Salutations!

This is my Blogproject. Sit down, stay awhile. Feed the fish, and read some art.
If you like what you see or have any questions or critiques, please let me know.
Yours, Truly.

Friday, December 17, 2010

Morning Dialogue: To the Boy in My Bed

You sleep like a dead rhinoceros. Did you know?

Relax, relax! It's a compliment.
I can just wait for you to fall asleep and then I can do whatever I want. No really, anything. Last night I invited over some sketch artists and we drew you. When they wanted you to change poses, I literally just positioned your limbs however we felt like.

You don't believe me. Fine, I won't show you the picture of you as all three of Charlie's Angels. Sorry, too late, you missed your chance on that particular piece of hotness. Try again tomorrow.

You know, your eyes would be so much bluer if your hair wasn't so... uhhh... lovely. Of course I was going to say lovely! You doubt me again? How can you doubt this face? What I mean is, if it was darker your eyes would jump out and grab people by the throat. How am I supposed to know why your eyes are so hostile? Maybe they watched too much Charlie's Angels as a kid...?

You know I'm not ticklish. You just want to touch me. No. I'm not complaining. Just pointing out the flaws in your cover story. Maybe you should try "I saw a spider on the wall and I'm inspecting you for bites," or maybe "I'm sweeping the layers of glitter off your skin 'cuz they taste funny."

Of course, my glitter wouldn't taste funny, so that might not work.
Hmm?? Well... like a family of unicorns made French Toast for breakfast, poured real Canadian maple syrup all over, added some rainbows, smiles and cinnamon and ate it on my tummy. Then they didn't do the "dish".
--Get it? Because I'm a dish? And a "dish" is a hot chick? ...It was so funny!--

Hey stop it!! There are no spiders in the Unicornian household!!! Eeeee! I'm warning you, I'll make the blonde, brunette and red-headed yous kick your ass!

You know what...? I think it's time to wake you up and have this conversation. Or at least make you read it. If only I had a rhino-poker...

Yours, Truly.


Tuesday, November 23, 2010

Hospitals

You scare me.

It could be the smells... The rubbing alcohol and floor cleaner with overtures of too many unhappy faces... and the occasional whiff of vomit. When I get a needle, or a new medication in my IV, I can smell it, no matter how many times your minions tell me I'm imagining it. In the emergency waiting room I smell fear. Tears and sweat and utter despair. 40 people in front of me having their worst day, and the smell follows me.

And the worst of all is the sickly sweet and insidious smell of the rubber when you come to try 50 times to take my blood. It smells like vanilla that has been run over by a burning truck tire... and my blood smells like salt and batteries.

Maybe it's the memories I have of being trapped within your countless walls-- memories that still haunt my sleep. I wake up already sobbing and short of breath saying "don't make me go, don't you dare make me get better".
But it was never the getting better that was the problem.
It was the endless waiting, the excruciating pain and the days (to weeks) without food that come with getting better that make me afraid to go back. Make me afraid to be sick. But worse than that, afraid (once I'm sick) to start getting better...

It could be the tiny boxes that you try to put us in.... Your consumers seem to have come to be Zoo animals for a day. In a cage with no walls, open to the air. Open to the eyes-- staring, questioning, curious. The one time you want to suffer in silence, in secret; you look your worst on purpose but the gawkers won't take a hint. You become a stuffed owl for the masses of other sick people and hospital employees.

Maybe it's just the opposite.
Not that there are too many stories, eyes, smells--- but that within the midst of hundreds of people, you are the loneliest place I can think of....


Yours, Truly

Wednesday, November 10, 2010

Uplifting "Love Movies"

You make me cry. A lot.

Before you get all predictably romantic and assume that my tears are for your emotionally moving stories or even your sweeping string-orchestra overtures let me just assure you:

That is not the case.

You are a vicious and scheming liar.
I remember fighting for love. I remember compromise and passion and being the most unlikely pairing out there. I remember making it through hard times and still...
It wasn't enough.

That is where you take me, to my own failings.

Don't get me wrong, I believe in love. But what you show me isn't love. It's madness. It's irrational wonderful cinematic magic. And then makes me feel bad for not being able to recreate it.

