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About

This is what it could look like when one completely deconstructs a life as one knows it, and how to build from the ground up. Alternatively, this is a fresh look at an old story. The fine art of falling apart.

sounding like I smoke pot.


mirror image
Originally uploaded by
Abstract Magdalene.

It occurs to me, as I sit down to write out an entry, or attempt to tweak the fiction I've managed to force out with pure brute strength, that I may remember other people's funny stories before I remember mine.

I say this because I distinctly remember a thing Matthew Good had commented on, about a hundred years ago, about cleaning his shower. With pictures. It made me laugh. And to this day, gives me a ghost of a smile, at the very least. Of course, this could very well be the neurotic part of me, right? Right.

Buckley had been barking all day. I mean as in barking, making noise, not barking, as in mad. He's been scurrying about like a mouse, skidding across the old hardwood floors as if skating. I thought for a minute maybe it was the full moon, but that was last week. And I only know this because I had attended a Full Moon ceremony that night. Freezing, wrapped in a blanket like a real indian (I am, honest), standing in front of a fire, and looking like I am praying hard for guidance. Really, I was thinking: it's fucking ridiculous to be out in this sub zero weather when we can very easily complete this part of the ceremony in the lodge where it's not exactly comfortably warm, but where the wind is not icing through me like knives of bitter cold.

Heh.

Anyway, I don't know what's wrong with Buckley. Maybe cabin fever. Maybe it's time to go to the park.

Ok, my neighbours. I live in a house, I have the front apartment and they have the back apartment. Their basement area is right below my bedroom. They have parties sometimes, not a big deal. But for some reason, the smell of pot really gets me going. And I don't mean in a good way, either. I mean, it drives me nuts. I don't care if they are smoking the amount of pot that would fit into a little red wagon, but do they have to do it inside? Where it's making my apartment smell like I have a serious love affair with weed?

So, now, I just listen to music late at night when they are having one of their parties, singing along to The Most Beautiful Girl in the World by Prince with headphones on. I don't care if it makes me look stupid. Because if I'm going to smell like a joint, then I will at least sound like I've smoked one, dammit.

ok, that is the rant for today. Good night, and good luck, my beauties.

p.s should I die horribly and unexpectedly, then I would like Square One by Tom Petty to be the song played at my funeral service. Just an FYI, I'm expecting to live at least until I've finished learning to play the guitar, and the piano.

p.p.s I shouldn't do this, but I will mention the man who is taking care of my little Ash doll. I hope he is still safe. That is all.

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