to consider:

Lynne Ramsay's "Ratcatcher", it's soooooooooo beautiful

and something not necessarily the world's best film, but if you're feeling dreamy, lost and feminine "Summersault" an australian film.

I'm drinking KOMBUCHA! Damn I love that stuff

I road my bike all over today, and am now going to look up a recipe for peanut sauce

peace

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Thursday, September 21st, 2006
11:31 am - los angeles journals
Ordering take-out champagne, orange juice and cigarettes in Los Angeles, at 2 am? No problem.

This is the strangest, dirtiest, dreamiest, most exotic yet disconsolate city. I'm meeting so many dreamy drifters and trying not to get too caught up in the fuzz-haze of want, I have to remind myself over and over that the film industry is not the place I strive desperately to be, I am done with the striving.

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Saturday, September 16th, 2006
10:28 pm
Great Vastness.

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Wednesday, September 13th, 2006
7:16 am - It is all I can do...
to keep myself afloat I must sweat: running, hiking, swimming, biking, yoga; get the heart pounding, and the blood coursing, the cells are a trillion life rafts taking me away. There is something so satisfying in seeing the muscles of your own thighs stretch and flex, they appear out from under your stomach, a curved v pointing down towards the knee. And if you run on a dirt path this sensous visual is accompanied by a soft grinding noise as the rubber sole of your shoe twists into the earth again and again; small moments of aural decadence. And of course there's the butt-clench on the hiking days. Striding up-hill you feel yourself, by your own might, fashioning a girdle of muscel to hold up those two - often troublesome - moons of flesh. Later, in the pool, speeding away in front crawl, it's the scapulae and rotator cuff where you feel it most: "it" being THE WORK that you've donned your suit and goggles to do. This back and forth back and forth between the plastic lane ropes, one narrow path, one firm diretion, back and forth and back and forth, breath breath, another rhythmic breath, head to the sun, you bob and bob, all for the pleasure of feeling a burn and then a loosening through the shoulders and down the length of your back. Discovering the lift that pumping blood can give to the soul is like getting a key out of jail; you've crawled, if only momentarily, from the tunnel.

And then you can sit back in your kitchen: listen to Hollywood, try to find the silence here, try not to get sucked into the sadened eyes of the baboushkas that totter up and down the street in their headscarves, try not to stare too long at the distended guts of the Russian men who undo their buttons to the navel and glare at you through their silvery sunglasses, patting at their tufts of white chest hair. Go to the Sprout Man at the market on Mondays who'll hand you a shot of wheatgrass in a silver tray and say, as you shoot the green stuff right in front of him, "may the power be with you."

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Sunday, September 10th, 2006
3:20 am - WOOOOHOOOO
I found a place to run, oh yes indeed I did.

Thank you Beverly Hills for sharing your running path with me.

Current music LOVING Sia, particularly the song Numb. Saw Sia live at the Hollywood Bowl with Zero 7, I recommend to all, she's got the most amazing vocal control, ear and style that I've heard in a long long time, though you can't really tell from the recordings. And then we got to say hello to her! Which was pretty cool, an LA moment. You go to a concert then go to the Rosevelt Hotel for a drink and suddenly there's Sia and Zero 7 on the other side of the lounge having a drink. Goodness gracious.

She rocks.

And running Rocks.

I smell and I am hungry.

peace

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Tuesday, June 6th, 2006
12:50 pm - Writing Warm Up
Alright so
here is where I am, I am totally trying to be here NOW. BE HERE NOW. Los Angeles is energetic, even at five thirty in the morning I could still feel people going, like people go in their sleep, or they have already awoken and are GOING. I can see the Hollywood sign from my neighbourhood, just a short trot around the corner and there it is, looming, spectral in the hills. The hills are pale green and dusty, everything here is dusty, as opposed to it's opposite, which is wet, which is what I left behind.

