When Will People Learn Reality Has Absolutely No Place In My Universe?

``I know a man who gave up smoking, drinking, sex, and rich food. He was healthy right up to the time he killed himself.``
- Just something I heard somewhere

Well... That was quiet a hiatus there, but thanks to a surprsing amount of energy and fueled by Diet Coke, Your Friendly Neighbourhood Art Nouveau Girl is back to bore you all with my strange mix of cynicism, pessimism, and overwhelming cheerfulness.
How do I do it?
Must be the weather, It's finally sunny here in good old Milton (dripping with sarcasm) after long cold winter (particularily in the school which is trying to kill us, by not putting on the heat), and I'm feeling waves of unexpected notaglia. I keep thinking of a quote from an old Recess (so a grade two reference, right?) episode, where TJ regresses back to kindergarten and goes all Peter Pan complex (sidenote: the complex I invented on Urban Dictionary, The Marty Mcfly Complex [doing something because someone called you coward/chicken/yellow] has been seen by thousands of people, and even spurned a spin-off, type 2 complex- cool!) on us, never wanting to grow up. A line from the episode talking abot the Kindergarteners' carefree life, keeps playing through my mind (along with Daria, by Cake): "Their way of life is coming to an end. Soon they'll be first graders."
This applies to me as well. My way of life for the past seventeen years is ending, I'm stepping headlong into the unknown so, I guess my annoying little inner child is clutching desperatedly at straws, trying to grasp on to that last bit of childhood, and I begin the ardous, often teary process of looking back on my (own) so-called life and realizing just how much I have done (moving, bullying victim eating disorder, depression, self- discovery....etc.)

(UPDATE! - Yay! I got in everywhere I applied! Still going to the first school {Carleton} that accepted me, tho. How can you deny a christmas present?)

So I'm going to sit back with the sun and the light breeze drifting down on me, thinking words like sunbleached and lazy, on my back steps and list what I'm nostagling over:


- The Last Unicorn
- Really Rosie
- The Point
- The Wizard Of Oz
- Big Wolf On Campus
- Rugrats
-Boy Meets World
-My Little Pony
- Strawberry Shortcake
-Clueless (the show)
-Carebears' Alice In Wonderland
-Sabrina The Teenage Witch
-Recess
-The Weekenders
-The Little Mermaid
-Powerpuff Girls
- The Zack Files
-Daria (I didn't really get it, but i loved it. I get it now, and I love it even more! We need more smart shows!)
- Student Bodies
-Forties music on sunday evenings
-Books on tape
-Harry Potter Mania
-Jacqueline Wilson books
-Shakespeare Without The Boring Bits
-Babysitter's Club
-Sweet Valley High
-Caroline B. Cooney Books
-Battle Of The Books (Secret Weapon!)
-Chalk drawing on driveways
-Red Popsicles
-Running through the sprinkler
-YTV
- Junie B Jones
- Batman
- Archie Comics
-Spy Vs. Spy
-Those DVDS and C-Roms that came in cereal boxes
-Scholastic Book orders
-Family Dinners
-Running for the Ice Cream Truck- Vanilla Softserve rocks!
- Sun In
-Gummi Bears, Cherry Blasters (inretrospect, dirty....), Fuzzy Peaches, Swedish Fish, Wax Lips, and Pixie Sticks
-Happy Meals
- Those kid's orders at the movie theatre, with a plastic collector drink, little popcorn, and a funsize (although smaller is not funner!) twizzlers in a little cardboard tray
-Juice boxes
-Ketchup Chips
- Peanut Butter
- Jump Rope
-Maze placemats! (still do 'em)
-Cereal box puzzles (ditto.)
-Listening to my Dad shake the house, playing records
- Barbequing
-Stickers on tests and homework
- Old Hollywood Musicals
-Brittany Spears
-The Spice Girls
-Lame Boy Bands (Platium blonde dyed hair, multicolured leather and silver jewelry.... possibly homosexual...must remember to investigate further)
-The Hit List
- Slam Books
-Plastic Bracelets
-Pigtails
-Jelly Sandals
-YA Fiction
-Claire's
-Dial Up Internet (You've Got Mail!)
-Candy necklaces
- Modelling for Oakville Place (before it went all snobbish)
-Clip on earrings
-Never wearing a watch, unless it was filled with candy
-Big tee shirts and leggings
-Dodgeball
- Hello Kitty
-Scooby Doo
-Pepper Ann
-Barbies
-Bowling birthday parties
-Parties in the Mcdonald's party room with their yellow frosted cake
-Pin the tail on the donkey
- Balloon Volleyball
-Recess! (on the Mother Teresa Dustbowl!)
-Elwy Yost on TVO's Saturday Night At The Movies
- Jungle Gyms
- Trick Or Treating
-Moving to three different schools, because of district boundaries, living in the same place
-Scooters (mine was electric blue), and rollerblades (mine were ruby red)

Ahhhhh.....Nineties kids. Good times. You know, I'm so glad I was a kid when I was. I mean, there was so much variety and creativity with children's things. Now they just slap a picture of Hannah Montana, High School Musical or The Joncas Brothers on something and kids slobber all over it. There's no variety to it anymore. If you really wanted to, you could have everything Hannah Montana, including wall paint, garbage can and plates.

It's sad really...

Like they're trying to stamp out orginal thought. I hate all this Disney Chanel brainwashing.

I really miss Daria. She was so witty and amazinglying cynical and proud of it. She never apologized for being who she was and refused to confrom. She was just so awesome, and up on all her pop culture references, and a writer, like me.


I'm loving her grad speech:
"Um... thank you. I'm not much for public speaking, or much for speaking, or, come to think of it, much for the public. And I'm not very good at lying. So let me just say that, in my experience, high school sucks. If I had to do it all over again, I'd have started advanced placement classes in preschool so I could go from eighth grade straight to college. However, given the unalterable fact that high school sucks, I'd like to add that if you're lucky enough to have a good friend and a family that cares, it doesn't have to suck quite as much. Otherwise, my advice is: stand firm for what you believe in, until and unless logic and experience prove you wrong; remember, when the emperor looks naked, the emperor is naked; the truth and a lie are not "sort of the same thing"; and there is no aspect, no facet, no moment of life that can't be improved with pizza. Thank you."
- Daria, 'Is It College Yet?'

So true.
I really wish they would put out season DVDs!

On another unrelated topic, after being throughly annoyed by the robot baby (named after Jacob from Twilight, but I call it babycakes) my friend has to have for parenting class, and brought to work, (although happily not the freakish robot babies from License To Wed) I am more strengthened than ever in my resolve to never have children. I mean everyone else at the meeting wanted to hold the baby and feed it is plastic bootle, and I'm just thinking: Keep that thing away from me!

I swear, I wanted to hit the baby's head againist the wall, it would make it shut up! How do parents ever get anything done? I can barely get anything done as it is!

And i'm not a heartless child hater or anything, I like kids...in small doses. I would be the worst parent ever: erratic, dreamy, impatient and nearly noctural. It'd be like one of those stories of a kid getting raised by a junkie or a feral child with wolves.

In local news, my 'sunshine yellow' laptop escaped the April Fools virus (I had meant to post a piece about april fools day, such as the BBC Spagetti farming hoax, Rick rolls or the Orson Welles War of the Worlds thing, but I was too busy being a child) that was all over the news for the last few days. I was inordinatedly worried because: 1. I`m a natural worrier and 2. I have a habit of downloading random files and applications to get my computer to do things I really don`t understand. But yesterday I got to thinking, lately there`s been a lot of prankish kind of stuff going on what with all the stolen bikes, this april fools virus, the poisoned dogs in parks, and the stories of dead racoons being posed with flowers, (and while I know it isn`t all the same people, if it was....) doesn`t it sound like a lame rip-off of Project Mayhem.

I don`t know...just something to think about.

I was thinking that this virus might just be the last nail in the PC coffin, the worm that launches a thousand Mac orders, but it also it reminds me of my short story from Writer`s Craft a few weeks ago, where a group called the Retrograde Revolution tried to overthrown techology in order to go back in time.

So last night, I celebrated by downloading hours of the likes of The Pixies, The Smiths, The Unicorns, Radiohead, and Tom Waits. 'Cause I'm cool like that, Dah-lings

Oh, and it you ever want to give someone the finger, without getting in trouble with teachers or parents, put your hand flat under your elbow. Now it's sign language for CN tower. Which I am climbing in a few weeks for work. It feels like hell, but it's actually pretty nice after, 'cause you feel all energetic.

-Catcherkins
Your Source For The Sugar Rush Report

Signing off now, Quote on quote.

Question: What do you do if you just want to go to sleep for a hundred years?
What do you do if you just need to escape?

And Sometimes You Just Want To Dress Up Like A Giant Owl And Fight Crime

Message From A Random Fortune Cookie:

"How far you go in life is not as important as how you get there."

Some Quirks of Mine:

(because I happen to be a fantasiticallly Quirky individual and everyone else is fantaically obscessed with Facebook quizzes trying to get everyone to care about how interesting they are and learn every little detail they find so interesting. They kind of scare me being too private a person, I did one on who were you in high school and the quiz decided since I was a slacker and a dreamer, I was a stoner. As If !

1. I am a genetic freak, but not where it counts or could possibly be interesting or helpful. Instead of something cool like being double jointed or able to roll my eyes back in my head, I have slightly webbed toes and a freakishly long tongue that can touch my nose.

2. I would love to be one of those cool girls who can comfortably read comics and stroll into shops and know exactely which issues she wants and how much to pay. I wish I was well versed enough to sustain a conversation with Dr. Sheldon Cooper, because that would really creep him out, a sort of pretty girl who knows her graphic novels, but what can I say, but that I am professed nerd bait. I do love comic books, well the ones I've read anyway, which amounts to not many at all just a few Detective Comics (We are after all a DC loyal household) my dad had lying around the house, even a pervesly telling Catwoman which said a lot about my father who puports himself to be the real caped crusader ( also I am the only girl I have ever heard of who read both her Mom's old Vaniety Fairs and her Dad's MADs). I only own Watchmen, The Joker HC and a well-read copy of Mad Love, but I've also read The Killing Joke, Arkham Asylum and some Harley and Ivy (but its not really my thing if you catch my drift)

Can you tell which comic book villain I am obscessed with? Hint: It starts with J and ends with oker. I have a vested interest in acquiring the Gotham City Sirens, From Hell and Ghost World, though so we shall see. Pretty much done with Archie comics by now though. They're much to predictable and even slightly sexist, and thier new art direction is gag worthy!

