Ah, Spring Cleaning

Down came the rain and cleansed the puke spattered sidewalks of Winnipeg proper.

Best Thing I Heard All Day

Marla's handwriting looks like she's being abducted.

The New Sick Day

I tried to convince my boss today that we should implement an inspiration day. The electricity in the air today was in a way that I could sense the mood of my main character for my comic. For hours I was writing diary entries for her in my head.

If I could have just said "I'm inspired, gotta go," and just walked out the door, I would be in fat city right now.

A Good She-Hulk I Would Not Make

Last night someone said something to me that got my rage a boiling. It took a good hour of stewing in it before my rage burgled to a point that I just had to leave as I was no longer good company.

But when it comes right down to it, I know how lucky I really am so my rage is subsiding and I will go on.

Lucky Man by The Verve is such a great song. I think more people should listen to it and really contemplate the point he's making. We'd all be better off.

There's a certain kind of crazy that I just really appreciate. It's female, it's fiery and I know two people who embody it in such a lovely way. It's like a fun loving deliciously evil sort of vibe without being totally sadistic. It's the big fuck you to everyone and if you mess with me you will not see me falter but you will wonder where those stabbing pains in your side are coming from and why is there a chunk of your hair missing?

I work with one of these vessels of wrath and I am frequently amused. She once told me she has a sister she'd like to drown and I've enjoyed many a diatribe on who really deserves to live. Not everyone, apparently.

The other day we were talking about self defence. She feels she does not require any training because she has enough pent up rage to destroy any man who dares attack. Then to illustrate her point, she crouches down, slouches her shoulders forward with her arms flexed in a Bruce Banner 'I'm trying to control my rage' pose and affects a garbly growl while shaking with mock rage and says, "This is all I need to EXPLODE!!" Then she would take some time to point and laugh at the man-burger she created all over the floor. Awesome.

My quiet rage is burgling.

Not impressed.

I don't know what it is about a guy in a mascot suit, but everytime I see one I want to see if I can punch him hard enough to make his head spin around.

Gone now.

ahhhhh

Introspective mockery
designed by hypocrisy,
favouring mental fallacy
intent on reality.

FUCK YOU, emo day.

It doesn't want to stop.

Write into your mind,
cryptic by design.
Pour it out
and rip it up,
crumble in the grind.

Take it out
and piece it in.
They don't all fit together.
Lash it down,
slipknot for uncertainty

Write your own mythology.

Nostalgia

What a thing to fear.
Endings and beginnings
forgotten with memories.

I hold nothing in my hand
yet everything in my heart.

I have much to process and it's coming out as woe.

Bouts of staring into space distract from productivity.

A bathroom needs cleaning but there's some space I have yet to zone in on.

Turn it inside out and view it upside down.
It's still slathered and saturated.
It's still grief.
But it's not the other.
It's not what we wish to have none of.

Transforming into water
and pouring over stone.
Flowing into fire
and breathing in the ash.

Expelling all the sorrow
and foraging for hope.

Pandora was a mere mortal.

Happy St. Patrick's Day

It's still the day if yer still drinkin'.

I am blotto.

I took a self defense course last night. You know what I learned?

Poke eye.

I am friggin loving the new cd's I bought last week!

I love how Wolfmother sounds like Ozzy Osbourne and Robert Plant are sharing a set of vocal chords.

The Raconteurs are giving so much love to the greats of the past. Broken Soldier Boy is so early Pink Floyd and Blue Veins rocks the Zeppelinesque blues.

And the Yeah Yeah Yeahs are just plain rad.

Ahhhhhhhhhhhh, I love getting back into new music.

Wolfmother

There is love there.

From me.

I have determined that I never ever need to mop my floor. Between all the kitty barfed hair balls and the constant spilling of alcohol by insatiable drunks, the floor gets mopped in small sections daily.

Today I visited a tobacconist with a co-worker. After standing around the fancy shmancy shoppe having a lively conversation with the aficionado about the tarry goodness of one silent killer, we stepped outside to smoke wine tipped Djarums and say things like "top drawer" and "hmmmm, yes, shallow and pedantic".

I have my own fun.

I am almost sure that there are finer things in life but I am quite content right now with my red wine accented with a marmite on toast snack.

Add on some Bowie and I am sublime.

I think I just might be the girl with the most cake.