This doesn't mean I'm going to stop watching you. Miss you taking the breath of the leading lady, or the sacrifice you demand from the hunk of the hour.... I sometimes need to be reminded how unrealistic my expectations can be...

No one is going to fly across the country for me, except my parents.
No one is going to write me letters from the grave.
No one is going to give up everything to be with me.

...And only my vanity would want such a thing. Give up everything? That is not what Love is about. Love is compromise, finding someone that fits into that last spot missing in your puzzle.... Not someone who is the whole picture (as you'd like me to believe).

Still I love/hate the grand gestures and heart wrenching pleading speeches, the last minute kisses and the weddings ruined by you. And I am a fan, for all I cry and beat my pillows at your impossible perfection.

S0 although I feel betrayed by life, it is not you who are in the wrong. You merely remind me of the times when Love... just wasn't enough.

It's not you. Really, I know you hear this all the time but it is me.

Keep on keeping on.

Yours, Truly

Friday, September 17, 2010

To Obnoxious Drunk People

I. Loathe. You.

Even when I too am drunk, I make a conscious effort NOT to violate the privacy and courtesy of others. If I *had* to be sick in an inopportune place, I would CLEAN IT THE FUCK UP.

Nothing excuses such behaviour as I have witnessed you execute. I don't care if you are also in possession of a Hot Accent, it does nothing for me when you stink of vodka and won't get out of my kitchen.

I would go out more and have fun more, and dance more and live more, if so many things weren't tainted by your noxious presence.

All I ask is that you learn your limit, and stop drinking more than you can handle. Just stay in your own space and out of mine, keep it the fuck down...

...And don't you *EVER* puke in my sink again.

You think you've seen me angry? Think again.

Yours, Truly.

PS. You smell like baby hobos, why you think that is going to make you attractive is beyond me.

Sunday, September 12, 2010

Hot Accents

Sooo hi... I'm writing because I'm embarrassed to speak in front of you.

You're all smoky and rounded and I feel like I'm all thumbs... I mean... all consonants. I like to just close my eyes and listen to you purr. I think "take me! teach me!" but that doesn't help...

I realize that I'm objectifying you... maybe that makes me a bad person... or just a bad feminist, I don't know. All I know is, I could sit enthralled while you told me about your fascination with snails for hours. (Maybe not snails... but something else generally considered quite boring.)

Lately I've been walking into you--clouds of you-- on a regular basis. I really can't complain, I thoroughly enjoy the change in tone. So move over Mister Darcy and let me sit by you and yours.

Let me be silent while I bask in the memories of far-off places I loved so dearly and wish to see again...
Let me cup my ear to your throat to hear the ocean standing between us...
Let me watch as lips sculpt your features...
Let me breathe you in and taste your wonders...

Let me know that accents aren't everything...
But that you still want to taste mine. (I'll let you...)

Yours, Truly.


Thursday, September 2, 2010

I'm not telling and you won't guess correctly

I need to stop.

I've written you a letter before this, though I never sent it, never showed anyone. And I was proud of that letter-- the writing, the sentiment... But I guess it's not true anymore, so you will never see those words.

I am stumbling my way down a slight incline.

I dream about you sometimes, and usually I wake up forgetting that I'm not allowed to be happy. Not with you. And when it hits me, it hits low. It takes the wind right out of me. Sometimes I cry, and sometimes I am too sad for tears.

Are you waiting to catch me... or watching me fall?

One thing that bugs me... I don't even know if I ever had a chance, or if my fate was decided from the beginning. Was it something I did? Is my life now just some twisted punishment? What is it, I don't deserve you?

I've been here before, and I just keep coming back.

It's been hard to change the way I think, my reflexive reactions. I forget sometimes that you are gone. Some days I act like you're still here until something snaps and I'm in pain. "Oh yeah," I think, "it's like that now."

Do you know how easy life would be if I could stay away?

I am trying. Trying to live differently. I don't want to live like you don't exist, and I can't physically live like you are a part of my life. So I am left with living like I don't need you. I don't need you. But I'm still learning that. I'm new to this.

