today

today is almost perfect. family and friends together. a walk around montague harbour. watching an otter eat a red red salmon and following him as he made his way along the island - him in the water, us on the shore. we poked beached jellyfish, washed ashore pink and hard, drying in the sun. a whole lagoon of tiny crabs scuttling sideways, always an equal distance from each other. scared of us, but us equally scared of them. (don't pinch me, please.) back to the house for naps. me, cradled in an old chair, waking to the sound of the pool balls broken with a crick in my neck and feeling so happy wrapped in someone's handiwork.

it is overcast and cloudy. some rain. a relief to what seems like a dried out place. the grass is beige and straw-like.

tonight we go to the film school. wondering what might happen. the discussions so far about topics have revealed what could be a wedge driven between the unified front of the wong sisters we. but most convincing is the argument about activeness - no talking heads, no game show, no watching people sleep - instead a mapping (?) perhaps of memory or a exploration (?) of the island all led by the nose. it could be very beautiful. i am eager oh so eager.

my mind wanders back to those men too. interesting to me is who rises to the surface. who i imagine turning to with "look at that" or "what about this" or "i wonder if." knowing that these memories are vessels (karin says hi) for what i look for - dream about: (now karin stands with her sweet face poised over my shoulder, sniffing my ear, pink toqued and salad hungry smelling of freshly smoked cigarettes.) : companionship [i have that with my sweet friends] love [have that too, already] passion [that would be nice] but i think it would be so nice to have one who desires nothing more than to take care of me. is that selfish? yes, if i allow that would be the only dynamic, but it would never be that way with me. we all know that....

loyal blog reader kevin is filetting fish in the kitchen. maiko has brought the ukelele chord chart for flaming lips songs and karin is so karin that she loves me enough to recognize a beautiful sunrise, choose not to wake me to see it, but will describe it to me later.

this place here feels so safe and warm. too warm right now. the water tastes of sulfer and brushing my teeth reminded me of the hotsprings. there's a fish here that we overfed, but there is nothing like watching an animal eat. it is satisfying when you are the one handing him the food. oh, how we do like to control things...

galiano

we`re on galiano island right now, at an amazing space called the fathom labs... the stars are in the sky in a way you don`t see in the city. i saw three shooting stars and i`m sure there were others. my sister is here and my best friends. we eat. we drink. we laugh. and still i think about others who are not here...

when. when will this stop. please. soon.

momentum

these are momentous times we are living in. i wonder if every person who has ever lived in any time has felt this same sense of import. its not my life that i feel is important -- actually, no, it is simply that. it is simply that i have come to see the impact of what has always seemed a small and ant-like thing on, if not the whole world, at the very least this small corner of it.

its true that i live in priviledge. the things i have (and I have often been accused of having too many) are the trappings of beyond the middle of the class. i live in relative luxury, with three rooms, heat, running water and electricity. true, the bathroom sometimes stinks, but it's clean, safe and warm.

(I should mention that it is WAY past my bedtime right now. Words are not looking right. Priviledge? Privilidge? prividlige? wrong wrong wrong)

The violence I am subject to is insinuated and interpersonal. It is sanitized through keypads, spell checks and second thoughts. The violence I commit is championed in the name of "appropriateness" and "boundaries." The violence I commit is a skipped meal or a late night. My abuse of myself consists of working late and drinking beer by myself. Of wearing my hair in a ponytail and getting a head ache. I slowly annihilate myself by not eating my greens.

i feel like smoking. i feel like staying up all night. i feel like listening to really loud music. i feel like being alone. i feel like curling up inside the warmth of another person's arms. i feel like watching the sunrise. like hearing the crazy 3AM birds. like doing a lot of drugs. like getting really high. like dancing. like crying. like fucking. like like like.

i fear catastrophe is waiting beyond the door frame. i fear that i have written these words before. i fear i won't have the courage to - do what? make little pieces of art for like minded mice to nibble on? to learn how to read a cash flow statement? to pay my bills? to give away the books i don't read anymore? to love? FUCK THAT. I love. I do. very much. all the time.

If i am going to be a single girl forever - and this is a distinct possibility - i will have to set up some terms, some systems to help fulfill my needs. if i'm going to write, i have to write. and have the courage to suck. i will suck! i don't care. i must speak.

remember this: i must speak i must speak i must speak i must speak i must speak i must speak i must speak

bigger dances

the square dance is getting bigger. i got a hit today of just how big the world is. the form of measurement: people. the mind-blowing bit: how each one is so different. i know this all seems so lame and first year philosophy. but this is how it goes: if i think about all the complications of me -- the paradoxes and contradictions within the delicate system of me. ok: so get a good picture of that (you can imagine you instead of me). NOW multiphy the complexity of that system by say, SIX BILLION. you see what i'm getting at? it's impossible to hold inside your brain. to me, it just looks like overlapping scribbles that become -- blackness: dark, opaque and full.

