I'm feeling alittle introspective at the moment. I read another's blog, someone I've followed for a number of years, someone I've felt a kinship with no matter what comes out of his mouth (it seems), and someone who inspires me when it seems he is at his lowest. This entry follows the same train of thought of one his more recent.

So I come here and tinker with words. I think back to past entries. The good ones. The ones I actually wanted to read myself. Ones I didn't hate. And I wonder where that girl went. Oh, some would say I'm still me, that that girl is still here, one in the same. But I don't think so. I think she's gone. She might make small appearances here and there, but she's really packed up and moved on.

And I shouldn't be sad. I mean, that girl got into a lot of trouble for her errant ways and ultimately led me to where I am today...alive and kicking. Still waking up each morning, breathing. But I still think back and admire some of the stuff she pulled off. And it feels like the art was better back then. I feel as though I am missing the passion, the fire that used to burn through me to do things. Well, I suppose it really is missing, given the changes that have happened over the past year. I guess that fire wasn't always so good. But it felt like it was.

The old me would have sent an email to my fellow blogger with a suggestion or a remark. Now, I just read and move on. It's almost an absence of feeling. The old me would have done *something*. Now, I just sit back.

Even though moving forward is apparently good, I still spend a fair amount of time looking over my shoulder. It's something I'm known for.

My rationale is this: how can I see where I am going if I don't know what I've done?

Labels: forgot, Gish, habits, how not to be an idiot, late night, layers, Matthew Good, we all lose in the end, writing

Not really working on anything right now. I was actually looking at this photograph and missing the girl I used to be. That must be part of age, or maybe it's just egoism. I should embrace any changes that have been made to my molecular make-up and see them for what they really are: just a part of life.

But I hear the clock in this room ticking, and it feels like it's timing down to something. Like a quiet clicking race, one that I'm going to come last in. Then I feel like listening to The Tea Party, and my over-the-counter heartburn medication isn't working even though I've taken two tablets and it's supposed to be 'extra-strength'. So, I just sit here with the music on, lighting cigarettes from the ends of candles and trying to pick a movie to sleep with, but I can't because everything I've seen has already been seen and we all know what happens when they end.

My dreams are filled with the matching bed sheets of past relationships and the kisses of those that I coveted but never felt. Those pairs of brown eyes both exciting and disappointing me, at the same time. The sleeping pills maybe make these people more real than they actually were, and because it was so long ago, maybe that's true.

Or I feel like a keyboard you can click on, a link that leads you to spam pages and pop-up windows. Free cursors, smileys you don't want and ads for Viagra or penis extensions. Click, click, click. Close.

The dogs sleep at the foot of the bed, they don't know I will not be here on this day at the same time next week, that they will be sleeping alone with each other. And I wonder if they care. But that doesn't matter because that's just the way things are. That's just the way they are.

Labels: Apostle, depression, Gish, late night, melancholy, neurotic, pharmacology, sleep, underwater, we all lose in the end, writing, zopiclone

find somewhere to go...
In the wake of accepting the job in Nunavut (well, at least accepting in my mind), I've been shopping like a mad person. I've bought a lot of tv dvds that will carry me through some semi-dark nights, as well as the full light ones. If I have insomnia now, I am afraid of what it will look like when I am in a place where the sun doesn't go down for 3 months (June to August). I guess that is to make up for the two months of darkness in the winter months.

More shopping included a gigantic parka, proper winter boots, thermal underwear and a gazillion tshirts to layer up with. The parka. I hate it. It's brown, puffy and reaches to my knees. When I wear it, I feel like a big, brown, puffy Michelin Man. There's nothing for it. I have to wear it. My only consolation is that not a lot of people will see me in it. Yes, my vanity is still alive and strong.

I took this the other day. I'm a passenger.

We can slip into the fog together and get lost for awhile. It will insulate our noises and sounds. We can relax on a broken log and sip hot coffee, our edges blurred even to each other. It was just a thought.

Speaking of Lost. I'm Lost in Lost. I mean, I've become addicted to the show (note: dvd purchased). And it's a darn good thing I've bought all those dvds. I would be very upset if I had to wait for the 2nd season to come out after watching the finale last night of the 1st season. All in one bite. That's my kind of thing.

So, the fact that I'll be living in the Arctic circle has me thinking of things to do to pass the time. So far, tv is taken care of. I've decided to take my guitar, teach myself to play. Books, maybe some knitting stuff to see if I can figure that out on my own. Other than that, I can't think of anything....

I can tell you of the things I will miss. Summer shoes. Fresh fruit. Fresh vegatables. Chinese food. All night convenience stores. Driving. Gin and Tonics on the front porch. My nephews. My sisters. Wearing a tshirt and jeans while out shooting pictures.

But, then I remind myself this is for a better cause then some summer flip flops.

Labels: insomnia, inspiration, Island, job, late night, Manitoulin Island, money, Nunavut, travelling, winter, writing

Out Now
Originally uploaded by Abstract Magdalene.

I'm not a positive person. In that I don't look for silver linings, or rainbows, or expect the best from people. This hinders me in some areas, however it also saves me the crushing disappointment I may suffer as the result of someone's lack of....follow through, if that makes sense.