I might actually be more happy without hope... Do other people understand that?

I hope everyone feels lucky today, lucky to have you.
Because they will never understand me, not until you are gone from them too.
It's sad, but it is the truth.

Let's leave the light-switch, and keep them in the dark.

Not Yours... Truly.


Sunday, August 29, 2010

To My Newly Single Friend

It will be okay.

You know it will, that's what you hear every time something goes a little off track. Somewhere along the line it must be true.

You want compliments and reassuring pats on your pious shoulder. Honeylove, that's not me and you know it. I will tell you the truth, I will always tell you the truth--whether or not you can handle it.

...And the truth is:

It wasn't right. Not that it was wrong, that boy and you together making waves. But it was never going to reach the tsunami proportions of Love.

There will be bathwater boys and deep sea romance, and it will come...

Just, keep swimming.
Just keep swimming, swimming, swimming.

Yours, Truly.

PS. At least now you've got some experience below the belt under your belt! :p

Monday, August 23, 2010

How YOU doin'?

Mmmm... oh hey you.

Thank goodness you're here, I was about to get desperate!

You know, I am acquainted with some people who have not discovered the joys of your touch.... poor things. What gets me is your versatility, if I want to be warmed up, you get to rubbin'--- I'm feeling frisky and you tickle me juuuuust right.

I see you're trying a new look, and what's that I smell? cha-cha-cherry?? Yum, get over here you stimulating strumpet.

I want you to rub me down and get me off. Don't you go slipping out the door now, just once is never enough... Like the Eurythmics sing it, I want to use you baby.

Whatever your name is--and you have many--I want to say now on behalf of women everywhere, and okay, the men too... You make life better. You spend your days, and allll of your nights making people happy.

Hell, I bet that Mister Jiffy went into car repair just so he could appreciate you properly, get your name on a biiiiiig sign and smile one of those special secret smiles that you seem to elicit every time he looked up.

Babe, I don't say it enough but, I Love You.
(even if you don't always hang out with the best crowd, they're better for having you)

Kisses (to start with...) from
Yours, Truly.

[Testament to the greatness of Lubricant]

Thursday, August 19, 2010

Casual Romance

You are not what I'm used to. but I'm willing to try you on for size (not that size matters...).

You know, I like the idea of sharing, but, as we learn in kindergarten, the hard part comes when someone actually wants to borrow your new toy. I might not want to give it up...

But so far I am pleasantly surprised at how easy you are to handle. I feel like an octopus, with my "hands" getting up to no good wherever they want to. No strings, no guilt, no obligation.

Your name is so fitting. Casual, yes-- I can feel it in the easy swing of step, in holding hands, in my lips as I purr into a waiting ear...

...But Romance is not dead and gone. You're not on the same level as 'One Night Stand' over there, oggling my ass... You give me tingles. You don't need my full attention and commitment to do it either. High five for skilllllz.

Maybe I think too much, in fact , I know I do.... but I want to keep your warm breezes, your walking too close and your freshness. I want to be that kind of girl... for a little.

We both know it's not going to last forever.... so let's have some fun.
And maybe some french toast?

Yours, Truly.


Tuesday, August 17, 2010

To Irrational Jealousy

You fiend. You creep seep slip into my heart. Or is it mind?
I don't understand where you come from.
If heart, then I admit to caring more than I want to, if mind, then I am petty and ridiculous.

I know, there is no justification. I know there is no reason. But I feel... too much.
I feel inadequate... insufferable, sentimental, freakish--foolish.
And hypocritical, no one likes to feel that.

I may deny you, but you will be there.
There to beat war-drums in my skull. To hot glue my hands into fists.
You will delight in your short-lived existence.

So have your fun, poking the back of my throat into lumpy oatmeal, far too sticky to swallow.
I will bide my time.
Working on my visualization, strengthening my rationality.
And damn your nationality!

I can think you out of sight.
Out of mind.
Out of heart.

You're nothing but my insecurity, my vanity, my possessive nature....

But always and somehow I am Yours. Truly.