Joelysa and i had a long slow chat and chew and told secrets and shared stories and the places of our lives. then i saw raugi, sandi, lyndsay and lennox. lennox is soooo smart. she kissed me. i melted.

then i came home and had a mental debate with myself. now i'm going to bed.

(sorry, this one is boring. well, aside from that one big idea off the top -- but its not a new idea, so i don't think it counts!)

Dear Kevin

We miss you. Already. Maiko has been complaining about not hearing from you. I'm assuming that you've given her a call by now. At least I hope so, or else you're in big trouble!

I wanted to assure you after the outpouring of... what?... emotion in last night's post. these emotions are an ocean that i ride upon, sometimes navigating well, other times tossed about by sudden changes or violent storms. but we need the ocean right? for the fish and the whales and the water cycle. I wonder what global warming will do to me, if we were to -- say -- carry this crazy metaphor to the very end of the line.

my left fingertips are all numb from playing guitar. my addictive personality has latched onto the strings, the notes, the challenges of making this or that chord change just that much faster, smoother, more elegant. and i've figured out - mostly - where the words go. which is good. i like playing right before i go to bed. it relaxes my mind. not my body mind you... i woke up this morning with knots in my shoulders and a stiff neck. all in all, though, a successful foray into finding an activity that has nothing to do with work... except as a writer, everything ends up being about work, doesn't it? even this blog... oh, what a tangled web we weave when first we practice to play gee-tar.

it's really freakin' hot over here. just sitting here i'm sweating. and it's 11:30 at night! crazy...

my goal this week is to remain calm. marcus is using "don't panic" but i'm trying to - as an actor would - choose an objective that is positive rather than negative. remain calm remain calm remain calm.

i don't really want to see anyone these days. i like being holed up in my apartment with all the things i like to do to keep myself company. this puttering eases me after a day of wrestling with words and numbers and computers (we had some trouble with the printer today, but i think it's all solved... hope... hope hope hope... guess i'll find out in the morning.) i don't so much resent demands on my time as feel protective of the time remaining to me, just me, at the end of each day.

i was so happy when you came over to chat with my parents on sunday. your smile, your warmth and generosity, the effort of crouching and chatting - all those things reminded me of why i hold you in such high esteem!

much much love!
adrienne

ps: i received my first postcard from postcardx. you may want to try it...

sunday night

the last few sunday nights have involved movies and hanging out with a new friend. the same new friend every sunday. this sunday night is involving my computer and work and no movies and a sense of grumpy disapointment. maybe its a residual effect of the sunscreen that is seeping into my system after having been slatered all over my skin -- one's biggest organ donchano. or perhaps this rumbling discontent is merely sleepiness disguised as crankiness.

there's a name that repeats in my head again and again, a rhythm of a person who's not here. and the name like a mantra in the back of my head. i wish it would disappear. a life lived in yearning is a life lived in a hopeful future, yes? not the present. but we must have hopes for the future to help ground us and to propel us through what might otherwise be a dark series of now now now now now...

"what is love?" i wonder, tonight, as my mind skips all over the place. is it merely, as darren would say -- has said -- a force? like, like... what? (i failed physics.) like pushing against a rock. does love push against my rock, slowly wearing me down until i surrender to the biological imperative of reproduction. i hate this feeling of being manipulated. i hate this feeling that, somehow, everything is already laid out before me, like a buffet, and all i get to do is choose what i want to eat. but what if i don't like what they're serving?!

and yet i often wonder, "wouldn't it be easier if i didn't have to decide, if someone told me what to do." wouldn't that remove this element of free thought that seems to get me in trouble all the time. then i could wander, numb, through my life. and watch romantic comedies and laugh, and cry at sad movies and fall in love and be ok with that and not wonder what if what if what if.

oh god, what am i talking about now? kevin! KEVIN?! are you out there? you're going to toronto and for some reason it makes me soooo sad. i don't know if i've ever told you, but i get so sad when people go away. i used to think it was similar to the irrational fear of childhood that would prevent children from sleeping: if you go, you may never come back. but i know now that it's different than that. i've been the one to leave, i left calgary: my friends, my family. the saddest thing was that the people who stayed behind, the ones i left behind, i realized that in fact they didn't change. that it was me. or at least that's what it seems like now. so every time someone leaves i wonder, "am i doomed to stay here and stagnate and become the boring person i know is hiding deep inside of me?" AND HOW COME I FIND IT SO HARD TO TALK TO MY DAD? and could it be that i feel so alone for a reason and why can't i just let go and open the doors to allow others in and why is it so hard to let go of the things we know are bad for us and how come i'm so afraid that my friends will get bored and leave me behind for more interesting people and really, what do i have to say. what? what? what...

