I was nauseous and tingly all over. I was either in love or I had smallpox

Some nights are so long but TCM provides me with such wonderful old films to fill them.

Tonight's gift: Sweethearts (1938)
" Everyone is asleep except us - but we're the only ones that are dreaming."

Its enough to make one fall in love with reading together in bed, traveling far to see each other, slow dancing in the park, marvelling in their body, cannot forget a single kiss ... I could go on and on ..., Hollywood fuelled romantic love.

Some nights are long but with a hand to hold those hours would be always to short.

Sincerely,
a reforming cynic
L

a musing after a plane broke through the pink sky

We are so confused in our places and illusions.
Caves are our bodies. We crawl into them, trying to fill our spots in life, the good friend, mother, lover. Trying to reflect as much light in them instead of letting too much darkness bounce against the rough edges and overwhelm the corners.
We hide our secrets in the deepest parts of our caves. Sometimes burying them a bit with dirt so that we don’t see them all the time or putting a twig right on top so we never forgot the worst ones.
You cannot keep it all within your cave though darling, or else every time you are overwhelmed it just bounces back and you’re shouting at yourself. So listen to me when I whisper, “when passion drives you to moments of overt emotion, crawl and crawl to where your cave meets the world and shout it out.”
We will yell so loudly we will mark the sky
and in that moment we feel a little less alone.

Im not sure how much I like this and I also feel Im ripping of Plato a tad. But oh well, its a friday night musing.

Simple Passion

A Selection from Annie Ernaux's Simple Passion, a book I hope to read on various park benches this summer.
-----------------------------------------------------
From September last year, I did nothing else but wait for a man: for him to call me and come round to my place. I would go to the supermarket, the cinema, take my clothes to the dry cleaner’s, read books, and mark essays. I behaved exactly the same was as before but without the long-standing familiarity of these actions I would have found it impossible to do so, except at the cost of a tremendous effort. It was when I spoke that I realized I was acting instinctively. Words, sentences, and even my laugh, formed on my lips without my actually thinking about it or wanting it. In fact I have only vague memories of the things I did, the films I saw, the people I met. I behaved in an artificial manner. The only actions involving willpower, desire, and what I take to be human intelligence )planning, weighing the pros and cons, assessing the consequences) were all related to this man:

reading newspaper articles about his country (he was a foreigner)
choosing clothes and make-up
writing letters to him
Changing the sheets on the bed and arranging flowers in the bedroom
Jotting down something that might interest him, to tell him next time we met
Buying whisky, fruit, and various delicacies for our evening together
Imagining in which room we would make love when he arrived.

In the course of conversation, the only subjects that escaped my indifference were those related to this man, his work, the country he came from, and the places he’d been to. The person speaking to me had no idea that my sudden interest in their conversation had nothing to do with their description or even the subject itself, but with the fact that one day, ten years before I met him, ‘A’ had been sent to Havana on an assignment and may have set foot in that very night club, the “Fiorendito,” which they were describing in minute detail, encouraged by my attentive listening. In the same way, when I was reading, the sentences that made me pause were those concerning a relationship between a man and woman. I felt that they could teach me something about ‘A’ and that they lent credibility to the things I wished to believe. For instance, reading in Vassili Grossman’s Life and Fate that “people in love kiss with their eyes closed” led me to believe that ‘A’ loved me since that was the way he kissed me. After that passage, the rest of the book returned to being what everything else had been to me for a whole year--a means of filing in time between two meetings.
----------------------------------------------------------------------
with love,
Casie

The Fruits of our Lust

Just an average Friday night.

Excuse me Miss

Funniest E cards on the web. This is the highlight just because of the sentimental value it holds.


PEACE

There are no birds in last year's nest

Yesterday, while checking the weather on the balcony, I felt myself being pulled into the same early spring days of 2008. The few months where weather checking on the balcony became almost impossible. I have been mildly afraid of birds since witnessing a traumatic attack on my grandma's french fries at Disney Land. Stepping off the Dumbo ride, I never would look at birds the same. Then last year a nest appeared on our balcony. Watching the eggs behind the safety of a glass window allowed me to reevaluate my fear, and I felt as though I came out of the experience with a newfound courage.
As I stepped onto the balcony yesterday, I felt a loss. Looking down to the flower pot that had nested three eggs last year, I found it empty. Confirming my belief that yes, a year had gone by, and yes, things had changed, I turned to head back inside. In the same moment Lindsay asked me if the bird was in the nest, and directed me to the south-east corner of the balcony.My eyes fell upon a dark grey pigeon wedged between the brick wall and a lawn chair. I screamed, and slammed the door. I guess not that much has changed since last spring.