The body becomes looser in Los Angeles, because of the heat, you feel like you've done Bikram without doing Bikram, not that I know because I've never done Bikram, but I could if I wanted, right here in my living room. The people are nice, though the atmosphere is urgent, and more aggressive than in Canada. The people will stop their mercedeses to let you cross the street, they will smile at you. But it is hot, and there are lots of them, so you can't expect too much. While the muscles may remain loose here the mental energy ricochets off your own sphere and you can't help but take it in.

The flora is amazing. Each block of my neighbourhood is covered with the most exotic blossoms I have ever seen. Trees filled with fragile purple petals that spiral to the ground. Right on my sidewalk are these tall rusty, red stalks that blossom at the top with generous orange folds; water falls of petal so bright I can't bear to look on them at certain times of day. And in the afternoons the sun filters through a canopy of tiny fuscia flowers casting a pink glow over my kitchen.

I live in the Curson Lodge, where all apartments face inwards onto a little walk way. I don't see the street, so it's like being in my own little town. It was built by set builders in the thirties, or maybe earlier, so it's done as an old movie set, faux-tudor style lodges, think old England. There's a court yard at the back enclosed by more apartments where my neighbours sit out on their patios and share dinner. Everyone knows everyone else's business here. It's impossible not to, what with the echos and people's strong opinions. We've got giant ferns and and enormous jade plant out front. There are prayer flags in the back. Which was comforting.

I live close to all the main streets. Sunset. Santa Monica. Melrose. Hollywood Blvd. They are all just streets.

And there are palm trees, disproportionate and shaggy and suspended in the sky.

current mood: quixotic

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Saturday, May 20th, 2006
12:34 pm - Recap
I feel as though it's been a while since I gave a decent update on my life, which is what this little tool is supposed to be for.

Last night was my going away party. A modest affair...with the usual party weirdness. It didn't feel so much like a farewell, as I'm still here and will see many people again before I leave. We ate absolutely un-nourishing food and imbibed large quantities of wine. Before the party my girlfriend came over from the Island for the day to visit, which was really wonderful. And we ran into my TEACHER, MY GERMAN ROCK STAR TEACHER. She was buying compost for her garden. I was so glad that someone in my life has met her and can attest to her character and its uniqueness. I can barely describe this woman, but she's had such a profound affect on the way I think of myself as a woman, an artist, a potential mother and a scholar. This woman, my teacher, managed to balance all three aspects (motherhood, artistry, academia) clearly not all at once, but within the course of her lifetime. She equates the acts of teaching and performance, which is obvious in her classroom; she's giving a performance every day. She has a fascinating accent and her delivery of information is just stunning, how she gesticulates, how she speaks. You should see her waving her hands up there with her half German half English accent.

Anyway, a role model like I've never had. The Parents are coming today as I convocate on Wednesday. I have a great dress, and the Man will also be here and we'll go out to dinner and pack up the rest of my house, and then on Friday the Man will pull that truck out from the curb and out of Van.

I went camping with a girlfriend last week, Denman Island and Hornby Island, the Northern Gulf Islands. We hitchhiked the entire time, as it's the only way to get around in these tiny tiny remote communitites. After a hike on the bluffs we hitched a ride with a woman in her late forties and her elderly mother. Of course, we made small talk and so she was asking what we planned to do next. I said I was moving to Los Angeles. Her response to this was "I'm so sorry." I'm starting to find this amusing, I've gotta get down there and see what all this apologising is really about. I've so far only visited.

The camping itself was an unbelievable experience. Hornby Island is fucking incredible. The people honestly glow, I'm not kidding. There's a permanent community of about 1000 people on this Island. We got to see the community in action one night because there was a blues festival going on on the island so we attended one of the public concerts at the Fire Hall. I could not tell whose child was whose, because all the adults were treating the young children as if they were their own. The children were not afraid to speak to any of the adults. The teenagers and the elderly people were interacting like friends. Everyone looked so healthy, incredible skin, great hair, and they just moved and sat with such comfort. Everyone knew everyone else. It struck me most in the young kids who were so self posessed. I remember being afraid of adults, especially in situations when I was outnumbered. Not these kids. And the most amazing thing was just the conversations that people would start up with you. The people would offer information without you ever having to prompt them.