3. Remember that old saturday morning cartoon Recess about the adventures of a group of fourth graders on the blacktop? Well there was a character called swinger girl who spent her recesses on the swing set, forever trying to reach the allusive goal of swinging over the top and 'Breaking on through to the other side'. Yeah, well that was basically me except I wanted to fly, I wanted to swing to far up into the sky that I would never have to come down. I wanted to know everything, to see everything, I wanted to soar far away from the ruthless kids in my class, (mainly the girls) who bullied me into oblivion and my parents who at the time fought in thier every spare moment. I used to say I was afraid of heights, but that was never really true. I was only afraid of falling, of having to come back down to earth.

4. There really is no denying that I can be a bit of a submissive doormat at times, even often. Something must have gone wrong in my DARE classes, because I just can't say no. Really if someone I love wants me to do something, even if it does not appeal to me at all, I have to do it.

It really is a flaw that I can often get so caught up in pleasing everyone around me that I end up neglecting my own happiness. Why I am so obscessed with other people's lives? Is it because at the end of the day, all I really want to do is help people? Even if my own sister claims I'm hopelessly self centred, she is the spawn of Damian and Rhoda the bad seed after all. On the flip side, listening to people makes me do things I never would have on my own, even if I really, really wanted to. I am at naussum telling people to make me do things, just so I will finally do something instead of lying around and watching Secret Diary Of A Call Girl episodes on my computer.

5. There is no better feeling in my life than when I sit down to fill a wide expanse of blank paper with my own words. Really only (visual) artists and writers can understand how excited a blank paper makes me feel. Its so full of possiblity, and I could put anything on it, I could make beauty, I could make art, all I have to is pick up a pen. I consider myself endlessly lucky for the power I have a fountain of ideas, like voices whispering in my head, demons who won't let me rest until I fill the paper with thought, though sometimes it can be trying when I just want to sleep. But I am lucky that I have the surest cure for bad thoughts and depression, I'm a word bulimic. I purge on paper, kicking the hurt out of my mind and on to the page so it is no longer part of me but my creation.

6. My dreams, both day and night are so vivid that when I wake or am recalled back to my life, I am never sure if what I dreamed really happened, for weeks after I rush around like a headless chicken or Marie Antoinette trying to reconcile with reality. My dreams are so far removed from reality, like fairy tales that this really doesn't seem to make sense at all, but I can't help it, its true. I have friends who dream about school, permission slips, flunking tests and showing up at school buck naked, while my dreams are wild, hallucinations full of dinosaurs, clowns and gypsy caravan rides around the world. They're split into town distinctive camps either good wish fullfillment or fantasies from which I wake sundrenched and rested and bad dreams of terror and blood that I can never remember by morning and wake up with a start tossing, turning and drenched in my own salty tears.

However the good nights are rapidly disappearing. I only ever have good days now.

7. I define myself in terms of my birthmarks, my own little spots to proclaim uniqueness. On the back of my right thigh is a tan heart shaped birthmark that I totally look, as hearts are my symbol anyway. I have a small dot by my right eye and another on my right wrist. I even have a starlet dot above my highly cupid's bowed lip, just like Marilyn Monroe.

8. Who by the way, I love. Glamourous, beautiful and heart breaking Marilyn Monroe is the perfect sexed up ingenue, the little girl who became a star to be loved and adored, who justed wanted someone to take care of her for once. Plus we shared the same favourite movie as children, The Wizard Of Oz and both have akward stories of growing up and feeling ugly when we developed more than the girls in our classes. I just hope my own story doesn't end so tragically.

9. My first kiss was at age six when I was trying to put on my own productions of Shakespeare plays in my backyard playground with the neighbourhood kids. Naturally I was always the star.

We were doing my favourite, Romeo and Juilet, and my best friend, the boy next door (well really a few houses down) was my Romeo. We tried to be serious actors but we just couldn't understand what love was and what made it so powerful, so after 'rehersal' , alone in the sandbox, we tried kissing for ourselves. I haven't seen him in years

10. I would love to have motorcycle, a big red and chrome old fashioned harley, that I could ride and feel free as the windrushed by my face. I would totally ensconce myself in a tight leather catsuit, oh so naked under leather and drive really fast with my arms out stretched and my eyes clasped shut in euthphoria (but of course, I'm too afraid of ending up like Rebecca, plowed to death by a passing truck. I also dream of thin hot pink streaks in my hair, but would they clash with my carefully planned ensembles?

11. My mother screwed me up in many, many ways, most of them actually more my falut, but the biggest was her lessons on vaniety. She always taught me that if you think you are pretty or smart or talented, then something will happen that will take it all away. Its gotten so that to this day, I am unable to have high self esteem or think well of myself, because I am terribly afraid of being being punished.

12. My psychology class has enstilled me with the weirdest case of hypochodria. Whereas once I tried to explain away only my physical problems, or any ache and pain as anemia, cancer or lupus (but its never lupus), I now fear I suffer from whatever disorder we study, dissociative identity disorder, antisocial personality disorder, manic depression, etc. although I am pretty sure on the last one... more updates later

13. One thing I have suffered from is an eating disorder, what I like to call borderline Anorexia Nervosa, wherein I displayed all the symptoms and behaviours, but somehow was caught and induced to gain weight before I got scary skinny, but at my lowest point I was less than ninety pounds, fainting and shuting down, so maybe my perspective is off. The weird thing about an eating disorder is that even when you consider yourself healthy you are never really recovered. something inside me chastizes me for gaining even the slightest amount of weight or is disguisted when I even so much as eat lunch instead of starving. Sometimes I still look at myself in the mirror and want to die.

14. I might possibly be some kind of psychic. Weird coincidences always happen to me, like when me and my best friend who I will refer to as Lashes watched Urban Legend, chatting about the prophetic song at its opening and then went a sushi resturant where the same song, which is an old song not even often on radio was playing (kinda like Anthony Rapp and Losing My Religion in his book Without You: love, loss and the musical RENT), or when in grade ten after learning at the assassination of Franz Ferdinand (the archduke not the awesome band), the talked about both on Gilmore Girls that night.

Usually I know whose calling or what we will study each day. Sometimes I even get an eerie sense of what a place or person will be like before I have any idea.

One time, pretending to be retirees, Lashes and I crashed bingo night. Looking at the card that explained the different combinations and games that would be played, I noticed one called Love Letter, it sounded so nice that I decided that if I won a game it would be that one. And Low an behold I won Eighteen dollars.

I just hope I'm not going to have one of those Final Destination visions and have to bury the surviours.

15. I am the messiest person that has ever walked in hot pink Forever 21 corkboard sandals, I hoard things like I'm afraid to lose them even if they don't fit or I don't care about them. As a result my room is a pig sty or as my dad affectionatedly refers to it, a crack den, but I just can't keep it clean. I can't! I pile thing or put the in boxes or the back of the closet, but by that afternoon I have to dig through them in a frenzy to find something and never have the time or energy to put it all together again, even if I had all the king's horses and all the king's men. Neither do I see the point of making my bed, it just gets messy again that night, so why bother?

Sometimes I work better in my chaos though. Even though I never know where anything is and am constantly losing forms or putting things in a safe place and then forgetting where that is, I know things better than I would if I was neat. At best it can be (slightly) organized chaos.

16. I am a firm believer in the art of dancing like no one's watching, but the catch is that I only dance when no one's watching. Actually I love it, when no ones' around I dim the lights and pretend I'm a stripper, even pretending to vamp, flirt and toy with imaginary men. It's a good workout actually, and I'm getting pretty good, plus I can finally understand how strippers stay so thin. My favourite dancing songs are the Theme from Grindhouse: Planet Terror and lots of Britney Spears. I just wish my underwear was more exciting.

17. I find it extremely strange that it seems that the only people who are comfortable singing in public are those who are atrocious at it yet those with talent never can. Singing along with writing and travelling is one of my great loves, and I as many have attested am possesed of a pretty good voice. However, I can never do it in public. Nothing shuts me up faster than someone telling me to sing something at a resturant or on a street corner when I first tell them I sing. Its strange that when being a closet writer and singer, whenever anyone needs to talk you or compliment you they go on about how good a singer or writter you are, even when they've never read or heard you. When I'm home, the entire house vibrates with sound, of me sininging musicals, opera, indies, top 40, or classics in my versiatile soprano, but as soon as I get out the door the song stops. Once I treated Lashes to a performace of Popular from Wicked in a near perfect impression of Kristen Chenoweth's Glinda voice (that's another thing, I'm also a great vocal mimic) and since then she kepts at me to sing more for her and sings Popular whenever she straightens my hair for me ( I can never reach the back), as if I'm the Elphaba she's making over (though Elphie and I do have a lot in common). The few times I've performed for an audience, I've been met with acclaim, actually shocking people who suddenly decided I was a superstar, (yet without confidence or stage presence) , even my own parents looked at me diferently. But I don't know...I'm terrified of wasting my singing. I'm happier when I'm singing than anything else (except writing) since I was born!

18. In my mind, my life is a movie and I like Blair Waldorf , am the ingenue star with the old Hollywood looks. Soundtracking my movie has become a fasinating topic of great importance, suddenly my ipod is glued to my head and I get excited to walk downstairs to get a glass of water because I have the perfect song for it. I have playlists for even the simplest actions, imagining someone is watching me and loving the backing or montages. I am forever searching for the perfect song.

19. I am the owner of over 300 purses, nearly enough for every day of the year. They resides in their own cupboard along with my collection of at leat 80 pairs of shoes and barely ever get any use becuase they are so piled up over one another that pulling one out unleashes a veritable avalanche of leather, plastic and cotton. On the bright side, though it can be like shopping in my own closet, finding purses I don't remember ever seeing before. To be fair though, the most I've spent on a purse is the forty on my velvet 60's style Roxy bag, the majority are gathered cheaply from vintage stores, including a 3 dollar Coach, 2 dollar Louis Vuitton, and 10 dollar Dior. People have no idea how much things are worth. At work I'm purse girl at school I liven up my uniform with a new bag each day, but if Freud is right and purses are phallic symbols, then what am I? I think I like purses because if you gain weight, if you get ugly or fall apart, they never reject you. They are the only truly one size fits all.