Rekindling my fear of scary balcony pigeons made me feel nostalgic for last spring. Here are some photos taken around the same time last year...

Fashion Icon of the Day

Believe it or not I dont wake up every day in a lovely ensemble. Though I have been known to put together things of beauty, often it takes a bit of inspiration and today's is none other than Ryan Adams. This boy not only makes music that strokes your soul like a two dollar hooker but he looks good doing. The denim, the plaid, off beat glasses and not to mention that devil is my bartender attitude. Perfect.








No, cheers to you Mr Adams.

These are a few of my favorite things

http://jlstanley.homestead.com/pmOtherPaths.html
- I like when my stumble application takes me to random poetry sites. This one included.

http://www.adiosbarbie.com/mediadiet/fat-rant
- This girl is just damn funny and I like her style.

http://www.entrancestohell.com/entrances.php
- I want to get on this site. I think I found the perfect door to do it. Its a vault like one near Honest Ed's.

http://www.ohfuckiloveyou.com/
- To know the person who made this website would fill me with joy.

and Mexicans trying to trade sex for boarding.

I have it on good authority that frosting is wrong

It was my birthday weekend and I spent it in Peterborough with my family.Which is convenient since it just so happens to fall on Easter weekend, two birds one stone. Which actually makes it really hard to outshine Jesus since I was just given life once and he twice. But regardless it was a fantastic day and weekend. My family has this fun tradition of writing "inappropriate" things on the birthday cake. Everything from pregnancy to sexuality. This year I loved what they put on mine. So much so I took a photo to display proudly on the Internet.



My bounty was excellent as well. A Membership to the Art Gallery of Ontario; I think I heard angels. Not to mention leather sandals with a braid accent from Nine West. Diamonds might be a girl's best friend but give me shoes and paintings and I would stop returning diamond's phone calls in an instant.

Lins

Bunnies, Chinese Food and Underwear.

Today I was crammed into the backseat of a car alongside our bunny Bingley, who sat comfortably in his cage (despite desperately clawing the base of the cage on corners). Our first stop will remain unnamed as I do not wish to further tarnish the reputation of this already questionable mega-store. Needless to say, after searching for their fabric section for around 20 minutes (chair renovation project) we gave up. We ended up leaving with two garden ornaments. I stood in front of a wall of satin peach colored granny panties for nearly 10 minutes contemplating whether an XL would be enough fabric. I opted for a large nightdress instead, but am regretting my decision. Oh, and I ate Chinese food in the car right beside the bunny, and got a weird queasy feeling. Don't let anyone tell you I don't know how to find a good time on a Saturday night.

here is a Mumford and Sons clip to cap off the evening!

xoxo Casie

Watch more viddler videos on AOL Video

and I'm sorry to which ever man should meet my sorry state

Watch more Bebo videos on AOL Video

When I choose my colour it will be Razzle Dazzle Rose

Arts and Crafts

Spring is when you feel like whistling even with a shoe full of slush

Young Women Who Allude and Use the More Familiar Term

She had no idea when he would discover her. Had no idea when he was scheduled to arrive. With her head positioned meticulously on the dark velvet embroidered pattern of the pillow, she tried to appear comfortable. All this while not transferring any makeup to the white background. Her head rested in a way that agreed with the fluidity she had allowed her hair to take. A few strands nearing her hairline became divided, curving into her hard cheekbones. She let the pillow hug one side of her face to avoid the red circles people often get when they place their cheeks in their palms. She wanted to appear flushed, but not surprised. Bringing her index finger to her brow, she traced the gathering of tiny hairs making sure she could feel the arch. Lately this was what she loved most about her face. Naturally thick brows reminiscent of a nineteen fifties film star are what she believed drew people to her face. Perfectly plucked every morning, striving to maintain the effortlessness she believed them to evoke. Hundreds of black hairs uniting to frame her eyes.

The light didn’t get stuck between the layers of glass in the window, but created a trapezoid in which she slept. Not only warm, the light reflected pigments of color in her skin that were most attractive at this young age. It lightened the dark hair of her forearm without the artifice of bleach. Her right elbow rested itself between her ribs and hips to draw attention to her slender waist. Originally she had laid down on the opposite side, however soon discovered herself to be shrouded in shadows. These shadows didn’t sit upon her cheeks as the light on the other side would, but sunk below her eyes and chin. So she turned her body into the light, adding to the illusion. She closed her eyes, then opened them practicing an upturning of the corners of her smile as she did this. And a pushing of her lips forward created a flare in her nostrils that gave the impression her face was more square and defined than oval.