It was incredible. I had mega mega culture shock coming back to the city after only three days.

Hopefully I'll go out on a run today. See mama and papa. Read some more of my book. Maybe I should work too? That would be smart. I have to read a whole bunch of literature for my course in August.

Right-o.

Rock on.

Peace.

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Sunday, May 7th, 2006
1:27 am - Et Voila
I am done school. That's right. Done school. Got rad marks.

What's happened since my last update? I've eaten a lot of food. I really need to start running again, and maybe go raw for a while. It's amazing how much more energy I have, and how much better I feel, when I eat raw. Been drinking too much with the creative writing folk lately. Been trying to recover from getting really ill after school. Mi esposo is coming in TWO WEEKS to help me pack up and LEAVE VAN. This is huge, this transition is so gargantuan.

What else? On earth day I got a candlelit tai chi session at eleven pm in our yard by my amazing goddess neighbour who lives below. It was awesome, she and her girlfriend lit a bunch of candles outside and turned all the lights off in their apartment, and they were playing a CD of the Dali Lama chanting. Tai chi is definitely something I think I'll take up once I get to LA, I think I'll need it. Also, stopped brushing my hair and wore the same shirt five days in a row. I think I've "let myself go". But I had to. Figure out how to make me-friendly (read caffeine free and dairy free) chai tea, from scratch, meaning in a pot on my very own stove. Secret ingredient: lotsa peppa. Black peppa.

Fighting my way through a re-write, spent two hours on the first couple of paragraphs of this one story that I am DETERMINED to keep working on. But they all say it, and by all I mean Joan Didion, who is the master, says it: beginnings are the toughest part. She said she used to sit in a room literally papered with false starts and convince herself she'd just had a seisure and gone aphasic. So I don't feel so bad, just still frustrated. Also, Kevin Chong told my yfriends and I that reading your own writing is like listening to your own voice played back on a tape recorder: it all sounds kind of deranged and not-quite-right.

Since the writing classes have ended I've had two workshops with my good friend, K. We drank a lot at both. Her story is marvelous. She's much bolder than I, and I think much truer. Really it's all about the truth, and I think she knows what that is for her, though she thinks she doesn't.

Immigration is on the horizon. And a baby! our good friends in LA are totally having a baby, she's six weeks pregnant and her due date is Christmas day. I'm so excited there's going to be a small being around to play with. It seems this is a pattern, when S moves and I follow him someone gets knocked up and gives birth. This will be my third new life brought forth by a powerful woman associated with S.

I think I'll run tomorrow, or do yoga, or both. I want to get one of those running magazines that tells you about how to train effectively, I would love to be able to run far and long, like a real cave person. I am so inarticulate and tired. I have Ativan, and I will be taking some and going to bed.

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Saturday, April 8th, 2006
6:45 pm - My day: a Rough Sketch
I know now how I ought to mark the passage of time: by the cherry blossoms. Though observation is as plebeain as it is potent. And though I have come to understand that reminissing is for the most part useless when one is alone, I allowed myself today a backward glance at my time on the coast. It started with my walk. I let the cats out, pulled on my scarf and vest, and set out for the book store. I wanted "A Year of Magical Thinking", Joan Didion's stark and pragmatic account of the year following her husband John Gregory Dunne's death (which was, upon publication, followed by the death of Didion's daughter). I'd heard yesterday from a panel of prominent Candian writers that this was one of the best books to come out in the past year.

Needless to say, reading it on the beach, my back against a log amongst families playing catch and frisbee and dogs in the water and people jogging on the shore, I cried. It is rare that a piece of writing makes anyone cry. If you want to purge tears, literature is generally ineffectual. The book is about death. It is about how a life's changes take place in mere moments. One instant one thing, the next instant anothing thing, unpredictable, unforgiveable, sometimes barely manageable, is the rhythm of life.