20. I hate my stupid Lasenza bras. They don't fit and I constantly fall out or feel like either a matronly fat cow or some B-movie go-go girl with her chest exploding out at the sides, that Russ Meyers would love. Some days I like having a larger chest, somedays I feel fat, because after all that is what boobs are, isn't it?

But at the end of the day, everything that makes me quirky also makes me.

Red Riding Hood

On a Sweeter note, after that last super, self indulgent rant post.

Heard this on the radio today.


May just be the most awesometastic song I have heard, as of late. The rhymes are just so amazingly corny, I mean good rhymes with hood? Who knew?



Plus, the added bonus that I heard in on the radio in my grandmother's car on her oldies station, in between Elvis tracks and traffic reports, sadly not Graphic Traffic (we know why you rubberneck), while I'm sitting there in my little red coat and hood, and point toed heels with what looks like kinky hardware on the front of them.

This is the kind of stuff I'm wishing someone would say to me. A hero.

And anyone else think its awesome that when the fairytale was written , a red hood signified a prostitute?





"LI'L RED RIDING HOOD
Owoooooooo!
Who's that I see walkin' in these woods?
Why, it's Little Red Riding Hood.
Hey there Little Red Riding Hood,
You sure are looking good.
You're everything a big bad wolf could want.



Listen to me.
Little Red Riding Hood
I don't think little big girls should
Go walking in these spooky old woods alone.
Owoooooooo!

What big eyes you have,
The kind of eyes that drive wolves mad.
So just to see that you don't get chased
I think I ought to walk with you for a ways.

What full lips you have.
They're sure to lure someone bad.
So until you get to grandma's place
I think you ought to walk with me and be safe.

I'm gonna keep my sheep suit on
Until I'm sure that you've been shown
That I can be trusted walking with you alone.
Owoooooooo!


Little Red Riding Hood
I'd like to hold you if I could
But you might think I'm a big bad wolf so I won't.
Owoooooooo!


What a big heart I have-
the better to love you with.

Little Red Riding Hood
Even bad wolves can be good.

I'll try to be satisfied just to walk close by your side. Maybe you'll see things my way before we get to grandma's place.

Little Red Riding Hood
You sure are looking good
You're everything that a big bad wolf could want.
Owoooooooo!


I mean baaaaaa!
Baaa?"



-Sam The Sham and The Pharohs





Supreme Seal of Approval,
Luv
The Easiest Catch.

I Love You BECAUSE You're Ugly, Not In Spite Of It

"This Little Girl
She grew up and moved away and she
She lived her life full of risk and full of play and she
She lived her life, with so much to say, and
Her flowers they grow more beautiful everyday"
- Little Red, Kate Nash

Sitting here wondering.

If I try so hard to create beauty in my world, where it doesn't exist with words, flowers, love, lyrics, is it strange that sometimes I just want to sit back and bask in ugliness. Sometimes something ugly is just so poignant, just so perfectly imperfect and uneven, just such a contrast to everthing else forced into symmetry. Just something without the pressure of beauty, to conform to standards, the crushing of the everyday. Something you can hold in your hand, and love for being repulsive. For being so unashamed and unabashed in its uncompromising ugliness . For just being, not trying to hide, not trying to be beautiful, and not trying to make any apologizes.

What kind of punishment is slavery for a submissive?
What kind of punishment is torture to a masochist?

If you submit enough, bring yourself far enough down, can anyone really touch you? If you reach rock bottom, if you survive the fall, are you safe?
Can anyone really ever hurt you again?

Are we all Sadists and Masochists deep down, destroying each other for our twisted kinks? Is that our real aim?
Is trying to live an ordianary life, all the thing we're supposed to do, the checklist of being: fall in love, get married, get a jog, have kids, is this a submission to being average? Is this settling?

After you crash from your childhood highs, and realize that all your life, your parents lied to you, dreams don't come true, anything isn't possible Santa Claus isn't real.When you realize you won't be a movie star, won't be a rock star, an astronaut or superman, do you give up all hope of adventure? Of being somebosy, of being loved, being significant?
Can you ever be happy being? Can you ever feel happy, or will kids become your shackles, white picket fences your jail, and a brick house in the suburbs, your tomb. Nails in your coffin, nails through your heart.

But where do you go when there's no where else to turn, but in? Do you disappear? Fade to nothingness. Can you ever be recalled back to life?

If you threw a feather, a coffee pot and me out a window, who would fall faster?

Am I anything to anyone? Am I anything at all? Am I an allusion, a girl made of air? I've almost disappeared before, tried to fade to nothing, claw my way out of my skin.
A shell, a last veil hiding my true self, shrouding my nakedness.
And I wonder what hides underneath? If I just sit back and let myself go free, the chips fall where they may. If I'm undressed of my skin, scarred to reveal my true face, will I find true ugliness to repulse even my drive. Or will I find sad beauty in a meaningless, pitiful self destruction.
Or will I just rant, bogged down by responsiblities, expectations, and my own feined scraps of modesty and a penchant for adjectives and purgery.

Will I destroy myself before the world is able to?
I mean I'm only 17. I haven't seen enough, lived enough to know what suffering means. I've never really had my heart broken, never really crashed or burned.
I mean, I've cried through nights of lonliness, but I've never really felt pain, never really been scared. I'm sheltered, in a sururban bubble where I think I've lived, think I'm strong, a surviour, ready to face the world.

But without fear, without pain and with restraint, am I really even alive? How pathetic a picture do I paint? What potency can I write, what sembalnce of meaning can I even hope to convey without being born? Never mind being saved.

Until we go to both extremes, reaching satisfaction and euphoria and emptiness and desperation, are we built on a foundation of lies? Is there meaning to anything we do, until we flip the coin, fall up and down and live on the other side.

I want you to hit me as hard as you can.
I want you to love me as hard as you can.
I want an ordeal I need to get through. I need to be born, to rise from the ashes, only myself to blame.

Nothing comes from nothing, and all happiness deep down comes from suffering, making it through, scared and wiser, experienced and awakened.

No, I've never really suffered but I know someday I will have to. I just hope I can take it. I'm so fucking used to getting up at three in the morning and writting nonsense for hours, that I won't be able to make sense of in the morning.
I almost feel scared, saddened by fear I can't even contemplate, terror I've never known. Will it meet me head on, or will I trip, and side step into my doom, somehere lost in the future.
Somewhere in the grandscope of time, of things that haven't happened yet, but are already effecting us. Will I ever sync up?

Will I even hit the ground, stop floating living in impossible dreams and realize just how unspecial I am, how many times these same thoughts, same words have been thought by others. How much I define myself by the creation, by the inspirations, awakenings of others, while I blindly stumble around looking for my own, seeking my demise.

I am nothing new.
I am nothing unique, I am nothing original. I am nothing the world hasn't seen a hundred times before. I will live, serve my term on earth, and then be forgotten. Just be forgotten ashes and rose petals.
Recycled.
I will leave nothing behind, no morals, no messages. I will leave no hole in the world. I will just suddenly cease to be. Everyone who holds me as something will one day be nothing too.
And until I realize that, really realize it, not just say it because its' true, until I know it with every fibre of my being, every breathe,
until then,
I am nothing.

I am just another human being. Just another end to the world.

We don't matter, no matter what we do, whar we accomplish. No matter how many people follow us, believe what we say, see our art, read our words, subscribe to our manifesto, someday it will be meaningless. Perverted and misinterpreted. Corrupted. No matter how important society sees us as, no matter the conotation of our names, our headlines, someday we will be forgotten.
We will be dirt. We will no longer exist in energy or memory or any form.
And all those of us who never did anything, nothing will change, no one will know our names.

Someday our great rock in space, our light to the world will implode.
Erased.
Fallen off the charts, off the edge, out of the world.
Someday life here will cease. I don't know how, I do know why but someday it will. It's been borrowed time, too good too be true. Since the beginning of time, we've waited for it to end. We've had theories, dates, and countdowns, trying to plan everything, remembering Girl Guides and swearing again to be prepared.
But really, it won' t be expected, won't be planned.
It'll be an ordinary day, walking down the street in the eye of the storm, when we'll look up and scream , "WHAT THE HELL IS THAT?"
And then darkness. Too late.
No chance of resurrection, no hope for redemption. Just darkness.

And the next world will look at a dead blue planet, the next superpower, at our sad facade of civilization, and wonder if it could have even supported life, (and truly I wouldn't call this life). We'll be primative, barbarians of sorts. They'll look down upon us and wonder why the past was so dark and cruel.

We're not a special era. We're the prodical children, who never went home for forgivness, who denied birthright of salvation. We're the kids we ran away from home and joined the circus. We get our kicks off serving our own selfish needs, destroying what past lives have tried to, even died to perserve.
We are the downfall. As long as we continue to breathe.

And then nothing will matter. It won't matter if you were saving money, going to school, checking into rehab, or getting out of jail. It'll be stupid to put your life on hold, a fool only waits. It's a fool who says, I'll do it tommorrow, I'll do when I have time, money or energy, when I lose weight. The fool sits at home, and waits, putting more time between purgatory and life.

There'll always be a thousand reasons not to do something!
Take a deep breathe, bite down hard and jump.
Don't look forward.
Don't look how far you'll fall, to see what'll hit you at the bottom
Lock in, Baby.
Just fall
Don't space out
Don't disappear
Don't go to your happy place
And don't forget
Hold my invisible hand and come to me. I'm waiting at the bottom. You've forgotten my name, I've forgotten my name. I'm in pieces on the floor.

Look up as you fall, and watch what you're missing, rush past you.
On the way down, it no longer means anything.

Please don't wait for heaven. Don't think heaven will save you, or hell will
punish the lucky, ungrateful and cruel. They may never get theirs.
In real life, things aren't fair. There's no comeupance at the end of the story, because the story never ends. As long as there's someone left to keep living, keep writing, all that changes is the chapter.

Give them their just desserts, be their personal Fury, their hell on earth. There's nothing else for you to do. No other power but in attack.

What if heaven and hell are nothing but ancient mythos, told to the mediveal peasants so they would keep working with out rebellion or protest, in hopes of heaven and not punish tyrant rulers who would get punished in spades, in hellfires. A coping mechanism, keeping everyone in their station, squeezed into a ridgid little place, everyone in line.

But what goes around and comes around and bites you on the ass.
And Karma's a bitch

The priveledged are always priviledged, and some of us are just meant to be the casualities, the people dead in the street, you step over on the way to work. Falling even as we rise. Falling in the past, present and future all at once. Unstoppable tracks.