i see i've worked myself into quite a state here. my throat hurts because i don't want to cry even though i'm alone and who cares really. this is going to be a difficult week. i foresaw that last week and didn't really know how to forestall or prepare for the difficulty. that's my next step: how to cut it off at the pass. in the meantime i pack some extra provisions in my back pocket: some fearlessness, even recklessness, generosity (for myself), compassion (for everyone else) and i invite anyone to try to make me laugh. *that* i think could help more than anything else...

oh so tired

i can't go on
i must go on
i will go on

fuck it.
i'm going to bed.

and

Each friend represents a world in us,
a world not possibly born until they arrive,
and it is only by this meeting that a new world is born.

- Anais Nin

peut-etre

I was riding my bike tonight I caught myself thinking “this is all too good to be true” and “there is going to be a break soon, I can feel it” but then I passed the street to Jamie’s house and I remembered how we were in the car with Maiko and I saw the road block, but really it was just the protective beginning of a traffic circle and I said “oh that obstruction is less than I thought it would be” and you said “keep that in mind in the future” so I’m trying to do that but sometimes its so hard and I miss you and I’m worried that things are changing – can I feel it? – and at the same time trying to make it ok for things to change because what could be better than for things to change rather than to stagnate and anyway how long can I continue to have part of my heart so far from the rest before it breaks off to become its own entity that doesn’t need me. has it already happened? would I notice? what if i’m distracted? I may have been distracted. and wishing I had more time, more energy, more everything except for work... no more work... I am fine. really I am. it’s just been a long day and I need to sleep more and to eat better and to practice guitar and remember why I do this (why do I do this?) and keep the faith in my abilities and in the fact that I am anything but average — I would rather be a dismal failure than average... oh the crushing weight of mediocrity and do I really have the drive to make the things that I think of into a reality that can be experienced by someone else or am I forever doomed to be thinking of ideas which fizzle when I am faced with the banality of realizing them. but really I am fine. I am. really. I’m happy. joyful even. there’s just this shadow swimming underneath and I want some kind of psychic-polarized glasses so that I can see what it is or at least where it’s heading and if it’s hungry and heading for me, like a fish gulping at my bait.

------

et je pense: qu’est ce qui est vrai? ce soir losque j’étais sur ma bicyclette j’ai pensé “c’est vie n’est pas possible, c’est trop” et “il va falloir casser, je peut le prévenir” mais à cette moment-là j’ai passé la rue de Jamie et je me suis souvenu l’occasion lorsque nous étions dans la voiture avec Maiko et j’ai vue une blockage dans la route, mais en réalité c’était la commencement d’une route circulaire et j’ai dis “l’obstruction est moins que j’ai pensé” et tu m’as dis “il faut se souvenir de ça au futur”. donc j’essaye mais des fois c’est si difficile et je te manque et je m’enquiète que les chose change – est ce que je peut le prévenir? - et au même temps j’essaye de laisser les choses à changer parce que qu’est qui serait meilleur que les chose changer? rester la même? surtout pas. et comment est ce que je peut continuer avec mon coeur qui reste à une grande distrance de moi, combien de temps avant qu’il se détache de moi? est ce qu’il est déjà arrivé? est ce que je vais le sentir? est ce que je suis distraîte? et j’ai l’envie pour de temps en plus, d’énergie en plus, tous en plus... sauf le travail... jamais plus le travail... je suis bien. bonne. il fait passé une longue journée et il me faut dormir et manger et faire mes répétitions de guitar et me fait souvenir les raisons que je fasse ce que je fasse (pourquoi?) et garder mon foi dans mes talents et moi-même – que je ne suis pas moyenne, je déteste la médiocrité, la mort avant la médiocrité! est ce que j’ai la détermination de réaliser mes idées, ou est ce que je suis damnés à être une personne qui fait seulement des idées mais jamais la réalité? mais je suis bonne. contente. joyeux. mais il y a une ombre qui passe sous l’eau et je souhaite que j’ai des lunettes speciaux pour voir et déterminer ce qu’il est, d’où vient’il et dans quelle direction il voyage et est ce qu’il veut me manger?