What passes away is often beautiful, or a should say, the passing of those things on which we dwell are most often the beautiful. Women bemoan the loss of their taut skin, their shiny hair. When I think of leaving Vancouver I greive momentarily for my friendships, my memories and the landscape of mountains and ocean. I will miss the jasmine cascading over fences in spring, and the wind sweeping the leaves off the streets in fall. I will miss walking home at night with Sitia and counting the prayer flags hung, block after block, above people's front doors. I will miss the gigantic bags of cherries in summer. I will probably even miss the many distinct greys, the warm greys and the wild greys, of Vancouver winters.

And this is what the cherry blossoms represent. They bloom for at the most a couple of weeks in the spring. The branches of the normally spindly trees are covered in cones of five-petal flowers, transluscent, fragrant and pink. Cherry blossom season in Vancouver is the most beautiful, prolonged explosion I have ever seen. But then the flower's hold to the bough weakens, and the wind blows off the water and scatters them to the ground. The petals fly like snow, they cover car windshields, they turn whole patches of grass into a carpet of pink. In Japan the cherry blossoms are an acient symbol of transcience. The samurai used to meditate on the cherry blossom in order to learn to appreciation for the present moment. When the cherry blossoms open each year in Vancouver I experience two weeks of heightened awareness. Each time I see one of those trees, like giant pink afros, I am return to the present moment. I do not want to miss the beauty of the blossoms, because any day they could be gone.

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Sunday, April 2nd, 2006
4:19 pm - last night
all I can say is, ahhhhhhhh.

Yeah Sitia, that's for you. Lips.

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Friday, March 31st, 2006
12:22 am - still
Oh.My.God.

I had my first ever play staged tonight in the Brave New Playwrites festival at UBC.

I am so filled with gratitude. I sat and I removed myself from my writing self and decided simply to watch, not to be nervous, not to be the woman who had written the play, but just to watch. I coasted with the performance, sitting next to my director, my writer self noting that the audience LAUGHED in so many places I had never even thought possible. And I FELT the catharsis of my characters, I FELT for them. The actors were so loving, they loved those two women. After the lights went out following the final beat I started to sob. I couldn't stop myself. For so so so long I've just wanted to connect with people through my work, to share my work, to not be alone with my work, which is so difficult with fiction, fiction is so private it almost denies the public arena, it almost subverts it through its very form, and theatre, which I never thought I could love delivered to me tonight the very thing I felt I'd been missing. I completely broke down. Never before have I been able to share my work, and I mean share to the extent that the work no longer becomes yours but it becomes the work of THAT space and THAT moment and THOSE actors and THAT audience, it becomes organically the art of the moment, like music or like dance or like any human interaction. It wasn't even mine and that's why I cried, it belonged to every person in the room in those moments.

I am blessed I am blessed I am blessed to have had that experience, I am so greatful for all the people who came together to create those moments, to the director and the two actors and the two characters who somehow came out of me, and to my friends who were in the audience, which is probably the most emotional part for me, you want to share with your friends, that's what's important.

And then I had garlic fries and a crantini.

Thank you thank you thank you

on to the next moment

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Sunday, March 26th, 2006
4:29 pm - why so often
Suddenly I feel the need to update more often, why? I don't know. This is possibly related to the fact that I am writing my final paper for school. Though, I am heading, as are many people, for a time of change and transition
(but we're changing every day!) says my head
Yes. But not in such a tangible way. The arena of change is external this time, it's accompanied by new titles and locations and relationsips. The relationships will be the most interesting, to watch them stretch over this change. There are people whose presences I will miss. Like sharing a blackberry bush with my best-goddess-friend/next door neighbour, Sitia. Remember how last summer we would meet under the blackberry bush and just stand there eating them and trying not squish them as we picked them off the branches?