The end is breathing down on my neck, and my pessimism posesses me like bitter words, in acid on my willing tongue.

Stop me.
Please
With any means
Wink at me in a crowd, and give me an ally
Write me a song and give me a voice
Give me a mission. Give me a means
Something to corrupt boredom of being
To consume unfulfillment
Something to become
Serve me myself on a silver platter and laugh as I stumble to my broken feet.

I'm losing myself and fin ding myself at the same time. Finally falling faster.
-Are you that girl?
-I was earlier tonight.

Now I'll try to forget what I think, what I know, what I said. There's nothing for me here, 'cause if I'm going to die, I'd rather not know it. It's too much pressure.I'm closing my eyes. Going back to sleep.
Forgetting to breathe.

Buckle up.
It'll be a bumpy ride to forever, to watch as it ends.

- A Jonesing Catcher Lux Davis

I feel fine. Seriously not disturbed or anything.
And just a tip. Never go on any sort of journey looking for the American Dream. It ALWAYS ends badly!

I'm history's youngest child. Twelve years old, even as I sit here seventeen.
Candy necklace and candy diamond ring.
I just never learned that less is more.

As If I Needed Another Reason To Love November 22nd

"Newsvendor: I see the world didn't end yesterday.
Rorschach: Are you sure?"

"We have labored long to build a heaven, only to find it populated with horrors." - Watchmen

(yes. This is my mood today. Let me hover, don't bring me further down or try to cheer me up. I'm OK [You're Ok])
And on a lighter note:

"I Love Shrimp! Who Else Loves Shrimp?"
- Richard Gilmore, Gilmore Girls

Wow. Long time no blog!
Lots has changed on the Art Nouveau front, but nothings' really different.

it's finally March Break (mini wave and stream of cartwheels). But sadly it's now almost over, and the threat of school on Monday looms on the horizon, with only a weekend left. It's weird to think that it's been a year since last March Break when I went on the school trip to Italy and Greece, in comparison I really haven't done much this year, except stay up all night and sleep all day, 'cause I'm cliche like that.

Highlights include:
- Going shopping with my sister in Toronto, and getting caught in the Sri Lanka genocide protest along Yonge street, while we tried to get between Forever 21 and the World's Biggest Bookstore (where we would be told that they have to keep copies of Fight Club in the back of the store, so they don't get stolen).
- Getting home the same day, and looking at all the stuff I bought, all the stuff I wanted so much, spent hundreds of dollars on, and suddenly feeling so distant from it. Suddenly not caring about it anymore, like iI sdhould just give it all away. I've been getting this feeling a lot lately, but then a few minutes later I see something I want, and buy it. I think it's getting out of hand, now. And I wonder...when will I be satisfied? When will I ever have enouh stuff? Am I filling the hole in my heart, the hollow at my side on pair of shoes at a time?
-Watching Cold Mountain with my parents, while my Dad spent the entire movie waiting for Renee, my Mom lusting over Jude Law
-Creating my own team of superheroes, and taping drawings to my closet door
My Team: Red Riding Hood (flying prostitute), The IT Girl (girly girl with superstrength), Invisi-Boy (invisible albino), The Golden Boy (super jock with control over the elements who winds up Oracle-ing it), and The Reader (child prodigy, who can read minds thanks to government experiments.
More on them later....I got loads.
-Trying to clean my room and getting somewhat sucessful, for once, thanks to blasting music on my Ipod dock. I'd forgotten my carpet was white. Actually sort of grey now.
- Watching Jawbreaker with my sister, and thinking about how Rose Mcgowan's character shows more of her dominant character in the Big Stick scene than she does in the entire movie
-Hanging out with friends of the family and binging out on peanut M and Ms
-Spending inordinate amounts of time on Polyvore.com putting outfits together (as QueenOfKitsh)
- And having a real eupthoria moment, on the treadmill, listening to music and half dancing, half running while pausing every few minutes to try my hand at mimicing more lines from Harley and Ivy. (I'm actually getting my Harley voice!)
I think I actually screamed, I am Alive!

Yay for finally getting warmer! I was getting used to the sound of my teeth chattering.

And my latest thing (with this washing machine), hanging out at my grandmother's for a few days. So this blog is coming to you live on location from my grandmother's computer, which feels really weird to type because all her settings are for extra large print type.
So I'm in Scarbourgh, and I just blew fifteen dollars, I'll never see again on dessert shaped erasers, a strawberry headband, another chocolate bar mirror, orange-mango gum, and a Little Miss Sunshine/Mr.Happy red plastic coin purse, (seriously I'm like five years old),wearing lots of winged eyeliner, having
and slept 'til 3 this afternoon, after watching Big Wolf On Campus via Youtube until 2 in the morning.

Yesturday, my dad came to drop me off, he sent me downstairs with the dog, and this weird guy in a car whistles over at me in my hot pink fishnets, and yells "Hey Sweetness!"
Me? really? Why preposition me? The dog's prettier than I am.
Serious baby, I'm no prize. Why do you think nobody's snapped me up yet?
And on Pirate Facebook, I'm Marooned, but that's beside the fact.

This encounter is made weirder by the idea that my grandmother's building is restricted to older people living there. ne again I'm going to ask why the only guys who like me are old ones?Do I have an age limit? You must be this old to ride this ride?

Anyway.......

I've been kind of lazing around the past few days reading Watchmen, mostly in the sun in my backyard. After finally caving in and buying a copy, after so many people told me to read it. I really don't know why I was so reluctant...It was just about the best thing I've ever read.
Sadly the movie didn't deliever the same punch, didn't make you hold your breath, didn't leave you thinking, wondering if the world was ending and if we would destroy ourselves.
It cut out the philosophical aspect, cut down the entire idea of the past, present and future existing at the same time and Kovacs literally becoming Roschach, instead of just a guy in a hero costume, becoming the hero.
And gave us just another superhero movie. Just another action sequence, just another unconventional love story, just another midlife crisis.

and 99 Red Balloons, I mean c'mon!
What the fuck was that for?


What's cool is that I have the same birthday as Dr. Manhattan, who emerged fully formed on November 22nd, which is the best day ever! Especially when its' coupled with the best day in the week, Friday (as it was in '91), when the weekend, two glorious days of untouched freedom stretch out in front of you.

Apparently as Friday's Child, I'm honest and giving?

I've always loved my birthday. It's just cold enough for a refreshing breeze but not freezing, there presents of course,
and usually, somebody out there who likes me, obligies me with a bright moon or some light snowfall. Oh and I finally get to be as old as eveyone else in my class. Take it from me, late birthdays suck! Everyone else is turning 18, and I'm still 17! It'll be harder next year in Ottawa, when I'm still 17 and everyone elses' legal in Quebec. But whatever, it's an awesome day

Plus there's the added bonus that in 2033, it will be 11/22/33. But that's if I live that long, and I kinda doubt that.

But it is a great day, shared by the likes of Karen O., Mark Ruffalo, Scarlett Johanson, and that figure skater guy who's gold was given late at the Salt Lake Olympics. Also, it's Lebannese Independance Day, who knew?

Not so great for Aldous Huxley, C.S. Lewis, JFK, Blackbeard, or the 100 people murdered at the 2002 Miss World Competition in Nigeria

But overall, a pretty great day.

But then again, my age is usually pretty coincidental to whatever's going on for instance:

-I'm 12, and I read Lolita- Lolita is 12

- I'm 14 and I read the Virgin Suicides- Lux Lisbon is 14

- I'm 16 when Sweeney Todd comes out- Johanna is 16

- And I'm 17 when Repo: The Genetic Opera comes out, with an entire (pretty lame, compared to the rest of the thing) song about the power of being 17.

Well, It's better than 40!

(there's tons more, but I can't remember them now.)

On the topic of Lolita, which I read after a creepy guy (*adding more to my age limit theory) on the subway called me a nymphet, and I wanted to know what it meant.

What's amusing about that, besides the obivious ridiculousness of the name Humbert Humbert, is the part in the book where the narrorator tries to imagine the reader of the book (which is supposed to be a Death Row confession), as an intellectual. He figures the reader would be an older man with wire glasses and grey hair, with a leather elbowed blazer, smoking a pipe in his office.

As then, picture me, the little thirteen year old blonde girl, with the jump rope, and the baby face.
I'm a weird one.

Well, Bah-Bye...

Personally, I Just Don't Care.

-*Catcher * (voted Most Dramatic in elementary school, so can't be taken seriously) *Davis*

Food For Thought: Did Dr.Manhattan create our universe, he was considering creating people?What if Watchmen took place in the alternate version of 1985, from back to the future? And anyone else think faceless Rorsarch looks like Alfred E. Newman?

This post breaks my old record of most November 22nd birthdays in the same post.

I'm Dead And Lovely

Yes.

This is just a post of the lyrics to the Tom Waits song Dead And Lovely.
But its SOO pretty!
More later. Or earlier if I somehow perfect a time machine
Just need a Delorean and some Plutonium.....

"She was a middle class girl
She was in over her head
She thought she would
Stand up in the deep end
He had a bullet proof smile
He had money to burn
She thought she had the moon
In her pocket

But now she's dead
She's so dead
Forever dead and lovely now

I've always been told to
Remember this...Don't let a fool kiss you
Never marry for love
He was hard to impress
He knew everyone's secrets
He wore her on his arm
Just like jewelry
He never gave but he got
He kept her on a leash
He's not the kind of wheel
You fall asleep at

But now she's dead
Forever dead
Forever dead and lovely now

Come closer, look deeper
You've fallen fast
Just like a plane on aStormy sea
She made up someone to be
She made up somewhere to be from
This is one business in the
World where that's noProblem at all
Everything that is left
They will only plow under
Soon every one you know
Will be gone

And now she's dead
Forever dead
Forever dead and lovely now

Now she's dead
Forever dead
Forever dead and lovely now

I've always been told to
Remember this...Don't let a kiss fool you
Never marry for love
Everything has its price [2x]

What's more romantic
Then dying in the moonlight?
Now they're all watching the sea
What's lost can never be broken
Her roots were sweet
But they were so shallow

And now she's dead
Forever dead
Forever dead and lovely now

And now she's dead
Forever dead
And she's so dead and lovely now"

-Tom Waits

If I am ever amazing enough for a biopic, this needs to be in it!

