My Truth

The cat is driving me crazy.
If only he would stop attacking the bunny,
and stop going for sprints at 4 am.

Oh, and it would help if my feet didn't feel like a bedouin's.
I wonder, do they feel that way about walking eternally?
Or maybe, it's a pleasure for them, and it's not an issue.

If only.

The Portuguese dog chases the red car.
As nasty as he is, he smells good.

The billygoat is scruffy-gruffy.
He smokes cannabis from wake to doze.
He reminds me of ADHD kid I used to know in my youth.

Lumps in my neck have caused me to drink a mysterious concoctions,
given to me by a Chinese witch doctor.
Okay, he's not really a witch doctor,
but he might as well be.

He looked over his prescription,
counting numbers in his head.
His wrist does loop-de-loops,
waiting for a witchy sign to add another foul-tasting ingredient.

The concoction is first tangy.
It almost has a candy bite.
But then the sweet is gone, and you're left with
BITTERNESS.

My masseuse is going through a divorce.
Our sessions have changed,
He talks less,
and presses much harder,
and in the same place.

I love this, and hate this all at the same time.

Boiling

I work at the Boiler House in the Distillery District in Toronto

One day, sous chef Aarik found me on my cell.
To "teach me a lesson", he vacuum packed my phone, saran-wrapped it, thrust it into a rubber glove, more saran wrap, some layers of string, saran wrap...

next thing you know, my phone's metamorphased into a brick of multi-media. It took a good 20 minutes to unlock the layers of kitchen materials.

Prior to all this he also took a bunch of pictures.

Meet the boys of the back. They're a hoot. They love pranks.

Up-coming art, and new body art.

philly cream cheese, bubble wrap clouds.

a momma and babe.

Christmas gift wrap, and cut up green boondogle palm trees.

Desert of yarn.

Reality

The word that allows yes, the word that makes no possible.
The word that puts the free in freedom and takes the obligation out of love.
The word that throws a window open after the final door is closed.
The word upon which all adventure, all exhilaration, all meaning, all honor depends.
The word that fires evolution's motor of mud.
The word that the cocoon whispers to the caterpillar.
The word that molecules recite before bonding.
The word that separates that which is dead from that which is living.
The word no mirror can turn around.
In the beginning was the word and that word was

CHOICE

Tom Robbins, Still Life With Woodpecker

"The author isn't altogether certain that there is any such thing as exaggeration. Our brains permit us to use such a wee fraction of their resources that, in a sense, everything we experience is a reduction. We employ drugs, yoga techniques and poetics - and a thousand more clumsy methods - in an effort just to bring things back up to normal."

"So you think that you're a failure, do you? Well, you probably are. What's wrong with that? In the first place, if you've any sense at all you must have learned by now that we pay just as dearly for our triumphs as we do for our defeats. Go ahead and fail. But fail with wit, fail with grace, fail with style. A mediocre failure is as insufferable as a mediocre success. Embrace failure! Seek it out. Learn to love it. That may be the only way any of us will ever be free."

"As a child, I was an imaginary playmate."

Tom Robbins, Even Cowgirls Get the Blues

Exhaustion

Machinery malfunctions around me
I'm clumsy, my limbs seem to find objects to collide with...
Do I not know my own size, my spatial reference to other objects?
Or perhaps, is it that,these objects and I, share an intimate relationship.
We're drawn to each other.
I swear, that pole jumped into my way.

Oh yeah, the squirrel doesn't have any relevance. Or maybe it does in a sub-conscious spacey kinda way.

These back in the days pictures make me smile :)

I made this for daddy for Christmas. It's shallow stuff, mostly just Paris memorabilia. My parents took me to Paris and London, as a pity trip because they felt bad I had just split-noodled with my boyfriend of four years. Funny, because I wasn't all that sad and nothing's changed with him anyways. Just fuzzier. And less possible to explain.

Prologue

Welcome to my bogsplot. My blawg's purpose? Show you what I'm thinking in pictures, and share some timbits that strike a chord on my opinion scale.