Awesome.

My friend and downstairs neighbour just gave me a free Kundalini lesson. She's training to become a teacher.

I'm making food. Steamed veggies, brown rice, miso gravy, mmmmmm with grated beets and maybe carrot juice if I feel like cleaning my juicer. Also, rented "Born Into Brothels", which I've been meaning to watch since it fist came out. I love documentary films, especially the Adventure Diva series, anyone interested in some awesome woman power socially aware and super inspirational films should google Adventure Divas. They're based out of Seattle, yay Seattle. I seriously think that helping the cause of women around the world might play an important role in my life. My ideas on service, humanitarianism and activism are radically changing, I used to have so many prejudices around it that are very very quickly dissolving, especially with thanks to my girlfriend's best soul sister Simmi, or one m, don't remember, who writes one of the most inspirational online journals I've ever read.

Anyway, to be of service, this is something to contemplate, or maybe not contemplate and just plunge right into.

Also, summer reading list time, wait, not summer reading list, but end of school reading list! Woah. So far, it goes as follows:

Veronica, by Mary Gaitskill
Bad Behaviour, by Mary Gaitskill
None to Accompany Me, by Nadine Gordimer
Possession, by AS Byatt
Disgrace, by JM Coetzee
The Prophet, by Khalil Gibran, or anything ever written by Khalil Gibran
Culture and Imperialism, by Edward W. Said
The Idiot, by Milan Kundera
Beginning Postcolonialism, by John McLeod
The Master and Margarita (again) by Mikhail Bulgakov

There are no Canadians in there, I'm so ashamed, alas these are the books that have been stacking up around my house, except for The Idiot which I just threw in there as a good idea. I wonder how long it will honestly take me to live up to this list, and by live up to it, I mean actually do it justice by not only barreling through, but by really understanding what the authors are trying to say about the world.

Excellent. On to the broccoli!

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Tuesday, March 21st, 2006
11:53 pm - juices
I want to drink mango juice because I want to consume its colour
I want to drink lychee juice because I want to consume its word
I want to take a moment of greatfulness over each piece of meat because something has given its life in order that mine is sustained, which is why, from now on, I hope to remember to consume lightly, thankfully, and only when necessary
I want to listen to my body because I want to consume well
Consuming well means not taking away from others, not wasting, not rushing, not restricting or overindulging
I feel like eating means so much to my life, and to the lives of all the people on the planet
When I eat I eat from others and consume for others as much as for myself


Happy spring, grow grow grow, change change change, and in the words of Murakami, dance dance dance

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Monday, March 20th, 2006
6:14 pm
Ahhhhh Naam Burger. I love the Naam, my favourite restaurant, my favourite menu, miso gravey mmmmmm
I am eating a burger platter I got for pick up. On my walk to the Naam I saw a tulip tree, its long, white buds are just about to open. There are certain blocks where the cherry blossoms are already out. It's interesting that one whole street will decide to bloom all at once while the surrounding blocks are still waiting to burst.

I was ready to burst. I was walking at around 5, when the sun was setting, everything becomes intense, but in the most calming way, it's not this brilliant-blazing-can't-keep-my-eyes-open intense, just very peaceful, like something that cradles you.

I read today, out loud, my rhetoric piece in non-fiction, I actually like reading, I actually like the sound of my own voice making words, I want to be able to soothe people to sleep, I'm not sure I really care if they listen, or if they understand, I figure they'll read my piece if they want to understand, besides, prose is not meant to be read aloud, so I want to make my prose become poetry as I read.

The week is full of unfortunate drama, people are writing their last stories, a particular person is taking out some of his anger on some of us in class, via one of his works of fiction. I want to feel compassion, I am trying. I don't believe, that deep deep down he is intending to hurt, but it does hurt. I wonder how it will transpire.