-Catcher in The Roses

Two headed boy, I'm in love with you!
Completely
Irrevocably.......

"I'm just a musical prostitute, my dear". -Freddie Mercury

Being Laughed At By Crows

" Frink: Or you could take something that already exists, and think of a new use for it-

Homer: Like Hamburger Earmuffs?"

-The Simpsons

"I think there’s something sinister going on in here. If you find anyone or parts…of anyone, scream.....

And scream again."

-Chandler, Friends

"Winston Egbert wants to start an annual poor people’s ball where no one “with incomes of more than $500 a year allowed,” which sounds a hell of a lot more fun that the Bridgewater Bore."

-1Bruce1 Sweet Valley snarks.

I'll go screaming and wearing my own hamburger earmuffs (extra cheese please!).

"I'm fairly sure this means that we're going to see a lot of models dressed like orphan boys holding copies of Howl, and if there's one thing a modern woman wants, I think, it's to appear as though she has just escaped from the clutches of Evil Headmaster Wackford Squeers, who beat her more than the rest of the foundlings simply because she kept trying to organize group readings of Naked Lunch. "

-Go Fug Yourself .Com

I'll go to that too. In crushed velvet shorts and white lace tights, with worn work boots.

'cause I'm that cool.

Imagine it you will, a typical day at The Daily Planet. Suddenly, Clark Kent's glasses fall off:

Random Guy: Oh My God it's Superman!

Clark: (puts his glasses back on) What?

Random Guy: He's gone!

Random Guy 2: Where'd he go?

Clark: (takes off his glasses to clean them on his shirt) Strange......

Random Guy: Wait! There he is again!

Random Guy 2: Its a bird, no a plane. No its Superman!

Clark: (puts glasses back on) Where?

Random Guy: He's gone again! What the hell?

Clark: How do I keep missing him? (winks)

Random Guy 2: Oh Clark, you just away seem to be gone when ever something exciting happens!

I used to think this whole idea was so silly. I mean Superman doesn't wear a mask or go under cowl, and yet a simple pair of glasses make his alter ego unrecognizeable. I mean really! If you wear glasses, you're going to take them off everyonce and a while, at least to clean them, or to sleep,

so really how did he keep it up? (the same goes for those girls on Sailor Moon, who didn't even use the 'fool proof' glasses disguise).

But maybe, it's not so silly. Maybe its smartest man ever intelligence?

Maybe it's hiding in plain sight, the place you'd never expect, so you don't need to trouble with a serious disguise.

After all, who would expect the original, "mild mannered reporter" (as a reporter, I'll be anything but mild mannered. I can assure of that) of donning a cape and flying through the Metropolis night, beating up bad guys? It'd be like being invisible and unnoticed, so you don't really have to hide. You hide in normalacy. Just naturally blend in.

.....Or maybe, Miss Art Nouveau, needs to calm down and get herself some sort of meds.

And real life experiences and adventures to go all Gonzo on.

Checkmate.

check your emotional baggage and judgments at the door, and ride the fall.

Are we coming to the end? i'll never be your cookie cutter.

Don't even try to fit me in!

At work today we got to talking about superpowers. Of course, because we started finishing each other's sentances, and I shout out, wouldn't it be awesome to be able to read minds?

(just in case any sort of genie or wish granting entity, is listening I'd wish for the power of flight).

But today, I was dreaming of mind reading, so I could know people's secrets. So I could know if the guy I like likes me back, and we're just wasting time staring blankly at each other as if we don't care.

But on the other hand, that'd be a crushing blow. Because, then you might find out more then you would ever want to know. What if everyone you know, everyone you love, secretly hates you?

What if they laugh at you whenever you leave the room, their private joke?

What if its you they're covertly whispering about. (just because you're paranoid, doesn't mean they aren't really out to get you....)

You just can't recover from that.

And once opened, Pandora's box can't ever be closed.

Also, somebody suggested that if the guy you liked, did actually like you, you would hear his possibly perverse thoughts, that might make you stop liking him.

But of course, in my screwed up case, hearing what a guy i like would want to do to me, would be something I'd like.

....unless what he'd like to do was cut me up in little pieces and stuff my in an old gym bag in his garage.....maybe not then.

Hopefully, it would be something possibly constructive like:

"I'm going to follow you around today, and catch you whenever you trip over something". (or don't know how to open a milk carton, and say you broke the milk- and then you choked on a cookie? {only to make you love me, of course}). But then, of course he'd see just how many times I trip over things, and be all 'What The Hell Is Wrong With You???!!! Did you just get your legs yesturday, or something?'

And i'd be like, sure. Don't you like them?

Sale at LegsRUs!

They look killer in fishnets.

But seriously, today I got to rhapsodizing about the same guy I always fall for. You're heard of him, he's infamous. That kind of wasted, killing himself, sickly, addled and throughly addicted Writer-Rocker. The kind of concave, raw, gruff guy troubled with all these beautiful demons, who devours you on some sort of hallucogenic kiss. Poisonous, acidic, maybe a bit rough. You can imagine him spitting and seething. He doesn't apologize, he's just himself, he throws out the punches wherever he goes, inciting controversy with him every step. Gives up normal life for stupidly brilliant plans. He's a genius and makes you feel like a runaway! And you're happy to be, to need him, to support each other in rundown cellars and depraivity, wait backstage. And no matter how old you're getting you play the little girl. You just nourish each other. Help grow and fall apart. The kind of guy who needs a support system, to deal with him, help him survive every day, build him back up so he can at least function again. Just like you're got yours to rebuild you when things get rough or bloody.

Because living with danger is living and dying at once.

Beautiful.

And loved to death.

Everyday's a frightening adventure. You could live or die each minute, get off on a loaded, cocked machine gun, shoved in your willing mouth. And you're better off writing your own eulogy in a running scroll. Updating it like the blog your in love with writing. Imagine living with a dangerous guy like this! I guess they'd be a certain amount of

danger living with him. Just never let him try out a William Tell routinue with a highball glass on your head.

He's the guy that laughs at your klutziness, but not in a mocking way, but in bemusement, as if you're a piece of physical comedy set up for his own enjoyment.

But if i had my own comedy film, it would be so hilarious!

Would you just watch hours of me tripping over myself,and twisting my rubber band face into crazy expressions. So oscar worthy.

I read somewhere that crows are a bad omen, that show you that something bad is going to happen. So, I'm scared.

Yesturday as I'm walking back to school after lunch, there's the biggest crow, I've ever seen, ink black, sitting atop the chain link fence. And seriously, it looks like he's watching me, his all knowing gaze seems to follow me wherever I go. And as I try to escape into the school, he keeps cawing, and its really like he's laughing at me. He keeps doing it, right after I turn to look at him, he starts again as I try to walk away. And this morning, as I'm walking to school there's another crow flying far in the distance, and somehow I know its the same crow.

Lastly, today in Writer's Craft, I'm sitting there trying to listen, and my giant crow goes flying so quickly by the window across the room that if I blinked, I would have missed it.

But no one else seemed to notice. (did I dream it?)

So what's going to happen? Who's going to fall?

Please don't let it be me. I'm already on my way down without the crow's help.

Seriously, the crows are laughing at me! No Joke!

No matter how bad things get though, I am resolved in my idea that things can always get better, and just don't know what could happen if you wait it out another day. I mean did you hear about the girl, an aspiring actress who could get any jobs and killed herself by jumping off the Hollywoodland sign (before it was just Hollywood) as an ironic comment about the industry?

The next day, some studio went to offer her a starring role in a major movie, that would have launched her career.

That's irony!

So you never know what could happen tommorrow. It's a fresh new start. A brand new day to paraphrase Dr. Horrible.

Lately, I've been discovering that i'm not half bad at drawing, something I never was too good at. Sunday, I'm bored and I start drawing a picture of my Dad as Batman, casting me and my sister as Batgirl and Robin, respectively. And It came out amazingly! Like the cape was actually moving, and he was actually stalwart and muscular.

Why am I so good at artsy things, but so lacking in practical life skills?

So later, we're watching a movie, and eating pizza, and I'm sitting beside my Dad on the couch.

And I realized something, when he leaned over and whispered in my ear, "I love you Barbara Gordon" . And it made me think, The Killing Joke really is my dad’s worst nightmare. It WOULD drive him crazy for real. So if he really was Jim Gordon, or Bruce Wayne, we’d be in serious trouble.

Also, I would not be too happy to be paralyzed, and end up with a kind of boring desk job instead of adventure. So the understatment of the year!

The New Nouveau wishlist:

- Sweet Valley High Board Game (Oooh Bruce Patman)
- TNA Sweaters White and Raspberry
- Acid Wash Skinny Jeans
- Ripped Ragged Bell bottom- ish jeans
- Liquid eyeliner
- Chocolate coloured suede boots
- One of those sweet silver bullet necklaces
- Plum suede coloured heeled boots
- Normal Watches- Pink I Want Candy watch (the only watch I think I would ever wear)
- Baby doll dresses
- Shakespeare Without The Boring Bits Book
- Alice in Wonderland Dress
- Class Ring- Garnet
- Baby Blue Tall Suede Uggs
- Jawbreaker DVD (to sit happily beside Heathers and Mean Girls on my shelf)
- Pink converse to abuse
- Neon pink nail polish
- The Joker graphic novel (the one with the creepy , awesome picture of his smile on the cover)
- Lots of Fred Flare goodies, such as: an ice cream cone lamp, pirate ship necklace, gold retainer necklace, cassette tape earrings and cake shaped make-up bag
- Pencil skirts, or flared ones
- Gladiator sandals

And on an end note of ponderment,

I just got my new copy of Nylon magazine, the epitome of cool (my writer's craft teacher asks us to bring in copies of the bible to demonstrate how different translations differ. This IS my bible. Got a problem with my new religion? Coolism?). Seriously wondering if there is something wrong with Kristen Stewart (or Miss Bella Swan of Twilight fame), the cover girl for March in case you were wondering. Can she do more than one expression, or pose? 'Cause her entire photoshoot is like 7 pictures of her that look exactely the samre except for her outfits.

Weird. I do not idolize, or want to be this girl.

I'm Me. and that's just perfection,

-Catcher

I Am Tired Of Earth

What do you learn from love?
What can you do when there's nothing you can do but cry?
What can you do when you're alone even in the middle of a crowd?
What can you do when you're invisible, and walking in darkness, no matter what you do?