PS. I still wish you wouldn't ruin my fun like this... come back on the 12th of never?

Thursday, August 12, 2010

We Meet Again....

You sir, are addictive.

I think you know, but in case no one has told you, that is the truth to a T-shape.

I watch from afar your manly corners moving, turning, settling, your day filling out perfectly--- when it's a good one....

You may be a liiittle square by some opinions, but I find you colourful and interesting, complex and captivating. I love to watch you do your thing.

I think the reason I can't look away is that I want to be more like you. Everything has it's place... I just need to learn to put things in the right places.

Don't listen to the haters, Tetris. You are so much better than Brick Breaker.

Love and long pieces....

Yours, Truly.

Friday, August 6, 2010

Dear Rick Astley

After you had that guerrilla stint of popping up everywhere and attacking the innocent with your 80's hair, a lot of people developed this rather large hate-on for you.

I am writing to say that I don't feel the same.

You inspire me, not only to improve my internet jack-in-the-box skills but also to hold on to what I believe in.
To stand up for the things and people I love and not worry about how ri-fuuuuckin'-diculous I look.
To treat people right.
To embrace the bouncy techno dance of life, however much people put it down.


Rick Astley, I'm never going to give you up.

Yours, Truly.

Wednesday, July 28, 2010

To the Former Athletes of the Year

Photography is rather like magic. A flashbulb, a Nikon and a “wizard” who knows how to press the shutter release are the only ingredients needed to freeze time, to capture a moment of life, to make a photograph. Now you can say: “That’s me. I was there.” Wherever ‘there’ is or was, you have proof.

You like to immortalize the best moments: when you score, when you look great, when you are on top of the world. I am glad for your happiness, your matte smiles conveying each day the same sense of acceptance. You seek to welcome and include as many individuals as possible into this small corner of the corridor. You invite such visitors to your hall-of-fame to share in the thick layer of nonsensical jokes you plastered the game-ball with. “Somehow,” you thought, “these will never go stale.” Alas, the day has come and gone.

Your faces—triumphant snapshots of dribbling, reaching, running, smiling—have been dismissed hundreds of thousands of times. You wanted everyone to see you in your splendour and feel inspired, maybe jealous—dammit they should feel something! But black and white can only reveal a shape, a shell, a shadow of humanity; never a man, a woman. It is in the way that your accomplishments are presented, spread out in an unconvincing attempt to please, like appetizers, meant not only to be admired, but also experienced. With hardly a glance at the various offerings one can dismiss them as “identically passé”.

You wanted to be remembered in more ways than the superficial act of keeping your pictures on display but, in this hallway, you had little chance from the start. The expanse of natural light—rare but desirable in a school hallway—outshines your glory days. The main attraction to your area is the girls’ bathroom, after the gymnasium. You would think supporters of physical education would understand and honour their predecessors; however, their minds are set upon their own goals.

Once again, you have been forgotten, neglected, passed over, ignored. It has come down to this: If you want to be remembered, it is your job to do the remembering—and now, mine.

Yours, Truly

Saturday, July 24, 2010

Crying Baby Upstairs

Please shut up.

You are cute, you are fluffy and pudgy and you have adorably minuscule fingers and toes...
But I am sleeping.

Please shut up.

I understand you cannot speak for yourself yet and when someone leaves you wet or hungry or soiled or you fall down after your experimentations with walking upright, you need to let it out...
But I am writing an essay.

Please shut up.

I don't remember your name. If I did I would say "Augusten," for that is a most dignified name to have, "please stop crying, you are young and as someone with more experience let me reassure you, things will get better." ...
But I don't remember it, and so I am left with:

Please shut up.

Please.

Yours, Truly

Friday, July 23, 2010

Ornamental Orphanage

Dear things on the wall (which is not my wall),

There is a strangely appealing order in your chaotic masking-tape-tic-tac-sticky-border-madness.

I love the motley mosaic of postcards from places I've never been, but now wish to go— though I'm sure I will miss seeing the stylized city labels flaunting their attractions from amidst the always-azure skies of granulated cardboard.