In other news, California on the horizon. Dare I say I am actually getting excited? One of my teachers told me about a beautiful Ashram, half an hour from the city, where you can sit in the orange and lemon trees and be silent. I am excited for the heat, though I say that now...I guess I am also, on some level excited to feel the pulse of some metropolis. I have always lived in small cities, you can walk across Vancouver, the downtown, in 40 minutes, I can walk from my house to a good friend's house around the bay in an hour, that never seems like an hour.

Well, I think it's time to stop musing, what's the future anyway? It's not now. So whatever right. Fuck it, like I say. Let's get on with this essay now, my final paper of my undergrad carreer, barring that I get a good mark. Here goes. On to, the Lady of Shallot. or Shalott....should get that one straight.

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Wednesday, March 15th, 2006
2:02 am - Why Not?
TEN FIRSTS
01. First Best Friend: Leanna
02. First Hamster: like kimmy (ie) my mom has rodent phobia
03. First Piercing: ears, when I was ten I think
04. First Crush: oh my goodness, probably some guy in kindergarden but I don't know, or Karen Kain when I was three
05. First CD: Ha ha Celine Dion Colour of My Love, which I can still listen to and adore.
06. First Car: nada, in other news, today I got my BC learners permit
07. First Love: my mommy
08. First Stuffed Animal: Hoho
09. First Concert: Sharon Lois and Bram, I took the bus downtown with my Dad, the bus was the most terrifying thing in the world to me
10. First kiss: this really gross (but completely stereotypically handsome, blond, blue eyed, built, 24 year old) guy in film school, by the ocean

NINE LASTS
1. Last Beverage: agua, and before that India Spice Yogi tea
2. Last Vehicle Ride: autobus
3. Last Movie Seen: Ma mere, yikes is all I can say, but I good crazy yikes
4. Last Phone Call: Sitia, to ask her if I would get mono from using her toothpaste
5. Last CD Played: Blazin Arrow, Blackalicious
6. Last Bubble Bath: A long time ago, a year ago I think, when I was sick and had a fever Steve made me get in the bath
7. Last Time You Cried: ha ha last week, holly cow
9. Last Concert: Medieval Baebes, with my mommy

EIGHT HAVE YOU EVERS
1. Have you ever dated one of your best friends: I consider Steve one of my best friends, so yeah
2. Have you ever been arrested: no
3. Have you ever been beaten up? yes, by myself
4. Have you ever been on TV: I don't remember, I don't think so
5. Have you ever kissed someone and regretted it: no
6. Have you ever had a sex dream about someone you knew: I don't remember, all my sex dreams are pretty fuzzy, I want to say I have most of my sex dreams about gorgeous women with ample chests though, I don't know these women
7. Have you ever been sent to the emergency room: yes, for the wacky beat of my beautiful heart
8. Have you ever been in a fist fight: oh no

SEVEN THINGS YOU'RE WEARING
1. huge plaid pj bottoms
2. Steve's super old Tampa Bay Bucanneers shirt
3. my pink titanium wedding ring
4. a huge silver ring from, I think Mexico or Morroco

c'est tout



SIX THINGS YOU'VE DONE TODAY or YESTERDAY

1. smelled a bunch of fence posts, they were awesome, I was walking and I could smell this cedar all of a sudden, really strong, so I figured out it was this person's fence, so I just went from fencepost to fencepost inhaling
2. petted my cats
2. taught an ESL class
3. eaten delicious Noel friendly muffins from a Sitia recipe, carob oat bran raisin, yum
4. taken an awesome walk underneath the cherry blossoms in the dark and spied on people in their homes
5. gone to my non-resistance class
6. meditated

FIVE FAVORITE THINGS IN NO ORDER
1. all the people
2. sunlight
3. meditation
4. synchronicities
5. stories, the telling of or consuming in its various forms

FOUR PEOPLE YOU CAN TELL ANYTHING TO
1. sitia
2. jaya
3. kimmie
4. kathy

THREE CHOICES
1. Eat or drink: eat
2. blonde or brunette: blonde
3. pink or black: pink

TWO THINGS YOU WANT TO DO BEFORE YOU DIE

whatever's next baby!!!!!!