(and maybe I would be more productive if I didn’t translate everything I wrote into the language of my people.)

callous

guitar lessons! so far i've succeeded in my goal of practicing every day. that's two days, people! i think i can keep it up. in fact, i know i can. i really enjoy the feeling of stretching my fingers and my brain to accomodate these new tasks i've set for myself. like moving each hand autonomously in a different way, a different pattern. i think i could get good at this. i mean, think about how fast I can type, right... that's just practice we're talking about here! why does complaining remind me of the guitar lessons... perhaps it is the tenderness of the fingertips on my left hand, the fretting hand (fret not!). over time, we play and build up callouses. fret not! the pain will not last forever. and rather than simply losing sensitivity in those tender fingertips, the callouses help to make the music, they help to make the music possible. I've always thought of the ways the body protects itself from pain to be a process of shutting down or turning in-wards... they all have negative connotations for me. But this callousing, this building up of skin tissue, sure it reduces sensitivity, but it is also neccessary for the music, no? The body protects itself from the hard metal string because it needs to press against the hard metal string to make sound. The body will accomodate the work, the world, the word.

finally, ben yankson left a message. seems he's really interested in talking over old times...

... i feel like i'm falling ... no that's not quite right ... what is it ... i feel like the humid sun blanketing a green field ... mmm ... i feel like kissing ... or what it would feel like to B a kiss ... yes that's it ... a kiss ...

worried

karin, my sister, emailed me today with a tone of defeat and futility that, while not unknown, is compelling and disturbing. i called her immediately, to express my LOVE, undying LOVE FOR HER! my life would never be the same without her. but how can i give her the drive, the faith, the sense of meaning that life requires in order to go on dragging the burden that is our flesh, our hearts, the tiny delicate bits of us that shine in the sunshine and freeze in the dark? this is a gift worth more than any one life on the planet. more than mine. if i could, i would give all i had to her. everything. if eating my heart would fill hers with passion and life then i say: dinner is served!

saturday

three things:

1) i woke up at 4:30 on saturday. i had to go to work. the bike ride through strathcona was unexpectedly peopled - i invented a game "coming or going." the rules are very simple: is this person coming home or going out? most of the 20 people or so i saw were pretty definitely in the coming category, leaving me lonely and travelling along in the going category. i did see one fellow in a yellow t-shirt with whom i shared a definitive shared look of misery as we both neared work at the early hour of 5:30 am...

while i don't like suffering from sleep deprivation, there is something about the extremity of waking up at 4:30 that appeals to me. the extremity of the fatigue that overtakes you. the challenge and sense of accomplishment of finishing the day - albeit at 8:30!

2) after finishing work at 10AM i headed to the beach to read the paper, only to be distracted by a friend. we spent the morning indoors listening to sarah mclaughlin... then i walked him to safeway and back before heading on my way. as i was walking to where my bike was parked i heard a voice behind me: where's your bike? "right there," said me. A conversation ensued about bike tires and treads and city riding (which i mostly do) vs. mountain biking (which i've never done). "What's your name, anyway?" and after I had introduced myself, "would you mind if I gave you my phone number... we could go for coffee sometime..." er. uh. "you don't do that sort of thing?" no... "ok, well there's no harm in asking! have a good day!" and he was gone.

no, there's no harm in asking. thank you, stranger, for your courage, for putting yourself out on the line like that. i mean, it looks like a line to me, a shaky one at that. but you, you just asked. and it was easy and generous and breezy. you are an inspiration.

3) by the time i returned home i was super-pooped, however the day wasn't over yet! time for a guitar lesson with maiko and nicky. what a frustration! i could feel my brain growing, stretching, forging new pathways. keep going, i say to me, keep going.

we went for a beer afterwards, and nachos, because what is a beer without nachos. oh. except that i had a caesar. i guess the nachos make less sense then....

anyhow, as we were walking down the sidewalk i heard my name. i turned... puzzled... could it be... ben yankson! a grade school friend somehow refound in the same way my sister refound mathieu - another grade school friend - only to bed him and move into a loft apartment with the fella.

so much happening in one day...

my sister

i just spent three hours on the phone with my sister in calgary. our conversation ranged from ideas for a documentary we're going to make with each other (proposed topics: late night worm hunting, mapping experience, creating perspective, asking for directions, "the intricate system of you") to relationships to sisterhood to the end of the world. she and i share an expectation that the apocalypse will be arriving soon at a theatre near you... (she said, "after the apocalypse, democracy is not going to dictate the way society is reorganized" I said, "NO... you're right.")

my sister asks me hard questions and then is sensitive when i get defensive or upset.
my sister challenges my intellect and the way i see the world
my sister is so thoughtful about how she chooses to live her life that i feel it would be callous and ridiculous if i didn't try to do the same
my sister is the smartest person i know
(and i know a lot of smart people)
my sister gives me a lot of good advice

my plan was to go to bed early, but i don't mind staying up late and being tired because i got to speak with my sister. i miss her.

people change

everyday they change
sometimes
a connection is there
clean pure
fast adsl fast

other times it's like dial-up
clumsy clunky unreliable

And I wonder: am I reading too much into an off the cuff comment or accumulation of words over time. A feeling, a sense of hostility. Is it there? Or am I hearing something in the static?

