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Wednesday, December 28th, 2016
11:53 am - Death & Celebrity
It's strange to feel grief when celebrities die. We feel like we know them, but in reality, we really don't have a clue. And they obviously don't even know we exist - as a group, yes, but as individuals, rarely.

Needless to say, a lot of bad shit went down in 2016, and part of that shitiness included the death of many beloved icons. David Bowie, Leonard Cohen, Bill Cunningham and Carrie Fisher were the most heartbreaking for me. In short, L.Co was influential to my writing and understanding of poetry, David Bowie to my understanding of fashion, art (V&A exhibit) and music. Total Aquarius rising. Bill Cunningham died in his late 80s and lived his life up until the very end, shooting photographs of the most stylish people in New York. He traveled by bicycle often in his little blue jacket, heart full of spirit.

I only recently learned how badass Carrie Fisher was, when I was rewatching the original Star Wars movies last year around this time to re-educate myself before seeing the new ones. What a feminist icon she was, how she spoke her mind, truly, how she told us about her bipolarism. She didn't give a fuck what people thought of her. I love that and aspire to be like that. I often get caught up in wanting to be more graceful, which I find important, but it's very unnatural for me to be graceful, poised and tactful. My natural inclination is to rebel the way Carrie Fisher always did. I side with the shit disturbers in the cafe over the floating cashmere ballerinas. But, if I could do that while still accessing that "effortless fashion blogger" which I imagine wistfully flowing in the wind, inspired and aspiring (weird) then that would be cool, too.

Like many people in the EST timezone, I discovered George Michael died in the middle of Christmas dinner. I immediately texted Daina, who is a huge fan of him and introduced me to his work (as well as Cohen, might I say). Then we - my family and friends who gathered for dinner that night - listened to Last Christmas through my iPhone speaker. What a tragedy.

I can't remember where I was because I have the memory of a stoned fruit fly, but earlier this year I was out by myself, probably miserable and lonely, when I heard a group of people standing in a lineup somewhere sing the sax part of Careless Whisper by George Michael. Yes, not even the lyrics, just the iconic sexy sax melody that eveyone knows so well. It instantly made me feel better. Thank you, George, for making music that makes people feel really happy, flamboyant and gay.

RIP Prince. Muhammad Ali. Sharon Jones. Glenn Frey. Ursula Franklin. John Glenn. Harper Lee. Phife Dawg. And especially: Murphy. Nancy's mom. So many personal deaths. Not to mention, the Death of America - Trump & Co., I'm looking at you.

Interesting, politically divided deaths (though never speak ill of the dead): Rob Ford. Fidel Castro.

The Oscars and Grammys are gonna be real long next year :(


Wednesday, November 30th, 2016
3:55 pm - the aftermath
the trauma after choking
on your lungs
from drinking water

a useless, unnecessary trauma
one minute you sip, the next
you're coughing up water
onto your book, clothes, couch,
table, rug
drips down your lips

cursed water
clogging up my airways like that
liquid lodged in my scratched throat

simply irritating

after i've wiped the floor
with my ragged sleeve
i notice water stains on nearby textiles

water crept onto my socks
and into my bra
and i'm still coughing
unable to speak
so i keep drinking water
hoping that things clear up


11:14 am - Rough notes
Overheard on the bus:
"If you are in transition, you are really living"

To ask someone a question
instead of googling it
is a rebellious act

If you cast your eyes down
long enough at your phone
they'll permanently stay that way


Thursday, November 24th, 2016
11:10 am - una pregunta
when you quit your corporate job
does it mean that you've "left the corporate world"
even when you never really belonged there in the first place?

can you quit something you don't belong to?
and never believed in?
can you quit something you never wanted?
something you're not attached to?
but grips you tightly anyways?


Monday, November 21st, 2016
11:29 am
dear tiny
chat box,

i've had enough
there's no space to record my dreams
your size is quite obscene

and when people send me messages in teams
or groups, as you say
it drives me loopy insane
like i can't concentrate all day

so many notifications
notices, inhalations
exhales of other people's inclinations
i've lost all inspiration

undersized chat box, i ask you to
please open up your mind
maybe you'll realize
that you must grow larger in size
it'll be quite a surprise
when i can communicate through you
right now it's just controversy
and complacency

change damnit i want you to change
an overflowing waste basket
i demand and i crave
a better way to say
what i need to say



Sunday, November 20th, 2016
10:52 pm - university remix
i am the thirstiest of all thirteen atheists; a raised fist stemming from a weak wrist. and i insist that i'm a solipsist. i'm jam packed fulla hella trucks backed up in orillia waiting for a delivery of manilla paper. so i can write letters in the shape of envelopes to come, and unravel my stomach straight into the sun.

like a crackademic, instead, i'm writing this paper, on genetics and cosmetics and the teeming epidemic of mustard and relish. relinquish those condiments, commodified into packets of ketchup that catch your eye and douse your fries. onion cuts exposing tears, 18 & need to pick a career, drilling hieroglyphics right into my teeth.

university, tormenting me like an orange seed dropped in the amazon rain forest, you-never-see, unabashedly you bash my confidence gracefully, a slam poet who doesn't know it, playing grapefruit basketball in the street. i recommend tangerines, you find it to be quite obscene. i'm non-stop rhyming, lost track of timing and now i've fallen behind & i'm crying. i am obsessed with the words i can possess and my self esteem is flying. out the window. thanks for the help, though.

i pretend i'm in a mockumentary. a sudden urge to compose a symphony of fakeness and tomfoolery. i'm a grown woman. once i used to be unwoven. once was a presentation of cultural celebration, but now i'm a buddhist lost in confusion. elevated on elevators i'm lost in translation.