What are you when nobody loves you?
How can you live if nobody ever will?


Why can't anyone tell me?


I'll sit in my grey dress, and worn lace shoes, and idly listen to ninties music, I'll pretend its still then, before I had to chosen my destiny, before I had a forefront of uncertainty to leap into, before the world was strange and I had to try to fathom it.

Before I knew what sadness meant,

Before I felt in need of love, so deeply It feels like I'm dying of a broken heart.



I'll sip a glass of ice water, sit at the top of the stairs, leaning against the buckled wall, framed it the picture window. I'll watch the cars go by, going home and cry for no reason, devoid of thought behind my actions, unknowing myself.

I cry salt tears, from blind eyes, that watch the world move while I sit frozen in time, a being of the air, floating,

Til I crash and fall.



I'll close my eyes and pretend the world is disappearing, crashing around me. I'll feel it as if it was real, and it will become so in my tear striken eyes. I'll feel the ground fall away below me, the walls crumble into dust, the beauty outside vanish into firey haze and disease.



I'll watch the burning, I'll feel the flames on my skin, but I'll pick myself of the battered ground, and walk forward into my life, never looking back.

My world, my life, my loves, everything I've ever had, wanted and needed gone forever.



And I won't care.



That'll be my salvation,

and I'll walk to the end of the world, in hopes that love may wait there.
What else can a lost world, devoid of promise, of life, of freedom from destiny, from want have to offer.

What else can save us, redeem us, but love?



-Catcher

Can anything really end?

Please Meet Me By The Talking Tree

Bored?

So here's something someone sent to me that, I found so incredibly absurd, that I just had to post it here. Apparently, it's a checklist originally put out by some church group somewhere (the same ones who want schools to only teach creationism and deny evolution), for parents to see if their child is a "goth" and is thereby in need of saving.
Apparently, almost everyone in the world is a goth.
Someone I was talking to pointed out that even the pope would have to check off some off theses things!

So heres' a laugh, see how many you apply to. If its at least five, well sorry you're doomed (but we'll all have a big fun party in hell with loud music, and laugh at all the goody two shoes angels). Or for a twist, you could turn it into a game, and take a drink for each answer that applies to you. You'll certainly be having more fun, by the time you're done!

*Just to clarify, I did not write this list and I do not agree with it. It is here soley for the purposes of mocking*

Here we go: The comments in Red are my commentary

"Listed below are some warning signs to indicate if your child may have gone astray from the Lord. Gothic (or goth) is a very obscure and often dangerous culture that young teenagers are prone to participating in. The gothic culture leads young, susceptible minds into an imagined world of evil,darkness, and violence.
Please seek immediate attention through counseling, prayer, and parental guidance to rid your child of Satan's temptations if five or more of the following are applicable to your child:

-Frequently wears black clothing. (like half of my school)
-Wears band and/or rock t-shirts. (see above comment)
-Wears excessive black eye makeup, lipstick or nail polish. (Most of the girls, and some emo guys)
-Wears any odd, silver jewelry or symbols. Some of these include: reversed crosses, pentagrams, pentacles, ankhs or various other Satanic worshipping symbols (Oh, get a life!)
.-Shows an interest in piercings or tattoos. (Doesn`t everyone.)
-Listens to gothic or any other anti-social genres of music. (Marilyn Manson claims to be the anti-Christ, and publicly speaks against the Lord. Please discard any such albums IMMEDIATELY.) (Not this again!)
-Associates with other people that dress, act or speak eccentrically.
-Shows a declining interest in wholesome activities, such as: the Bible, prayer, church or sports.-Shows an increasing interest in death, vampires, magic, the occult, witchcraft or anything else that involves Satan. (you mean avoids boring stuff for interesting stuff)
-Takes drugs.
-Drinks alcohol.
-Is suicidal and/or depressed. (this is why you should get the mental help, not for being a `Goth`)
-Cuts, burns or partakes in any other method of self-mutilation. (This is a Satanic ritual that uses pain to detract from the light of God and His love. Please seek immediate attention for this at your local mental health center (Ditto)
-Complains of boredom. (is human)
-Sleeps too excessively or too little. (is a teenager)
-Is excessively awake during the night. (teenager)
-Dislikes sunlight or any other form of light. (This pertains to vampires promoting the idea that His light is of no use.)
-Demands an unusual amount of privacy.
-Spends large amounts of time alone.
-Requests time alone and quietness. (This is so that your child may speak to evil spirits through meditation.) (um....sure)
-Insists on spending time with friends while unaccompanied by an adult. (who hangs out with thier friends, chaparoned)
-Disregards authority figures; teachers, priests, nuns and elders are but a few examples of this. (teenager)
-Misbehaves at school.(ditto)
-Misbehaves at home.(ditto)
-Eats excessively or too little. (ditto)
-Eats goth-related foods. Count Chocula cereal is an example of this. (loves me some corrupting sugary breakfast cereal. Sends you straight to hell.)
-Drinks blood or expresses an interest in drinking blood. (Vampires believe this is how to attain Satan. This act is very dangerous and should be stopped immediately.)(ok, this one is scary)
-Watches cable television or any other corrupted media sources. (Ask your local church for proper programs that your child may watch.) (WTF!)
-Plays videos games that contains violence or role-playing nature. (Teenage boy)
-Uses the internet excessively and frequently makes time for the computer.(teenager)
-Makes Satanic symbols and/or violently shakes head to music. (is human)
-Dances to music in a provocative or sexual manner. (is apparently attending a high school dance)
-Expresses an interest in sex.(is human)
-Is homosexual and/or bisexual. (there is nothing wrong with this, its just a different sexual orientation! Grow up!)
-Pursues dangerous cult religions. Such include: Satanism, Scientology, Philosophy, Paganism, Wicca, Hinduism and Buddhism. (I could picture some fanatical church group putting the rest of these on here, and scientology sounds pretty creepy, but philosophy! How is that a cult or a religion. I just finished a philosophy course in a catholic high school!)
-Wears pins, stickers or anything else that contains these various phrases: "I'm so gothic, I'm dead", "woe is me", "I'm a goth". (sure. Cause real Goths have to wear buttons that proclaim them as such. soon it`ll be a giant scarlett G in the middle of their chests)
-Claims to be a goth. (duh...are you Cletus the Slack Jawed Yokel)

If five or more of these apply to your child, please intervene immediately. The gothic culture is dangerous and Satan thrives within it. If any of these problems persist, enlist your child into your local mental health center

So..........
What'd you get?
You a Goth then?
I'd be pretty scared for you if this list said you weren't. Then I'd have to get you to a 'local mental health center'.
You've got to try to live! Oh, and go have some Count Chocula!


Frankly, I think whoever wrote the list originally, should get some mental help, themselves!

-Yours in Condemnation,

Cather

See you in hell! I'll bring the chips!

Chockful Of Awkweirdness

"To the Looking-Glass world it was Alice that said "I've a sceptre in hand, I've a crown on my head.Let the Looking-Glass creatures, whatever they beCome and dine with the Red Queen, the White Queen, and me!"'
"Then fill up the glasses with treacle and ink,Or anything else that is pleasant to drink: Mix sand with the cider, and wool with the wine--And welcome Queen Alice with ninety-times-nine!"

-Through The Looking Glass

"I am used to going out at 3 AM and doing something stupid"

- Watchmen Poster

"Journalist: So are you a mod or a rocker?

Ringo: I'm a Mocker."

- A Hard Day's Night

Yeah, Well I'm a Mocker too. I'm also highly adept at finding myself in the most idioic situations at the strangest hours of the night. I swear, I don't sleep (unless I'm at school, apparently), I'm like a vampire, or a martian (Will the real Martian please stand up?)...or something.

At the moment, I'm pretty Freaking bored out of my skull (candy). I SHOULD be asleep by now, being past 1 in the morning on a Friday (happy early TGIF, everyone! Champagne and party hats all around), but I'm stuck taking notes for my stupid ISU for English class, the one my english teacher (the artist formerly known as my grade nine french teacher) told us on Tuesday was due Friday, after previously letting us believe we had a long time before we even needed to start our books.

Mine, being Alice Munro's Lives of Girls and Women, making every other sentance I write sound all feminazi-ish, and making me cringe thousands of times at the way women in the early fifties had to live, and how rare it was that the protagonist was going to university, and escaped from her small town (Go Del!), Fast forward to 2009, and I'm rejoicing, even though I've been trying to get away since I could crawl (but then my grand escape plans included Disneyland and Mister Roger's Neighbourhood- like Stewie and Jolly Farm!) and It was pretty much asumbed I'd go to university. Sadly no one is surprised by my grand relvation of becoming a writer, and studying Journalism, a breakthough that felt so earth shattering to me, but was probably brought on by too much Rory Gilmore, Sabrina Spellman, And Becky Bloomwood as I was growing up. (sidenote: Del's mother, is pretty much a description of my own mother, the one who, upon hearing that the town Santa Claus parade had rejected my work's application to be in it, as too controversal, remarked; "You Really Are My Daughter!")

The deadline was a very rude wake up call (like my bitch of an alarm clock, only redeemed by the idea that, it's called a Dream Machine) literally as I was half asleep had had to be nudged awake by my friend sitting beside me (the girl who will save the world one day, I swear), and figurativly as I'm still all triumphant (or "riding on my laurels", as the teacher, who I refuse to call anything but Madame, phrased it) at being the only one in the class (including the genius kid everyone's intimidated by, the one who into full philosophical discussions on Proust when you're just trying to copy his classnotes) to get my topic proposal accepted on the first try.

Actually come to think of it, In that respect, the academic faction of my scatterbrain life, I've actually been pretty good this week. I got ninties on my medival history test (I would not be setting my sights on a writting career if I couldn't without fail, pull of the trip of writting a test essay that sounds intelligent and insightful, but is actually just me rehashing everything I can remember of the unit, even if it has no relation to the essay topic), and my several editted down analysis of the third canto of the Inferno, the one in which I said writing the Divine Comedy was cathartic and purging for Dante (ooh scandal)

And my Writer's Craft teacher, actually liked my weirdly off kilter Sci-fi-esque story about techno -saboutage, candy as a drug, time travel, and stolen identies, Infleunced by reading Rant, watching that episode of the Sid and Nancy episode of the Simpsons (on a side note, my parent's affectionate nicknames for each other are Sid {Vicious} and Laura {Petrie} of Dick Van Dyke which I will always remember for being censored in that episode of Family Guy, and being The beep Van beep show) where they used chocolate for heroin and called everything Bollocks.