Ah... it's probably nothing...

No thoughts tonight, just mullingmullingmulling.

My neighbour was telling me about getting dumped. "That sucks," I said.
"I think you and I have different ideas of what it means to be dumped, it's not such a bad thing." He went on to say: "I'm kind of afraid of what I'd do if I ever met the right person... to fall in love... I might not be able to handle it."
"Maybe you haven't me the right person yet."
"Yeah, I've heard that before... I don't know. What would you do?"
"I'm not ready to settle down..."
"Yeah, right."

(It's not coming together tonight. Sorry...)

Pillow Box

Pillow Box
Originally uploaded by Chonky.

This is the inside of my box. When this photo was taken, it wasn't quite done yet. The project is called Box Theatre and is an initiative of Theatre Replacement (theatrereplacement.org) Check it out!

the looking glass

I have been reminded that, despite my perception to the contrary, my words do not go unheeded here. And while posting to a blog sometimes feels like dropping a frog into a bucket of frogs, it is important to know that each and every frog is very very different. And who knows, perhaps that frog will find another frog who might appeal and then nature will take its course in the way of bees and birds with the result being a whole new batch of tadpoles...

My brain has been consumed with a recent project called Box Theatre (check out my friends at Theatre Replacement for the deets). My box is titled Box Spring and tells the fable of a girl who runs and runs out of fear because she doesn't know any better than to believe what she is told - even when what she's told runs contrary to her own lived experience. (I guess in that way it's about trusting oneself, blah blah blah...) But the object of her fear - the one by whom she feels pursued - has neither taken nor threatened to take anything from her. Instead he has given her the most precious thing one can give another: love, pure and simple. And the time taken from his own life in pursuit of her.

Our precious heart is akin to a delicate glass sculpture. Some of us hold it dearly to our hearts, never trusting another with it's care. Others of us smash it ourselves, convinced that somehow witnessing the destruction will hurt less if we enact it ourselves. But there are some of use who hold our tender sculptures in the palms of our hands, hoping to hand them to another who can be trusted with their care. Because glass needs to be polished, to be dusted carefully and protected. And finally, to be admired. Anyone who manages to risk breaking something so precious should be celebrated themselves in a commemorative statue made of something more enduring and long-lasting like bronze or granite or steel.

But what is often overlooked when we think of glass is its liquid nature. Glass, true glass being made of silicon dioxide, is never ever truly solid. We see the charming results in old houses with old windows whose outlook on the world is distorted by the varying thickness of the glass. This variety is due to the glass sliding - dripping - down, following the relentless directions of gravity, albeit in slow motion. A shattered glass is merely one that has been forced to move more quickly than is in its nature.

In fact, my grade ten chemistry teacher told me that glass has a memory. It remembers being granular sand; free to sweep, drift and collect. A sudden shock to a pane of glass is like the sudden recollection of a memory - a recollection so intense and meaningful that it changes the physical manisfestation of the element. From organized, flat and transparent, the glass attempts to return to organized (if disparate), granular and transluscent. Unfortunately, all it gets is jagged and sharp, but that's one step closer, yes?

I don't want God to grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change. I want the serenity of knowing that silicon dioxide is silicon dioxide, regardless of the shape. And rather than the courage to change the things I can, grant me the courage to hand my delicate glass sculpture to others knowing what the risks are. And what of wisdom? Wisdom is knowing that no matter how slowly, all glass will eventually surrender to the inevitable force of gravity. And that is nothing to fear.

two days!!

"Dearest Adrienne,

In two days it will be a full month since your last post on your blog. It in fact has already been four full weeks and in fact a full lunar cycle since you wrote. I know it is not your intention to leave off of speaking your mind, that in fact you continue to do so each and every day, though in a less public, written form. I am concerned that in fact you suppose that your words have gone unheard. I would like, therefore, to bring to your attention to the fact that in two days it will be one full month of me checking you blogger site nigh daily and being disappointed. Though the lunar cycle may seem to be a less important circadian determiner for males of our species it is nonetheless prompting me to write to you. I write to try to convince you to share once again your impressions of the world at large to the world at large.

missing you

K"