From perfume to Paris to a page from a Chinese calendar there is something for everyone hanging on your every (illegible) word. You are not perfect, but your dinosaurs watch over my fragile sleeping form and your posters offer a variety of blushly-lipsticked goodnight kisses.

You tell me: I am confident, I am beautiful, I am desirable. And I believe you, who could mistrust your blatant bright pink pandering...

Tell me again?

Yours, Truly

Wednesday, June 30, 2010

To Tears

Soft and salted caress, I know you're there; lurking just beneath the marble surface. The dark won't tell anyone you've come, it's safe now.

Tentatively at first, you're afraid someone might hear; might know that you haven't left town for good. No one wants you around, not even the one you've come to visit-- but once you arrive, you are invited in.

Embrace the swell of cheek and let yourself flow, you have no need to hide in the night, you can pour out your soul until you are empty-- begging to give more, but having only a dull ache left to give. Mingle with the whispered queries floating from trembling lips; shake with the fierce passion of loss and fear.

The world is a flat palm, holding its treasures. Sometimes the grief could sweep your rivers right off the face of the earth... into nothing. An eternity of falling, struggling for breath and getting lost in the rush of space.

You are at first a burden, and then a solace. Sometimes you could last forever.

But you end, like everything else. You do your part to soothe, to rage in tempestuous waves, to mend... and soon there is no place for you. The river has run dry and the heaving of earthly bodies slows to a mere tremble, a pulse.

Curving to envelop your absence,
Breath echoes your keening plea.
I thirst for you in hiccups;
And forever you indulge me.

-Truly

Sunday, June 20, 2010

To those who stab pillows

I think I saw you in a movie (Along Came Polly) and from the first moment I realized your existence, I hated it. I am all for living on the wild side a little, but I pay good money for the things I choose to put in my house and STABBING my upholstery will NOT get you in my good graces.

Somehow when they wrote that movie script (from experience no doubt) they made it seem justifiable and endearing... which is sooo far from the reality.

"Oh you're so uptight, have fun with me destroying your property instead of giving it away or just telling me to mind my own fucking business!!!!"

"I am soooo like totally justified in commenting on your lifestyle in the first place!"

"Can I keep this knife to stab myself in the throat with later? Thanks!"


Wow you don't like my furnishings? Well I don't like your shirt, how about I just rip it to shreds to teach you a lesson in good taste? Does that sound reasonable?

Whoever you are, wherever you are... All of you who watched that movie and thought "awww humourous and romantic!" Know now that if you ever pull that shit on anyone with half a spine, we "uptight" people will shank a bitch.

That is all.

Yours Truly.

Sunday, May 2, 2010

Oooh Fire

Heyyy! What's cookin' good lookin'?

Marshmallows? God DAYUM, you know how to get me all hot and bothered. I've been waiting all year for someone like you to light up my life. And now that I've met you I can't help but want s'more...

okay too many puns. I'm welldone.

But seriously, I've only seen you in small Bic sized doses for the past 10 months, and last night was a welcome change. I feel like we really connected (I still have the marks to prove it).

We should hang out more. You make the dark seem cozy and your smell practically makes me salivate. Plus you make drinking so much more fun!! Do you still have that fur rug laying around? I can think of a couple activities for our time together.... as long as you're cool watching. (SCANDAL!!!)

Just remember we may be friends but that's all we'll ever be, you try to touch me the wrong way again and I will toss a drink in your face. A whole BUCKET of drinks!


See you later hotstuff, I leave you with tons of burning love,

Yours, Truly

Friday, April 9, 2010

To Any Semblance of a Romantic Relationship

I am lonely without you. There, I said it.

And yes, when you're gone there is that sense of empowerment screaming, "I don't NEED you!" But I always feel pretty empowered. I don't need this much. Seriously I could empower the entire appliance section at Sears. Overkill.

It's excruciating, the shape of you on lips all around me, your heat in the most casual of touches and your low sounds drifting through my pipes from the floors above. I want you, I crave you, I wake up in the middle of the night sad because you're not there. Fucking tease.

