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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.

Start here:

welcome to Alberta

Drove to a little town called High Level this past weekend. It's in Alberta. I've never been. I like crossing borders. Makes me feel as though I'm doing something totally different even though there's no real line separating one province from another. But according to everyone, there is a difference. Suddenly I'm meeting up with cars that have different license plates than I do, little red ones. Mine is in the shape of a polar bear. Not by choice, just what they happen to issue way up here.

I've had a great week so far. Things seem to be falling into place. I'm back in the cockpit of a car, with all of my music at my fingertips, or on shiny little discs that I have a fondness for making.

And now, I'm sitting in my bedroom listening to and searching for little covers of great songs that I adore. Live cuts, rare releases. It's like how I imagine crack cocaine to be. Lou Reed is in the background.

Bailey is in the other room, sometimes he gets stuck on the other side of the house not able to see how to make it back to wherever I am. I check my mailbox every day. I make coffee with my little french press, fresh ground beans (still working on the art of grinding) and slip into my makeup and clean clothes every crisp frosty morning. I feel like I'm living a real life again. One filled with the minutia I've missed from my London days.

But I look at the clock now and see it's time for the evening movie. And I just noticed that I have about 4 different versions of Sweet Jane. Also, for some reason...I have always felt Lou Reed could be a genius but he is a little...creepy.


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