& then we met. the streets weren't free, i found you on the internet last night at three. mesmerized by a bluescreen reflection that reflected my understanding of human affection. i dislocated my connection, unplugged my digestive system into a state of backwards inhalation. how many liras for this libra, boy? my library fees now must all be destroyed. we bowled on an island where the crows were calling, tarantulas crawling, palm trees falling over holland. no longer a scholar, just a shot caller, store bought history tucked away in a drawer. a impressed empress dressed to suggest, swimming in calming waters.

we would be masterful then, faster than a natural disaster, fresher than an olympic medallion massacre, offshore like madagascar, no more battle scars, only accelerating sports cars. discovering life on the highway, no time to write essays. truck stop moments, breakfast at denny's, giving the waitress all of our pennies. for a price, she delved into our imagination, we imagined a nation run by temptation, it was amazing.


Friday, November 18th, 2016
6:44 pm - Sylvia Plath remix (None of these words are mine)
I live here
The moon is my mother
Clouds flower
I am silver and exact

Mouth stuffed with cotton
A featureless cloud
I walk among them
In love with the formlessness
of the sea

This is the light of the mind
Cold and planetary
Trees black, light blue
The moon is no door
White as a knuckle and terribly

I am not cruel, only truthful
It might be a part of my heart
But it flickers
Funnelling my heat away

No novice in these elaborate rituals
and cabbage roses, snug as a bud
and at home
those that impose on the evening of
a ceremonious April walk

Murderous, I would breathe water
Entering the stomach of indifference
Vague as fog
Farther off than Australia

I have suffered the atrocity of sunsets
The bottom is what you fear
I do not fear it
I have been there


I was seven, I knew nothing
I am lame in the memory and
I am alive only by accident

And then
Years later I encounter the perfected woman
Her body dead
Wearing the smile of accomplishment
Her bare feet seem to be saying
We have come so far
It is over


Friday, November 4th, 2016
6:22 pm - disappointment like
disappointment like
a website that forever buffers
a pinball that never succeeds
a spoon disappearing into a bowl of soup
a basketball that falls away from hoop
murphy's law dictating jam-covered surfaces
layers upon layers of uneven gas prices
a match that never lights
the failing mathematics behind a vending machine
broken eggs - eggshells, eggyolk
a crooked nail hammering
a dart that misses its aim
non-stop floating on-screen logos
dominos that pause halfway
the inherent injustice of carnival games

and anxiety like
paying full price for flights with stopovers
baggage fees (emotional and otherwise)
hitting red lights the whole way
busted pizza pops
leaking waterbottles
feeling the breeze of another person
feeling the eyes of another person
a thin sheet in winter
dried up plants
cutlery placed in different drawers
oddly angled furniture and laundry baskets
white fluorescent lights during night time
singular, glimmering blond hairs stuck to clean cushions


5:39 pm - hide like you know it
hide like you know it
in your study

suddenly damp
swamped with beating grass

the screws are now undone
you've walked too close to the waves

the seaweed dissolved
we were not covered

we were ungloved
unglued and unloved

hide like you do
beneath the porcupine quills

like all that was promised

hold, don't spit
a clever honey applied to your lips

near the stirring sea
set, chewing tinsel, expertly picked like lint

there is an apothecary cabinet
with nail samples snipped at the root

a tide has scrubbed the filaments
a mugged mist pulls the lake apart

past its expiry point
a clean slate, and your face

nothing to thirst after
the roses have frozen over us

a dried fountain
another glassblown flame

a crab claw grabs
another enduring threat

hide like you mean it
now envelop the gallop

use your whole core
shrink far away from your reptile eye

a muted hammering
an abrupt bend of the neck

pressing against what your eyes have flattened into
blanketing trees, no longer awash in black but silver

shimmering, understated rain
and rolling lights exposing veils, twisted veins

poured into plastic milk bags
decanted through a tea set

sinking out of sight
gone over your head

wools and linens
heavy like books

stitched into taut memories
shipwrecked and floating towards the horizon

freed, teary-eyed
starless wonder

hide like it's true
mail yourself a slim, lightweight reminder

drag the ocean behind you with quiet tiptoe
clamour behind black sunglasses, seeking attention

there is no access to your pupils
hiding your cry, windswept like space

heavy like ceramic
death before the time we could meet

mulberry silk
buttoned up to your neck

cuffs stiffed to your wrists
and to your hardened, unoiled knees

a stillness inside
but an active heart thudding

particular ruffles
unfurling into their own wings

holding a bone made of pearl
dissatisfied with the digestion

sunlit rhombus of gauze
milimetres of inlet

a cove gazing down
a cliff rising up

i heard the lake in you
so dense with salt we floated

a serious stomach inhabited
by a dark, sleeping thing

tealights lit by matches
spreading like charmeuse

flapped out, clipped feathers
petrified forests, hammering like footsteps

into the wayward atlantic
at last we let go, and watch the world incur around us


3:02 pm - Chameleon Imposter
"Perhaps that's why I want to be everyone - so no one can blame me for being I." - Sylvia Plath


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