ONE THING YOU REGRET

I regret nothing

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Sunday, February 5th, 2006
5:33 pm - A writing warm up: a meditation on Friday evening
A dear friend, a new soul-brother, who I recognised from the moment he first commented on a screenplay of mine in class last year, invited me out with his group of friends, and old group that he's known since high school. This is what happened.

There was connection. I search for this so readily in my life. I feel I've had glimpses and heard tales of these moments of time which happen among groups of people, not just between two people. Between two people is almost easier, but to find a group of people, a whole handful, willing, able, desirous, of connection - with an outsider even, who was me that Friday night - this is a rare thing. This is a gift from God, this will cut you open like a diamond.

It could be worthy of eye rolling if I were to say what I perceive, and believe the truth to have been about Friday night, but I'll write it anyway: it was love. Those people loved themselves, and those people loved each other, and they treated those around them with the same. In love there is suspension of judgement. Judgement pinches the consciousness so tightly closed that there is room for nothing else. You are cut off, you are drained, you are fed with nothing.

There was seeking. This is another key element. These people were artists, scientists, free-stylers, students, lovers, and they were all SEEKING, in their own ways. I sat and talked for a long time with a man who'd just returned from spending two and a half years in Ghana, living with a small tribe, the only white guy for miles, performing medical and educational services for the people. He was fascinating, because he was fascinated, because he knew how much he did not know. That vast realm of understanding that had not yet been trecked, excavated, carefully unraveled and then restored was what was exposed to him, given like a gift it seemed, it all became so clear. We don't know dick.

Bobbing the iceberg. He - we'll call him W - told me that the function of psychedelic drugs is to bob the iceberg that is your brain. The mind, or better yet your consciousness, is like an iceberg in that what we can access is merely the fraction which pokes above the surface. The rest of our consciousness is below the water, innacessible, incomprehensible, unless we bob it. Some bob it with acid, mushrooms, peyeote. Those of us unable, or unwilling to take drugs can bob it in other - and far more difficult - ways. Breathing, he told me, is the key. Humans do not know how to breath.

My goal in life, above all else is to bob the iceberg.

Then we tore up the floor to Kanye West's Goldigger. I feel so fortunate, and so incredibly greatful for Friday night, it has been so long since I've felt the magic of the world. And that magic is accessible, real, nearly tangible, created by those moments between loving people.

current mood: MAGICALISED

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Thursday, January 26th, 2006
10:53 pm - Youth
Starring at a copy of J.M. Coetzee's "Youth"
exhausted from re-writes and beaurocracy
this month has been paper work, and the long slog through paragraph after paragraph of my first post-break story.
The process for this one is not quite so much like pulling teeth as others, for which I am greatful, but I am also suspicious, if this is a slog for me will it not be a slog for the reader? How much should I care for this reader anyway?

Have been running up against someone for whom I have a great dislike. I dislike people who do not question, or do not leave a margin for error in their own selves. Of course, this needs to end at a point or we have no defined self at all, which is a difficult state to maintain in the day to day reality of school work. There are things about my own perspectives I'm sure I also need to question, I stand on too firm ground on certain issues as well, but from some people I feel this resistence to relinquish any of their beliefs.

On another note: jealousy. It haunted me as a child and haunts me still, and is a waste of time and is not me and is not what I want to be but there is the constant tug of it in the places you would want to least expect but that you probably do expect the most.

I love Three Colours: Red. I wish that was my story that I had invented.

Rewriting over and over and over again my play. Samantha and Lillian, my two characters, have completely come to life on this one. I talk to my director and it is as though these are honestly real human beings that we are soon to meet. This has never happened quite this way that anyone I have written has felt so sensational.

I feel my hold on school is dwindling, not sure how much I can keep up on the academic side of all things, but I need this, desperately, to just hold on and keep interest until April.

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