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A random selection of thoughts strung onto a string. [Mar. 10th, 2008|08:10 pm]
-I realized that such silly little things make my day, like when my ipod is in sync with my life. Such as it starts a new song right as I step off the metro - that excites me. I feel like I have a soundtrack to my life. Or that I'm in a documentary about myself. Or that I'm Truman Burbank.

-Westmount square is possibly the most eerie place ever - it's so ghostly and I feel like I'm in an eerie, awkward dream sequence whenever I'm there.

-Cooked spinach can be so enjoyable if done right - thank you Rachel, for introducing me to it.

-Frozen Egos with frozen blueberries thrown on top and tossed into the toaster oven, then sprinkled with a generous helping of maple syrup is such a lame breakfast but is heavenly at 7:30 in the morning.

-I sort of feel like just striping off my clothes and going streaking up and down the quaint Plateau streets. I'm sick of being so damn serious. Anyone want to join?

-Sometimes I feel really guity for loosing touch with what used to be good friends. And something I just don't.

-Cute kneesocks socks (especially those with stripes) make me happy.

-I've come to the conclusion that humans are just a bunch of horny, hungry creatures and are really no different from one another.

-Now that I've satisfied my hunger with some salad, potato salad and a spinach kinish, I could do with some sex, thanks.

- He is so fucking sexy. Enough said.
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Towards those apples and pears, says I! [Dec. 15th, 2007|02:29 am]
So now that my wisdom teeth are in a little envelope on my desk, and thus the worst part of my winter break is over, I'm excited! I've been done classes for over a week, but I'm just starting to approach the vacation mind-frame. So far I've being lazying around, eating mush and letting the holes in my gums heal, but this next month and a half shall be eventful, I have no doubt. Next week, Stowe, which will be reguvinating, sisterly, lens addictive (I think I shall bring the Mamiya C330 twin-lens reflex that I borrowed from the equipment room for the holidays and have some fun on 120mm film) and maybe a tad screen-glued (I have told myself that I must finish the Bridgestone photographs by the end of Stowe - so here comes hours on end of editing). After that, Whistler, which will be athletic, no doubt, and simply "fresh". On top of all this, I've booked tickets tonight! Flight tickets over the Atlantic! To the land of the Queen, fish n chips and Big Ben. It brings back all sorts of memories of Carol's flat with no cold water, the elevator that stopped short of the floor, my first allergic reaction to seafood, throwing up in Harrods food court, the bush maze, cucumber sandwiches with tea, the Lion King, the 40 pound jeans with the leather laces.... it all came flooding back to me, memories from another life. As exhillerating it is, I'm nervous, mainly due to my lack of money. Now, London is notorious for being enormously pricey, but the Lonely Planet website claims that it costs 9 pounds to see a movie in theaters! 9 pounds! It better be wrong, or else I'm staying in ten kilometers distance from movie theaters.
I found this red box where I put all my pictures, brochures and other random things from London. I was mainly looking for it because I remembered keeping my left over pounds and pence form the trip there. £9.26 to be percise. Not bad, not bad; that's about 20 bucks, hoping that can get me through a day there (is that wishful thinking?). Well I think I'll ought to steal a bike the second I arrive, and forget about tubes and oysters and double deckers and whatevers. And grocery stores always have the best food, right? Museums better be free, or else I'll have to start flirting with the guards. Sexual favours is the solution to all of life's financial problems!

Anyways it's all good, I shall get by just fine (Alexis Nihon food court will just be out of the question in the coming semester - except maybe Arc en Soleil!)

So now all I have to do is buy some 120mm rolls of film, figure out what I'm doing for New Years (I even have a dress to wear! How exciting!), see Martha's beautiful face, go tobagganing, take some books out of the library, buy a new pair of converse (shh if I end up homeless on the street atleast I'll have a pretty new pair of shoes!), make snow angels, make a self-designed t-shirt, buy Dandy Warhol's Thirteen Tales from Urban Bohemia, and kiss a girl at Saphir's for this winter break to be a success!

Let's get on it!
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A murmur of some kind... [Oct. 16th, 2007|12:04 am]
I wish I could write, and write and write and write, constantly, at all times, every piece of dialogue that goes through my head (semi-censored). Often, I'll dictact things in my head as if i'm writing them down, almost to store them there for the moment I can write them down, but they always get lost somewhere in the vest hurricane of my head and spin in little tornados, to fast to catch.

I feel like I've lost the need to censore my thoughts and reactions before presenting them to people. It's not really a good thing, but I feel kind of proud about it, in a strange sort of way. I'm finally being real to myself. I'm not wasting my life with people I don't like, thinking that one day they might say something great and I'll instantly like them. I feel like shit about a few minor things recently (or namely one), but I think I'm ultimately doing the right thing, maybe not in the right way, but I'm finally being true to myself.

