cleavage {18/365}
Originally uploaded by Abstract Magdalene.

First, when I think of love, marriage, or the connection two people can experience in two second standing over a candy machine being introduced, I think of little photographs I would like to take. His kissing of the inside of my knee. Whoever he is, sleepy eyed and freshly awakened by my moments in bed on a sunny Saturday afternoon. His hands on my face. His hands in mine. Him. Whoever he is. That's what I think of, when I think of what it would like to be in love. I think I have it all wrong. But that's ok! Because I wouldn't want to spoil my near perfect record.

Some news drifted this way about a Hawksley Workman show, and I think I will attend because it's been awhile since he was my man. *grin* Sorry folks, only Matt Good and Hawksley fans would 'get' that last little bit.

I just realised how melancholy the song; Purple Rain is. Melancholy in that all I didn't know I had, when I had it. Shit, I hate when that happens.

I'm practically chain smoking over here, about to go lie down and try for some sleep, read a bit and listen to a movie in the background.

Let's see what is new with me: new fridge (landlord paid for, of course), new gym membership (because I really am too fat for words, at the moment), new webcam (which is so seedy but I couldn't resist the portability and the fact that I have never ever, ever been on a webcam before), and I guess that's it.

Ok, so here is the end of the entry. If you've read this far then you'll know that what you read below, is not my writing but that of Hawksley Workman. And if he were real and not an apparition, he is the sort I would fall in love with.

written by Hawksley:
the downy feathered chests of proud hawks sitting timeless in highway sidetrees. and this morning i was up so early. pissed outside under thestars. 5:30 am. i thought of winter ravens. that maybe they fly atnight. imperceptibly. between the dots of bright galaxies. and the batsmust be asleep through this. skied through the cold today. a pure blueconnection from me to the beyond. the horses wore blankets in immaculatefields. there's a natural order to things. harmony is the only option.did aristotle say the birds flew under the ice in winter? i'm incrediblypositive these days. i see possibilities. i see hope. it's been a funnywhile in the music biz, i must admit. over the last year or so i'verecorded a lot of music. my love and faith is restored every time i playlive these days... but the studio is testing me... my patience, myfaith. i feel the deck stacked against me... but i've never felt morefocused and fresh... i made a record... finished it before christmas.somewhere between then and now it was shelved in favour of starting over again from scratch. the record felt like a lover i grew apart from...when it was finally completed we looked like strangers to each other.kiss... it's been lovely... i need to be alone. i've been working with my brilliant neighbour and friend andre wahl... he's a real clever kid who, back in the autumn picked me up and dusted me off... so we're planning to start again for real this time... early march. as i said earlier... playing reminds me of the importance of connection... i feel blessed to be able to travel and play. the starling tour saved my life... again i thank all those who shared those nights with me... it was amassive reconnection with myself and the music. over the next while i'm going to play a few shows... get back in shape... i want my voice to soar (not a sore voice though) when i get back into the studio... so please i say... reach for what's positive... cherish love and peace...seek it in heart and mind... i have such a wonderful feeling for the year. may wisdom be yours too. h.

Labels: Apostle, cold, drama, fridge, habits, hawksley, hawksley workman, how not to be an idiot, inspiration, late night, layers, love, Matthew Good, melancholy, neurotic, opinions, Prince, webcam, writing

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.

Labels: Buckley, drama, habits, headphones, home improvement, how not to be an idiot, Matthew Good, music, native ceremonies, neighbours, photographs, pot, Prince

Dear Cowboys,
I haven't felt like I have anything interesting to say. Then someone tells me that Prince did a bunch of old songs at the Superbowl thing. I'm not a Superbowl kind of girl so I would have never seen it.

God Bless Youtube.
And Prince.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iK4EwxRLiik

I've been on this Prince kick since the original Apostle reminded me of the Purple Rain album. I even rented Purple Rain on pay-per-view last week. Then I had a good cry because someone didn't like where I was from (long story, not worth telling again).

My temporary job hours are killing me. I spend most days trying to sleep, except I keep hearing this ringing. By the time I finally figure out it's the phone, the person has hung up. I call Craig back because I miss him and leave him message. Then he calls me right back and we chat. He wrote a song called 'Nothing and Everything' for me and it's going on his new album. I'm a tiny bit afraid to find out what the song says, but curious as well. In my incapacitated state, I told him I just wanted him here, now in my bed to cuddle. It's something like -30 with the windchill around here lately. And I just can't get warm.

I've been eating popcorn and cupcakes for dinner a lot lately. Bad, I know. But quick, satisfying and that's all I'm after right now. I'm on a mission to take some photographs for a theme at The Cooperation. I have my song titles and I'm almost ready to shoot. I just need a few...erm...things first. I'm going to have way too much fun with this.

I have to spend some time with Buckley before he forgets I'm the boss, and show my face in the living room so my television set remembers me.
Love,
G.

Labels: cold, Craig Bancroff, cry, Gish, inspiration, photography, Prince, song