Nevermind them.

I was so sure she'd look at it and say What The Hell? Which is what i would do if I was a teacher and the girl in the front row of my class, who makes makes worthless attempts at livening up her bland uniform with a new brightly coloured purse or necklace every single day, handed me a story with such a weird convoluted plot.

In the end she said it reminded her of Fahrenheit 451, to which I said Dystopia!

Hells yeah!

(because really Utopia is one of those things, that'd be more fun to live than write about. If we actually lived in a Utopia, we'd probavly stop writting as we'd one write about distanced conflicts in the past that had no effect on our new lives, and would just depress us all, or make us suspicious of some sort of canabalistic plot (To Serve Man....It's a cookbook!) or go extreme like that episode of Charmed where the world got to good and they started shooting people for trafic violations or cutting peoples tongues out for swearing.

Seriously how do I get away with this stuff?

I'm almost waiting for someone to call me out on it, or expose me as a fake. The brain police, they'd have some sort of chant, and spent their weekends playing dungeons and dragons and planning out Watchmen cosplay. Not that I actually condemn geekiness, because to be honest I think I'm just supressing my inner geek, and denying her an argygle sweater vest, and glen plaid Knee length shorts, to wear with her tight retro Batman shirt. One day, When I'm acceptably thin again (but not scarily thin and sick like last time), and have a boyfriend who will most likely be some sort of fanboy and who will have to get used to being made the counterpart in my escapades, I'll probably fit some excuse to be all Fangirl, and try to copy the outfit from BTAS: Harley's Holiday, which will clearly border on indeceny or will showcase my klutziness on rollerblades (because really I'm bad enough on flat surfaces), but really, the entire plot of the episode is about Harl's klutz tendencies, and childishness...so, no problems there.

(oh and I accidently stumbled upon this german video, with someone playing Hitler, subtitled so that he's complaining in this whole 4 minute rant about the Watchmen movie, and asking all non-fanboys to leave the room. Pretty hardcore! How do people come up with this stuff?)

Somehow, I got labelled as one of the smart kids, which is really strange as I'm actually quite stupid. Or maybe I'm smart, if you're spelling it SMRT or dancing while you burn your high school dipolma (that's a word I can't even spell).

Some of the reasons why they might get the (false) impression that I'm in any way intelligent:

a) I wear glasses, cool red plastic Miu Miu ones, I actually bought in England (funny store there... basically me breaking my old ones while I was shopping on Oxford street)

b)I have read a lot, which itself has three causes: 1. My parents have huge library and always encouraged me and my sister, (both named after Jane Austen heroines) to read (only I really got the message), and now as I'm in a habit of sneaking their worn classics or beat stuff to my room, and then absorbing it into my own collection, and often find the books full of underlines or margin notes (although ones that had to do with the book. If i was writing the margin notes, they'd be random pens). 2. I have a huge imagination, that had to be channeled somewhere before it drove everyone near me crazy ( Like in Through The Looking Glass, where Alice is playing with her sister and decides she will be the dog, her sister the bone, or her sister will be the knight, and she'll be everyone else, We actually have homemovies of me and my sister playing Cinderella, wherein I got to play everyone else, and she was the prince (because her Prince was boring! He's not Prince Eric or Philip, He's not the beast, he doesn't even have a name!), and 3. I was bullied alot in elementary school, and turned to books to fill my recesses (actually I should thank those jerks for getting me into my first choice school early decision-so last laugh=Mine!).

c) I know a lot of big words, although I usually use them improperly, or can't spell them, and usually decide to pronouce them however I feel they should sound. Because big words intimdate people. And people like to pretend they know what your talking about.

d) I have a habit of using oddly english/adult phrasing, probably because I credit myconcept of the english language to Shakespeare plays, so when we finally got to study them in high school, and everyone was complaining about what the hell it all meant, and grousing about all the doths and thous, it was like my second language. (I'm actually pretty good at reading the girl parts in the plays, particularily Desdemona, as I read the lines fast and without the awkward pauses or stumbling that everyone else seems to get. Reading from Oedipus Rex, is a different story, as i learned yesturday when Madame made me read Iokaste's (the Queen) lines, and my voice would only come out chirpy and ingenue-ish (like I was trying to imatate Judy Garland in the Wizard of Oz), when I'm supposed to be a scared old(ish), woman in a tradgedy).

e) And lastly, because I have a strange habit of writting a lot (which you've probably got by now, if you've stuck around, this long that is). But I can't help that! I love to write, it just comes so naturally, like a posession, that won't let me go until I've written whatever it is. It's like how in history class, we were talking about how Michelangelo was so obsessed with his work, that it because his life, that it became part of him, until whatever work was finished. The clear difference, being that Michelangelo actually finished his pieces, rather than letting scraps of sculptures (or in my case, poems and manuscripts) littered around his room, along with the empty diet coke cans, and the thousands of pairs of shoes he forgot he had (and also he made ART, and is remembered and respected for it. I doubt I'd ever get that).

Somehow, as I'm supposed to be the smart, thoughtful, social concious and religious girl (all of which are utter lies, except maybe thoughtful...but that's on a good day...maybe), they gave me all these awards at academic awards night, which is the humiliating night (on a thursday, as is every single event held at BR) where the call out award winners' names and put a spotlight on them as they awkwardly stumble up to the stage and trip over their own feet on the way down (...not that that happened to me of me, of couse), but at least they give you programs that say who gets what, at the beginning so you have time dread them calling your name. This year, they decided to be overly sadistic, and print huge posters of the major award winners, with their school photos the size of a page of notebook paper and put them on display in the trophy case.

My horrible picture which I planned never to show anyone, my dark roots on golden blond hair, my weirdly pale and plastic looking face and that lone strand of my one length hair in front of my eyes.

Eww.

You'll be happy to know, I've since dyed my hair a dark brown, cut it and got bangs, and am feeling much better, thank you.

Somehow I can never take a good school photo, no matter how much I try, or practise in front of my mirror, in between singing along to Spring Awakening in my hairbrush, it never seems to help at all. It's like some weird curse. I tremble to think what my grad photo must look like! Maybe I'll pull an Oedipus, and gouged out my eyes so I won't have to. Or I could be less horribly dramatic and Pretend, I've gone blind, and then everyone would be all sympathetic and tell me how pretty I was, even if I had my hair in a lackluster bun, or if I have a strange cut in the corner of my mouth that looks like the begining off a Chelsea grin, and hurts when I try to smile.

I cringe whenever I walk by that hall, with my picture, announcing in big letters that I'm smart, so people I've never even met, expect me to be all organized and on top of things, in other words, expecting me to do all the work on group projects (soooo not happening. I'm the slacker one, I called it first).

Which is sad, because that hall used to be fun as I could look at my name on all the plaques, and think, Suckers!

New Word/Portmaneau of The Day:

Awkweird

(clearly Awkward+Weird, or if you want a synoym,

Catcher Davis.

G'nite.

Don't do anything I would do.

Also I'm Extremely pleased to report that, as of today both my real name and This Pen name get several hits on Google !

Cool. I exist

I Don`t Suffer From Insanity....I Actually Enjoy It

You can't shut out the world with lidless eyes,
You can't pretend this isn't happening.
That this isn't your world
You can't live in a house of cards, that's set to fall
Send me a postcard for your future.
I'll be stuck here, still
My pen likens to my knife
Serrated in my piercing thoughts
I cut through my skins
Airing out oceans of blood
Oceans of secrets
Rosarching my page
a game
i always lose.

I've said this so many times, I wonder if it's finally true.. Today will be the last day I spend thinking of you.


"Nothing of me is original. I am the combined effort of everybody I've ever known."- Invisible Monsters.

"When there's nothing else to burn, you have to set yourself on fire."-Stars

Harry Edward London London Oranges (HELLO), everybody!

Well...

I've been a busy little bee, as of late

When I was little, even when I could read myself (I learned early), my parents used alternate nights tucking me in and then coming and reading me a chapter of the book we were working on, and then gently kiss me and leave in the semi darkness of my nightlight in my pink princess bedroom to dream the rest of the story as I fell asleep.

My mother and I worked through the Series of Unfortunate Events books, the exciting, contradictory, alliterative and cynical series about the adventures of three orphans on the run from an evil Count. We never did finish the series, as by the time the last three books came out we had lapsed in our routinue and I was thought to be too old.

I still regret this.

My Dad and I read a couple dectective series, and some juvenile horror books, like Goosebumps, but what i remember most was a random book we found at the library book sale, called Pizza Zombies (his favourite food), where kids turned into zombies with pizzas for heads. I don't remember much about the actual story, but I do remember how much my Dad got into sharing it with me.

One night, I took a candid picture of him while he was reading, with a disposable camera left over from a school trip, that had a couple pictures left on it.

His face was so full of excitment, happiness and pride, like he was a little kid full of awe at everything, at the same time as a father proud of who I was becoming, and of finding his footing in raising a child.

This is my favourite picture of him, captured in this moment, both of us children at once.

I never told him that. I should.

These are some of my most cherished memories. And I think my parents enjoyed travelling back into fantasy worlds of childhood, just as much as I did.

On Friday, my friend and I who are both seventeen, by the way, decided to go see the 18A rated remake of Friday the 13th (seeing horror movies has become our thing, we`re starting to dissect them now) in theatres (the movie is really not that great, it was pretty run-of-the-mill, but the experience of lying our way in was the experience). She`s got a fake id, that says she`s 21, and so when the guy at the counter asked our ages we both said we were twenty one, and he apologized for asking us and gave us our tickets. You probably haven`t seen me, but I look younger than my age, so I guess he was just bored, and frustrated that he had to work Friday night. The agism continued when we actually got into the theatre, and saw that the only other people there were a couple of giggling 15 or 16 year old girls, and a row of eight 14 year old boys, and us sitting in the back row laiden with popcorn and milk duds, and talking loudly about graduating high school, university acceptances (we both already got in! Yay!), and the counter guy accepting us as 21. So then an usher comes in and ask the boys to see their ids, and then a middle aged guy sitting on his own jumped up and said he was one of their dads and was there for all of them (awkward movie to watch with your dad! Sex scenes, topless scenes, and gore! Oh My!-but you have to put up with a certain amount of fanservice to guys in slasher pics. It`s all a part of the have sex, you die paradox). So the usher then looks over at me and my friend and the other girls, dismissively and leaves.