And I guess all this is a whole lot of bollocks if you're not inside my head.

Life's like that. It's like how do you balance what's in you head and what's really out there in this ridiculous universe (that often stupidly feels smaller than my head). We basically live 99% in our heads. My dialogue in there feels more real to me than anything. It challenges me more than almost anyone. And my words have to fit through millions of pasta strainers before breathing the fresh air. Maybe that's why sometimes they're just such utter crap, they're just starchy, rejected, pasta water.

On another note, that I can't quite figure out how to tie into all of this, I think I want to try going on a date with a girl. I've been tossing this idea in my head for way too long, not even sure what I'm scared of, but it's about time I give it a try. I don't know how I'd go about it, I don't particularly like the idea of meeting someone at a bar, but I would give someone setting me up a try. I guess the whole point is that anything goes, I mean that's what this is all about, experimenting and seeing.

I had tons to say on this subject minutes ago, but now my brain seems to have frozen up and become reserved.

So I'm just going to let it be shy.
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The Carpe Diam Clock. [Oct. 2nd, 2007|11:42 pm]
So eventful 27 hours, to say the least. Broke my nose at rugby practice. Lost over a litre of blood. Had this girl give me the toughest concussion test ever (which I failed, but I really don't think I have a a concussion, or if I do, it's not very serious). Went to the hospital. I refused to look in the mirror but the doc told me my nose was ridiculously crooked and hanging to the right side of my face. He told me he'd have to put me to sleep so he could try and fix it. I have some hazy memories of a nurse putting in a IV and freaking me out by asking if everything was ok with my teeth (thank god they're all nifty). Then, I remember the doctor coming in and saying he was going to give me some ketamine, which prompted me to ask if I was just going to be drowsy or completely knocked out, to which he responded the later. The next thing I remember, I can't even explain. Once I started to make some sense of things all I wanted to do was store the memories and write them down so I could go out and write a novel about it. Unfortunately, I don't remember enough of it write a novel, and I don't think I will experiement with ketamine again. I felt like I was hanging midair at 45% in a white room with aliens peering over me and making strange noises and the lights in the room were sort of flashing and shooting like stars. I couldn't feel my body at all, I think I was convinced that I didn't actually have one.
I don't really know much about Ketamine, or Special K, or whatever people call it on the streets, so I looked it up, just to see what I had in my system last night. I got this, "Higher doses produce a hallucinogenic (trippy) effect, and may cause the user to feel very far away from their body. This experience is often referred to as entering a 'K-hole' and has been compared to a near death experience with sensations of rising above one's body. Many users find the experience spiritually significant , while others find it frightening." Thought that was an excellent describtion of what I experience, minus the lack of reference to slighting of aliens and having trouble processing one's own voice and the voices and sounds of others. I remember telling Dad, once I finally did recognize him, that he looked like an alien and had about 6 eyes. He told me to use this as a lesson why not to do drugs.

All in all, it was an interesting experience, that I definitely wish I could remember it better and more accurantly describe it. I hate not being able to articulate!
My nose doesn't actually look to bad, went back into the hospital this morning to see a surgeon and get pushed back into place again (it is as painful and bloody as it sounds) and it really looks a lot straighter, just quite swollen and tinted blue.

Dad told me today that when they put me to sleep, because of the high dose the doctor gave me of Ketamine, I stopped breathing at one point and they needed to pump oxygen for me. Hm. Lovely. No wonder I woke up with masks and hooked up to about a gazillion machines.
But hey, it's a broken nose, and I'll surely survive. Will I survive from not being able to play rugby for the season, that is unsure.

Craving taking photos. Must press a shutter....

"We have this clock called that times our every move. It's called 'carpe diem'"
- George
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I was married in the sun. [Sep. 15th, 2007|03:40 pm]
Today I'm in a very blissful state of mind.
Lazy... but euphoric.
I almost feel like I'm a a dream.... where not much is happening.
It's a rather nice feeling.
Why would you need weed when you can feel like this naturally?
The problem with this state, is that I just can't seem to get myself to be productive and do some work. Who needs work when you're feeling this good?
Instead I think I might just take off all my clothes and dance around my room to some music. Floating celestially through mid-air.

On a side note, I've got this idea for a photo project where I need about 6 people who wouldn't mind being nude in front of the camera - although they will be arranged in such a way that it is not at all provocative and nothing too private will be seen - in fact nude coloured underwear can even be worn. Any volunteers?

Off to dance around without hindrance...

À Bientôt!
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My mind rejects this kind of frequency. [Sep. 11th, 2007|05:10 pm]
It smells of rain. As I'm here trying to digest the grey, plastic weather, I feel myself choking up and trying to swallow some obscure and unnecessary emotions. Or maybe that's just me trying to hold back on human commonalities.

