I hope you like lame poetry....

Starting January 27th, 2006, I began a project that entailed writing a poem every day, for an entire year. That year being complete, I have a notebook with 361 poems. I missed 4 in the process. Usually due to drunken debauchery, or plain old absent mindedness. I haven't read over most of these poems, though I occasionally read over certain ones that pertain to particular dates that I find some what important. A great deal of them were written moments before going to sleep, just closing thoughts on the events of the day, or whatever happened to be on my mind at the moment. Some of them have turned into songs. Some of them are drawings. Most of them are terrible.

In the end, this is more or less a big book of confessions. A collection of things I'm not nearly brave enough to say without enveloping in some confusing tangle of words. I'll admit, some are a lot more blunt than others. Lots of them have my own brutal critiques written on the side lines. Even others involve author's notes to sort out what happened, in case anyone is actually following the convulted story line being traced over three or four consecutive days of poems. I don't know if it's really an artistic endeavour, or more of a journal. It definetly feels like that to me.


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Here's one I thought was worth typing out:

Aug 30th:

I don't know what the time is
As I'm yawning down my sleeve
In case the rest of them are sleeping
I'm being quiet as I breath.

It'll be cold inside my car
And I forgot to lock the doors
I'll have to tip-toe through the hall
To dodge the bodies on the floor

I hate to tally all the casualties
That's why I'm up before the rest
And gauging all the damges
Inflicted by each guest.

The Sgt's in a frenzy
He has to clean up all the spills
He's collecting all the casings
For a twenty dollar bill

I wasn't taken in the draft
But can't escape the fog of war
Between the violence and the cries
It left the troops aching for more.

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I'll sift through this, and if I find anything else interesting, I'll post it. Odds are I won't. I was going to start another notebook for poems, but I couldn't find one today that was the same kind of notebook as I already had. I was angry, and dissapointed. If I don't find one by tomorrow I'll surely give up. I'm easily deterred, as you can see.

Voodoo driving hex part 2?

I got a flat tire today. It was lame. I've never felt like more of a helpless girl before in my entire life. I stopped my car by the Scotia Bank in College Heights, and tried to reach my family for assistance. But there was no answer. So I called the first number on my dialed numbers list: Eric! He had wanted to hang out today anyway, so why not kill two birds with one stone?

So while waiting for Eric to arrive and rescue my car from incapacitation, my dad called me and went into a long rant about changing tires and how he was incapable of coming to help me so he didn't know why I bothered calling. It was not a very productive phone call, but then Eric showed up.

After toiling with my stupid car's inconvenient jack, he managed to get my car up, the tire off, and the good one on. Then there was some breif confusion about tire pressure, we had to remove the tire, walk to the Esso down the street, and fill the spare tire with air, and then we replaced the tire again and lowered my car.

As we were packing up our mess of jacks and tire irons, a very confused sad looking man in a black whool coat walked by and quietly said something, while looking directly at me. Thinking he'd said something to me, I politely asked "I beg your pardon?"

"NOTHING! NOTHING."

He then looked at Eric and said "DO YOU SPEAK ENGLISH?"

"Yes..." Eric replied.

"I THOUGHT YOU ASKED ME SOMETHING SO I ASKED BUT YOU WERE ASKING YOUR GIRLFRIEND SOMETHING"

He then dissapeared into the night. It was odd.

So to thank Eric for saving my worthless butt, I bought him a delicious McDonald's dinner, and we parted ways. Then to congratulate myself on standing and getting cold feet for two hours while Eric selflessly laboured on my tire, I bought tomato sauce and pasta, and went home to make a delicious meal. What a day.

On a brighter note, Nunsene paid about $250 more than I thought it would, and Josh and I managed to wrap that terrible Wings song we had to cover.

So, this blog is dedicated to two people, in thanks:

Eric for his mad mechanic skills.

and

Grace for her mad clarinet skills and helping Josh and I in making that Wings cover suck slightly less. Nice chops pal.

Kudos.

Relief washed over me in waves....

THE PLAY IS OVER!

I feel so strange now that it's done. Not for any nostalgic reasons, I'm glad it's finished, and won't miss it at all. But after having sat through it around 12 times, I feel like I've lost considerable amounts of grey matter. I feel like you feel the morning after a drinking binge. Sick, and retarded.

If there's one thing I'll miss , it's seeing the conductor, Val, on a nightly basis. For those who don't know, Val is probably the coollest person I have ever met, and makes every musical production I'm in bearable. In fact, Val makes them downright enjoyable. She makes wonderful baked goods, likes Frank Zappa, and has an unhealthy addiction to Ginger Ale.

BUT NO MORE DANCING NUNS. Sorry, but this is a big deal for me. This passed two weeks has been so incredibly crippling for me. It's like my own personal Berlin Wall has been torn down.

And now, compliments of Ryan G, I bring you a video of something scary getting set on fire.

Enjoy.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HcW86FmHhYE

Hm...

If someone were to tell you they were stabbed with a syringe, isn't it safe to automatically assume it involved some sort of crazy crack addict hobo?

I'd rather have a frontal lobotomy.

Sorry for my inexcusable lack of posting the last week. I've been taken hostage by a hoard of dancing nuns. They dress me up as a catholic school girl, and force me to play bass, while they dance and sing show tunes. Seriously, Nunsense would be 10 times better if it was actually a stage production of "The Wickerman". Because then it would involve fire, and pegan rituals, and much better music. But then again, would there be room for a song like "What Would Elvis Do?" in the wickerman sound track? I have my doubts.

I wonder if I can perform a lobotomy via self trepanation? Only one way to find out....now where did I leave my cordless drill.....

Foxy.

Tonight, I was driving home, in my Fox, and I saw a fox run across the road. OMG IS THAT A COINCIDENCE OR WHAT?! It was pretty wild.

Anyway, that was my lame excuse for an entry. What I'm really trying to say is:

If, on Sunday, January the 7th, you're in the area of Artspace at say, 8ish, and have some time and money to burn, come watch a show! The Arbitrarys (Josh and I) will be performing, as well as Pox Eclipse, Throatkick and this out of town band called Keep it Secret! It's $7 at the door, OR $5 if you buy a ticket in advance....you can get them at West 49 or Meow Records.

Also...everyone HAS to watch the show "Fame". They play it on Much More Music pretty much every day, and it's SO TERRIBLE it defies all reason. I can't even explain how bad this show is. It must be experienced by all. I find myself unable to resist watching it when it's on. This frightens me. A lot.

Happy New Year you God Damned Charlatans.

This New Year's eve I drank vodka and 7 Up, and then missed the actual countdown to midnight, and instead, wrote a song. Then proceeded to Denny's, sat next to a roaring fire, played video games, and watched crappy 80's music videos til 6 in the morning. It was great. Hope everyone else had as much fun as I did!