Monday, June 22, 2009

I touched the soil and he loved me back

When I write short little stories (which I do occasionally for my own amusement) I find that I am endlessly coming back to them, tweeking a sentence here, a structure change there. The stories that I keep evolve and progress when I do. Id be curious to see how they have changed from their original form but alas that cannot be since I do not save what came before. Anyways, here is one I have been playing with for over a year now.

"Pillow Talk" (I just made this title up, but lets face it, it probably wont stick)

“I’m having trouble with meaning,” She stated as if it were the weather, “ I have been thinking about the soul. If there is a source of meaning - it lies within its undefined walls. I don’t know exactly what your thoughts are on the soul. I have always tried to imagine it, where it would be. A ball of light hanging above my head? Thin streams of smoke in the deepest creases of my belly button? Whatever manifestation it possibly takes wouldn’t matter if we had them. They could be a sort of creature comfort like a blanket or a god. It comforts me to think that I have one. I would be happy if the only meaning in life is to protect our souls and let each one reveal itself to us slowly.
Its just lately I’ve been feeling that it be very easy to fall aside in this life. To pursue avenues that seemed to be what one wants but that lead us somewhere without meaning. Meaning is important to me. I feel the need to get up and run. Go somewhere - do something. I think maybe I understand a deeper part of why you always push to go further and further, but I wont presume to know.”

She thought again for a moment, quickly becoming embarrassed by her sudden omission. Her glance fell to the nightstand but the face of the clock offered no comfort.
“I think I might be talking with an echo. Talking nonsense to myself. If you cant understand any of this, don’t worry. I’m having problems forming my thoughts. Thoughts as concepts in my head seem much simpler and easier to understand.”

He shifted on the mattress and then with such certainty he spoke, “ Its okay. We die never knowing the truth of any of it.”

Nothing hurts between duvet covers.


Tuesday, June 16, 2009

The New Romantic

It was my Sunday off from work, and I was flipping through a magazine while standing against the bookshelf in our living room. I came across a fashion spread titled The New Romantics.
I have always considered myself a Romantic, but looking at the images, I felt completely disconnected. When did I become the jaded 21 year old girl shooting sarcastic remarks at any guy who approached? It was time to reconnect with the girl I somehow lost in the last few years. So I dedicated the entire day to romance, with myself. The following photos document my day. From getting ready in my bedroom, to resting on a park bench, I once again felt able to capture the romanticism of my day, and hope you all can do the same.

With Love,

P.S watching the elderly couple was probably the best moment of my day. Kate Nash's 'Birds' was playing and I may have shed a few tears. But I guess a few tears now and then accompany romance quite nicely.

Sunday, June 14, 2009

Give a Little Love, to Get a Little Love

One of our first restless nights in our new apartment, Lindsay and I decided to take to the neighbourhood and spread some joy! We wrote little notes on post-its and left them on random places in our neighbourhood.
Here are the results:

"Smile! You never know who's watching."

"Maybe the whole point of life is to give the perfect kiss. Try today"

"Compliment someones shoes today, just for the heck of it!"

"Buy a lolipop and remember what it's like to be seven"

"Remember to take a breath and smile today. You'll feel better."

I really do hope people found these and smiled to themselves before throwing them to the gutter.

Friday, June 12, 2009

An Open Letter to The Ossington:
It is on. While walking home on Wednesday night my roommate stopped to use your restroom. He then recieved a verbal bitchslap from a very hairy (even for my taste) man. "You're not trendy enough to be here" said the man standing at the urinal. Maybe it was just that one (again very hairy) hipster, but I'm taking it personally. I'll bust out my thick framed glasses and best boyfriend blazer and I will frequent your bar on a Wednesday night just to prove you wrong.
Once again, it is fully on.

Tuesday, June 9, 2009

Women love these fierce invalids home from hot Climates

Inspiration of the Day:
Tom Robbins, Author

If you were to see me holding one of my Tom Robbins novels you would probably question why it looked like I had it in a passionate embrace. Sometimes you love a piece of writing so much, that you just want to be as physically close to every word as possible. He writes such explosive dreams of adventure and people and meaning. Mixing thoughts of religion with dirty humor. One of the things I have always most been incredibly pleased with is his treatment of women in his novels. It is so refreshing to read a male author who treats his written females as whole human beings capable of self discovery and strength within themselves, so much so that his male protagonists treat them as romantic, sexual, spiritual equals.

My current favourite quote:

" To deny that young girls were throbbing hives of sexual honey was to be both sexist and ageist. On the other hand, to steal samples of that honey or dupe them out of it, or to view them as only hives or even as primarily hives was an equal or perhaps greater wrong."

- Fierce Invalids Home From Hot Climates, page 137

I'm currently taking a course on Women's Literature and though it focuses on female writers writing the female body, it has none the less changed the way I view representation of women in all literature. There are hidden narratives in all tales.

I wish to say Kudos to Mr. Robbins and thank you for not making us into the virgin or whore, controlled heroine or madwoman but just metaphorically standing beside us, holding our hand and watching the destruction of the world together.

L to the ins