And he doesn`t come back and we get away with it! Commence me and my friend laughing hysterically (yes...we`re so twenty one) for ten minutes after he leaves.

We would have laughed harder, if we`d known about the late sequel, Jason Takes Manhattan. Seriously. That is the title of a horror movie. It sounds like a comedy or a parody, doesn`t it.

And strangely, the biggest criticism of the movie, according to wikipedia, was that Jason didn`t actually take Manhattan.

Odd

Another creepy story: So I`m walking home late yesturday after choir practice, and this random old guy in a bright red car (midlife crisis, much) drives up beside me and disapears down the road. A minute later, he`s back driving by me, but slower this time, he`s so busy watching me tha`t he`s not watching the road, and he drives into a pole.

I, however just keep walking. This is all too much like the first ten minutes of a horror or crime movie for me.

But my street`s creepy. Old guys do this kind of stuff a lot (not to the same degree tho), especially the construction guys who always seem to be on my street and wink or jeer at me when I`m walking and no one`s around.

And this is Milton! Its supposed to be safe!

And I have to think, that scars are a fundamental part of living, of growing into your body and marking it as your own (like children will grow up to do will tattoos and piercings). Scars mark us, (in movies with doppelgangers, magic scars always reveal the true identities), they mark us for having lived.

I've lived, and I have the scars and birth marks to prove it:

-the small dent above my left eyebrow-a paralyzed nerve from one time I feel off a chair onto the kitchen tile floor

-the reddish circle (faint now) on my right knee from a fall at the pool where i ripped through three layers of skin

-the scar tissue in both my earlobes from a pair of earings that the skin grew over and I had to have surgically removed (eww. I know)

-the lone, very small pit in my forehead from a scratched chicken pox

-the tiny chip, invisible chip in my right front tooth, that I can only feel with my tongue, from trying to be cool and turn my Ipod off with my teeth (yes. I can not remember how this was supposed to be cool

-the slit around my baby toe on my left foot that I woke up to find one morning, as if someone had tried to cut it off

-the small birthmark dots, a few on my arms and one by my collar bone, another right under my left eye

-the rorschach ink blot-ish sploch birthmark on my right forearm

-the Marilyn Monroe beauty mark just above my lips (I don't have to draw mine on!)

-and my favourite, a distinctively heartshaped birthmark about an inch long on the back of my right upper thigh

The scars, the marks are a more telling description of what I look like than any physical description I could give.

I have to wonder, what would it be like to kiss a mouthful of scars?

In history, today we were talking about Machiavelli`s idea that human beings are naturally inclined to selfiness, and that good deeds are actually selfish in nature, because they are done for the advancement, or for good feelings by the person who did them. Being me, this got me thinking of the episode of Friends where Phoebe struggles to find a selfless good deed, (she even lets a bee string her, `to look tough in front of all the other bees`, without realizes that that would cause him to die) and has a really hard time finding one.

Unfortunatedly....I can`t remember how it ended, or if Phoebe disproved Machiavelli and found a selfless good deed.

What with all the random facts and scraps of poetry up there, its a wonder I can even remember my own name.

But then again.... I keep switching what I want to be called, so that`s not really fair.

Saturday night (a shot rung out, add one to the body count), my dad, my sister and I watched The Beatles` A Hard Day`s Night (it`s been a hard day, no it`s night) on a sadly Elwy Yost-less Saturday night at the movies (the theme: Rock and Roll Revolutions). Such an awesome movie! The one liners are great (iconic!), the footage is crisp, and there`s an entire scene of them frolicking through a field and running around.

Footage like any kid would give you if you gave them a video camera and told them to film something.

It`s striking how young they were then, barely older than me, in their early twenties, and already done so much.

Seriously, if the Beatles didn`t make it as a band, they could have had a future as a Monty Python-esque comedy troop.

And Wilfrid Brambell`s really a clean old man. Creepy teeth though.

Later that night, my sister and I watched Be Kind Rewind, on my laptop as we made frozen Samosas. You know what I really wish they`d sweded...Breakfast at Tiffany`s!

Imagine that for a second. But Jack Black as Holly Golightly, not the girl in the movie. That would be entertaining.

Imagine him with an affected accent saying, ``It should take you exactly four seconds to cross from here to that door. I'll give you two``.

Thrilling ain`t it.

I had the stupid idea of letting it slip to another friend, at work Saturday that there`s a certain guy out there, that I wouldn`t mind being asked to Prom by (I am not in denial, I know no one will ask me). So she spends the rest of the meeting trying to guess, and I have a hard time telling people, even my friends the guys I like, because I`ve had crappy friends who`ve betrayed me before.

So anyway, a group of us are working in the library upstairs and she`s still trying to guess or make me try her, and a guy I`ve been trading sarcasm with over our new `technology agreements`, comes in with a laptop, and tells me that he`ll play me a song that will make me want to tell him anything (ummm....ok). And then he plays Tiny Dancer.

What the fuck is that supposed to do

But this is the same guy, who spent several of our last meeting alternatedly falling out of his chair, and eating Stride gum wrappers. And when we get back the room for end of the day wrap-up, he commanders the gold wrappers from my new pack of Lush, the new wrigley tropical flavoured gum (the best gum ever! Go try it!), and making his plastic spoon into a slingshot, shoots that all across the room at people who aren`t paying attention or are falling asleep and suddenly find themselves alert and wondering where the sudden air raid came from.

But I did spent most of the afternoon, carrying around my plastic fork from the February birthday cake we got over lunch, and pretending it was a sceptre, so who am I to judge

DC..... why must you be so contiuously awesome.

After being told for months that Watchmen was awesome and that I would love it, I finally caved and started on it. So far, SOOO good!

I actually want to see the movie now! Unfortunatedly, I don`t have anyone to go with.

sad.

But what else did I expect from DC, the Coke of comic books, sure, Like Coke has Pepsi, DC has Marvel, but ultimatedly Coke and DC come out vastly sucessful and superior. Not that half the guys I`ve dated, the band of Marvel freaks (two of which asked me too go see Spiderman, on the same weekend) would agree.

But I`m right.

You know, I am

Sorry to all you smooth romantic princes out thers, but sometimes the beast with his rough, protective nature is just hottter!

So I was just editing a poem I wrote a few years ago, and it got me to thinking about how important a single word can be, and exactly how much it can change what something says. Here's my examples: Is it the curse of human beings, as in a curse that the species has, or the curse of human being, as in a curse that comes with the action/philosophical act of being human, rather than the physical

Just a little lowercase s, changes everything. This I see, can be applied back to life. even the smallest thing, with the least amount of significance can change everything, make your life, your fate completely different

Actually this ties back perfectly to Writer's Craft today, we started a unit on cause and effect themes in writting, and read a narative essay where a man laments a decision he made, not to help a man he saw who was crying, in a dehumanized society, and compare it to Robert Frost's famous poem, beloved of graduation speakers everywhere, The Road Not Taken. So, of course it got me wondering, what will be my road not taken? Will I regret staying on a relatively safe path, afraid of what could happen if I stray into the unknown (Wolves will eat grandma?) or give myself over to adventures. My biggest fear at this moment in time is that at some point, a long time from now when my life has been settled and my decisions have been made, I will look back and regret the path I took. The path I've been on, so long I no longer remember where the road started. (this is actually a lie, come to think of it. My real worst fear is that no one will ever really love me. Because sure, I have family who love me, but this is an unconditional love because of who I am in their lives, not who I am as a person, on my own. Someone who has decided to love me, not done so automatically).

The idea of a fickle fate, and the impact of these small decisions, also chased me on to english class, where we finished our reading of Oedipus Rex (really fun to read things like this when you`ve actually been to the places in the story). As a kid, I'm sorry to say, there were three main things that I used to learn how to read: Shakespeare plays(intially through my beloved audio tapes of Shakespeare Without The Boring Bits), A book in the school library on the lives of saints or a comic strip volume of the old testament (both of which I read almost like historical fiction, full of betrayal, murder and affairs, not to be religious in the least. My favourite was Sampson and Deliah, or St. Lucy who gougued out her eyes and gave them to a man who said they were beautiful), and Greek myths (I could recite all of the gods and goddesses-Artemis was so clearly the best). For the Greek myth of King Midas (the golden touch guy), I first learned that the word ass could be used to als0 mean donkey (Midas had donkey ears, as a curse), cue a first grade me calling mean kids asses and then telling the teacher I just meant donkey. Yes. I was that girl, the same girl who came into class one morning in Junior Kindergarten, sat down at my desk and said fuck under my breath, because I thought it was something you said when you were frustrated.

My mom really shoulda been a sailor with that mouth

(By the way, for a more sophisticated word to use to make it sound like you're insulting someone is pulchritudinous, which actually means beautiful but sounds ever so fugly)

Anyway...That really got off topic! When I started on about faith, I meant to mention the idea, seen in both Perseus and Oedipus, that you can't avoid or go running from fate, because often, it is this very idea of trying to escape a certain fate that makes it happen in the first place.

I guess fate can be applied to almost anything out there.

I have to wonder though...what if my soul mate is siting right in front of me, I have never noticed, or have been too scared to say for fear of what would happen, what he'd do or say. I'm too say to say I just might love you, and miss out on what might have been.

It's like that movie Sliding Doors, where there a two alternate versions of Gweneth Paltrow's character's entire life depending on whether or not she missed her train, one of which got a really bad hair cut!

"I will put Chaos into fourteen lines

I will put Chaos into fourteen lines
And keep him there; and let him thence escape
If he be lucky; let him twist, and ape
Flood, fire, and demon --- his adroit designs
Will strain to nothing in the strict confines
Of this sweet order, where, in pious rape,
I hold his essence and amorphous shape,
Till he with Order mingles and combines.
Past are the hours, the years of our duress,
His arrogance, our awful servitude:
I have him. He is nothing more nor less
Than something simple not yet understood;
I shall not even force him to confess;
Or answer. I will only make him good."

-- Edna St. Vincent Millay

Did you ever see music, a sound that you could reach out and touch?

Write the songs that breathe.

That speak the air in a thousand dying breaths

and float far above the ground

Let the unsaid words between us inhabit the air.

See that's what's intriguing about something prim, constrained and proper...It always conceals something darker and unsettling.

As always,

Your Dream Catcher.

CRAZY BITING SHRIMP!