She had practiced this many times, but one instance in particular stood out. In a friends room, she had retired to bed, claiming to be just resting. The male, and of course it was a male, watched television from behind a white bed sheet he had hung to separate the room. Individuals who fall asleep to the murmur of a distant television can understand the comfort it gave her to hear this noise but see no image. She lay there, awake for what-- marked by the framing of the modern television sitcom-- must have been an hour. She heard him move to get up, and closed her eyes with her hands in prayer position under her right cheek. He walked by her, and she could not tell if he stopped to look at her. She heard the door open, and because he was behind her, she opened her eyes. The door closed and she was left alone in his room with the image she had created for him. She didn’t leave, but instead tried to sleep. When this proved unsuccessful she retreated to establishing and rotating a series of portraits of herself which she could have aptly titled ‘Girl Sleeping; One through Eight’. Eventually he returned and she resumed her reproduction of portrait four. After fumbling around on his desk, he showered in the room next to her. When he was finished, and came into the room, she pretended the light from the bathroom combined with the smell of soap had awoke her. She doesn’t remember him saying anything about how long he had been gone, or how peaceful she had looked.

So she knew now that she had to be discovered in this state. Half an hour had passed since she climbed to the attic and took her place in the center of the room. She only had about another hour frame in which he could come home to find her there, still immersed in the sunlight. At this point the light would have concentrated itself to her upper body, which was still an agreeable picture. It was noon when she awoke and took the time to prepare this moment. She changed from the sheer white t-shirt and underwear he had seen her wear to bed to a slightly loose fitting sundress that seemed impractical for her to be wearing on a winter day. In the attic, spread between the light’s reflection of the window pane, her canary dress disputed any claim of snow beginning to pile at the front door. Shoulders collapsed, her pale chest was exposed. It was that exposure, modest due to her small breasts, which presented her to the world with an air of naivety.

Two sparse and timid branches scratched the window by force of the wind. The oak limbs made their shape on her placid face. An Eastern Bluebird settled on the branch, the thin and unclouded blue of it’s tail pointing in the direction of the window. Against the stark white canvas that stretched the entire length of the roof, the bird-while arresting in its beauty- seemed to cheat its surroundings. A forgery of a scene you would expect to see hanging tilted at the bottom of a staircase. Both scenes hand painted, became intangible and romantic. Then, with a shatter the canvas broke, and great plates of snow shifted as if replicating those buried at the bottom of the sea.

At this moment her eyes opened and captured the image. But the bluebird was nowhere to be seen. For it was at this point that the great plate of snow slid, breaking into pieces as it fell. Collections of snow, the size of her fingernails fell as one, and the lustrous blue disappeared. This was the image captured. She could not see the bluebird once awake, once confronted with the real. If she had continued looking, she would have found that the Eastern Bluebird had remained stationary. The white she had seen was not only that of the snow, but of the bloated belly of the bird, unnerved by the shift. Instead, her attention turned to the now dimly lit room. From above, the shadow of the Oak protruded from the corners of her eyes, creating crows-feet. The coming of hours had reinvented her dress into a tawny shade that made her appear sallow. As her eyes adjusted to the dour corners of the attic she removed her head from the pillow. This was not his house. A black smudge lay across the off-white fabric.

Lets Romp

This is going to be one of my summer essentials. I might not parade around in it everywhere but it will be loved. It will be so loved.

L

We're hiding like elephants when they're happy

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oJkWBiBa6X0&feature=related

Waking up to snow in April...

In the depths of winter I finally learned there was in me an invincible summer.
- Albert Camus

Lavin Spring 2009 RTW

A room of my own

Virginia Woolf wrote that every woman should have a room of her own of she is to write. Though childhood put me in a room co-habitation situation with both my siblings at one point or another, I have been lucky enough to have my own for some time now (a perk of being of adult age and renting an apartment). The thing is, Virginia Woolf never discusses decoration of said room. I mean not even one suggestion. With a move on my horizon and a new bedroom to fill with everything me, my mind has turned to paint colours and my purse has been taken over by paint chips. But those little pieces of coloured paper just dont do it for me. I'm not very good at grasping what the colour would actually look like when applied to my beautiful new walls. This could actually be a hereditary trait since my mother is the queen of painting and then re-painting since she never likes the end result. But I will triumph and my room will be a the perfect cove for me to hide away from the world and maybe even write.
Any colour suggestions Mrs. Woolf?

Lins

Fact.

Rabbits can see behind them without turning their heads.

Sundays,

Are for watching any movie that comes on the television. For drinking left over wine and talking about giant chocolate kisses. If you live in this apartment then Sundays are also for Karaoke. So lets sing.

Always, Lindsay