Don't get me wrong, I am not a wreck. I'm not falling apart, but I miss the warmth and the secrets and the...accoutrements of having you around. I miss hanging out with your friends; I could use a visit with Mr. Hank Y. Panky, he was always such a stimulating conversationalist...

Maybe what I'm trying to say is: friends will never be enough. They call it just friends for a reason. Basically, I can't hang out with you in a casual sense any longer. Be mine, or GTFO and let me focus.

Focus. It's a funny word when you think about it. It used to mean "fireplace" or even "fire" (Latin was good for something after all!). But what elicits fire from me... is you.

Think about it. Whatever you decide, I'll be living my life, laughing out loud and loving every minute. But I'd love it even more if you were there too.

Yours, Truly.

Wednesday, March 31, 2010

Did you Hear??

Hello Earring!

You're shiny, let's play! I'll be me and you be a hula hoop. OW!--

--

Ear...

You hurt, I get it but please stop. It's just metal shoved right through your middle, not like your boyfriend dumped you over your potato salad at lunch and then had sex with your sister's ex best friend. Not like that at all.

Beauty is pain and I happen to believe you look lovely. Thank gosh you aren't one of those fat-ass ears... like that guy in front of us in Spanish. Whooowee his ears stick out like a sore thumb. Well, a sore ear.

I'll make you a deal: I'll stop sleeping on you if you stop spontaneously combusting, mmkay?

Yours, Truly.

Wednesday, March 24, 2010

To My Skin

This is emotional for me. We are always together; you cover my back and I take care of you every day of our lives-- well I try. It'd be easier if you didn't have so many dirty secrets that you try to pass off as freckles to fool me. I swear to god there is a whole process to just getting through the day without you embarassing me.

But I digress; this letter is not about our problems. You have always been there for me, keeping all the important stuff inside so that people won't scream when they see me. And so I'll, you know, live. I don't hate you. You're not that bad (apart from that whole hatred of Sunshine you seem to have developed), in fact you are pretty damn gorgeous. I'd hit that (OW!).

We make a great team, I bring substance, personality, organs, sentience and shape and you bring translucent alabaster softness (put THAT in your romance novels!). I'm We're basically perfect! But I think we need to re-evaluate our relationship.

All my life you've been so damn clingy and the only people who wanted to hang out with you after I hit puberty were creepy boys. I don't know why Cotton is so much more popular, Skin, it's probably just because he's so "colourful" (*wiggles eyebrows*). But Sunshine is back and I think, I think it might be time to try again. You might even get some colour of your own.

Let me know what you think and if you're ready for some changes and maybe a new friend, I'll let you play in the moisturizer section of Shoppers Drug Mart.

Love/Hate forever,

Yours Truly.

Sunday, March 21, 2010

To "Jacob", if that's even your real name.

Hi there. We met when I participated in a psychology study on games. You almost ran into me coming out of the elevator on the wrong floor, remember?

I thought you were nice looking and that you were excited about our trip to Africa. I thought you liked me for me.

Imagine my chagrin (yes, I am smart enough to use the word "chagrin" without sounding pretentious, so deal.) when I was informed that you were A CONFEDERATE. A lab volunteer who spends his days playing OUR games with other girls, and guys too!

How could you do this to me Jacob? My sweet, sweet Jacob who I spent exactly one hour with, ever. who is not even a little bit like a werewolf, I trusted you!

Anyway, I basically wrote to say you're hot that you have wounded my poor little heart, and I wish for you to get a splinter of wood, haha! in the near future, and think inexplicably of me.

Yours, Truly


Ps. you can totally still call me though...

Friday, March 19, 2010

Dear Shoppers Drug Mart

I love you. I know that this may seem sudden but you make my life complete. You fill my days with beauty products and leisurely strolls along the Isles of Things.

When I see you my wallet literally jumps into my hands. My breathing becomes erratic, even if I'm feeling frugal with my attentions, there is always something tempting to find within your four walls. I wish-- I need to tell you, that I want us to stay together forever.

I will shop in other stores-- I have needs and you cannot meet them all. But you will always be my Shoppers. You give me medecine when I am sick and lipstick when I am down. You understand me and I love you.

Yours, Truly

PS. Are you hiring?