I came across this postcard someone put on postsecret many weeks ago; and like all postcards that do something to me I saved it to my computer.... only to come back to it now while cleaning up my desktop, and realising why it hit me so hard.

Image and video hosting by TinyPic

I think that explains somewhat explains my current state.
I saw this couple on the 165 today on my way home... who reminded me of what I miss. I don't miss him, I've more than realised that we were an unrepairable set of machinery... but I miss the obscene amount of kisses on my forehead and delicately playing with my head, and all the little things that I didn't even think about at the time, or that came across as annoying, but I now ridiculously crave.

I guess I just don't want to be simply fuckable.

I just want to go back to that vaseline over the lens state of mind.
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Crescendos, cadenzas and prestos.... only not. [Sep. 3rd, 2007|05:46 pm]
So, I write this as I'm sitting dully on my bed listening to 966 Austrian/German songs that a really sweet girl in Vienna burned on a DVD for me. I think I've found the Austrian equivelant to The Go-Go's.
To burn any expectations or hopes you may have, I've got nothing remotely interesting or intelligent to write today. Consider yourself warned. I'm actually kind of caught in a lazy, somewhat unpredicatable state of mind. I can't make up my mind about anything. I don't know what I'm doing with myself, hell I can't even decide what I should cook myself for dinner. I feel like I ought to do something obscenely unpredicatable and fly to the other side of the world, abandon anything and everything I ever knew and take up poetry. But then I guess I wouldn't really have anything to write about, without knowing anything and all.

On a somewhat poetry related side note, I met this pulchritudinous girl the other day. If I were to be a lesbian, she's be the one I wanted, definetely my type.

That's all.

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Envisions that have been raped from my mind... [Aug. 16th, 2007|12:02 am]
In a rather bored and insomniatic state, I decided to read some of my old and silly entries that I posted here years ago. I'd just like to point out one thing...

"I sometimes have this dream that I can snap my fingers and everyone else in the room freezes except me. So I can walk around and do all this stuff and then so long as I go back into the exact same spot when I resnap my fingers then everyone wont have realised. It really entertaining. To bad I can't do it. If I could there are sooo many things I'd do. Sometimes I have that dream and I move people around in weird places and even lift them up and put them somewhere else and then go back to resnap my fingers and see what happens. It's brillant."

--- An entry I wrote almost 2 years ago

If anyone has seen the movie, recently in theatres, entitled "Cashback" they will note that this is EXACTLY the movie to a tee.
I saw this movie a few weeks ago and quite frankly I feel a little raped. Stealing my envision, much?
Now, the movie was just ok. Well, to be fair, it was good, but solely because it is such a unique idea that I thought up!

For now, into the red eye, the cauldron of morning...
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What do you do when... [Aug. 13th, 2007|05:03 pm]
someone that you could never like as more than a friend is really into you.
I absolutely hate scenerios like this.
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Frozen tears in a ziploc bag. [Aug. 13th, 2007|12:22 am]
[mood |lethargiclethargic]

Today I had one of those moments that I wish I could put into a ziploc bag and lay it at the bottom of my freezer till I die and possibly longer.

My grandmother's 85 birthday party today made me realise something about my Bubby that I probably already knew. Something I can't even describe in words, something I don't even think Sylvia Plath would be able to describe even with all the words of every language available to her.
While being introduced to my Bubby's friend who she's known since 8th grade I couldn't help but wish I was her. I wish I knew my Bubby when she wore this cute little uniform to the local, public highschool. I wish I was there through everything, from the day the guy at the corner of her street in the Plateau killed this man to the day she bumped into Zaidey on the city bus, and could play back every moment of her life on a little screen in my head, all 85 years, and spend 85 years watching it.

I couldn't have watched a more appropriate movie tonight, and it brought me to tears in the same sort of way that Big Fish did the first, and second and third time I saw it. The first half of the movie made me regret my decision to not go to Ukraine this past summer. It made me want to go there more than anything, but by the end of the movie I realised that where I really wanted to go was Russia. It made me feel like photography was nothing, just some silly hobby that doesn't really mean anything until my whole universe has been illuminated, in which case it will mean everything and nothing at the same time.

Sometimes I wish I could take every thing my Bubby ever said to me and put it all in little snack size ziploc bags, seal them and keep them in a shoebox under my bed. But then I just realize that that's my fear of death kicking in. Or maybe it's my fear of life.

No matter how many pictures I take or scrapbooks I make or videos or voice recordings or whatever, it's no use. That's what I just realised. There's no point. Because it's only what I have in my head that matters. In the end, when she's gone it wouldn't even matter if I have all her words in ziploc bags under my bed because it would never do her justice. Nor would all the pictures in the world.
When that time comes, all I'll have are all my memories, and all the memories I've been told over the years, and maybe a photo that will guide me to Moscow where I can hopefully learn more memories to put in ziploc bags and store in my head.
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