I've been on the Lam for quite awhile, ignoring both Flickr and my journal, as though they are simply more places I need to report to. But today, the sun is out and it's warm on my skin. I ate an apple this morning during my commute and for some reason, things do feel like they are looking up.

I was applying for a new car, I had decided on a Ford Escape Hybrid, however due to financing issues it's not likely to happen at this point. And right now, I'm ok with it. Earlier this week, my electricity was cut off because my landlord failed to pay his bill. However, the deal was that I would have the bill in my name and make the payments. Genius-guy, however never closed off his account and thus, I was not able to set up my own. Then he just decides to not pay the bill at all, resulting in two nights by candlelight. And thawed groceries in the freezer that had been bought the day before.

I was livid. Now, I've paid the bill *for* him and deducted it from the rent, have the utility in my own name and things are running smoothly again (for the time being). But then my laptop decided to have a fatal error and while it was nice enough to give me time to TRY to get some documents from it (mostly music and my art), it is slowly coming to a stop. The good thing: it's still under warranty. The bad thing: potential loss of my entire music library, and it will take about 3 weeks for the company to ship me the repaired laptop.

I know, when it rains, it pours. Instead of sitting here and being a big baby, I have decided to go to the Island and surprise my mother for Mother's Day. It's a long trip and only over night, but I might as well do something lovely for her.

Work is still work, and I'm still doing it. Buckley was scheduled to meet with a trainer for his bad behaviours this weekend but that will be rescheduled. Unfortunately for him, his neuter surgery is scheduled for Tuesday. *grin* Poor guy.

In the meantime, I've misplaced Mrs. John Cusack (my iPod) and I have to go out and buy a bag I can pack with weekend essentials. I know, I'm the best of the drama bitches. There's more to it than this, I just can't seem to scratch the surface.

Labels: how not to be an idiot, late night, melancholy, music, relationships, work, writing

Last night, I went to the first concert in a long while. To a venue I hated. Ok, I'll just be upfront because slander isn't slander when it's true. I hate The Drink, now called Cowboy's Ranch. The staff are rude and abrasive, apparently change of ownership or name of venue has not changed that. Simples questions are answered with grunts and seriously, they treat customers like gum on the bottom of a shoe. Cattle to ber herded in.

I can understand they may get a little tired of dealing with a rowdy university crowd night after night, etc but in all honesty...if that's what the issue is, then go into another type of business. Because hard drinking late teens, early 20's kids away from home for the first time...are not ever going to be neat and orderly and polite.

Ugh. So I endured Cowboy's Ranch aka The Drink last night for Interpol. It made me miss the days of The Tea party and Matt Good playing there. Even Thornley when I used to kind of dig their music.

I endured the smell of the people around me (I mean, really people....personal hygiene shouldn't be elective), the worst Gin and Tonic I've ever tasted (and I bought three just to make sure it wasn't a one off thing, nope. All bad). But the band was good. At first a bit flat, but things picked up after awhile. Heard a few old favourites and some new stuff from their recently recorded album. Didn't bother with the camera since the venue is also (surprise, surprise) a bitch when it comes to photography.

I was wearing 4 inch black patent leather platform highheels. They looked so good with my jeans. And made me tall enough to see over everyone so I can squinch my eyes and pretend the bass player on stage was Stuart Chatwood (close resemblance). I shared a soft kiss with some guy standing by a pillar during Leif Erikson, coincidentally also a close resemblance to Stuart Chatwood (I'm really not kidding). Then hobbled out of the venue when the band left the stage after the first encore so I could rest my tired and squished feet. I gave up 50 feet away and took my shoes off to walk barefoot on the concrete.

There is something so feral about walking barefoot on a cool Spring night. Something even more free and romantic about driving barefoot. I grabbed a burger then went home to rest. I fell asleep with the image of those piercing blue eyes searching my face for my intentions.

I wonder what his name was.

Labels: drama, habits, how not to be an idiot, late night, music, neurotic, song, writing

You know when your work life interferes with your real life? I mean, I know I have no life other than work to begin with but at this moment, that is beside the point. Like usual, I completely forgot about a show I wanted to go to. I know I had written down somewhere but because it's not in my face, I completely forgot. Until I stumbled upon the notice while surfing the net.

Interpol is playing tonight in a crappy club not far from my house.

Interpol!! So of course, I rush out to get a ticket, and I've been listening to Turn On The Bright Lights all freaking day. Even subjecting my clients to the music when I've had to transport them. And asking my younger clients if they listen to Interpol.

The reaction was less than what I desired. Turns out no one knows who they are, even the self-proclaimed 'music guy' in my office. Take that, Music guy. Turns out even though I live like a hermit and currently have an addiction to banana cream pie pudding and Royal Gala apples (of course, not together) that I eat while watching CSI reruns.

Oh, and sending funny ecards to my officemate, who as it turns out, has a sense of humour. Will wonders never cease. Just kidding. Mostly.

Anyway, I grabbed a ticket for tonight's show but it looks like I will be working late and may *just* have enough time to slide into town for when the band goes on. I mean, I could work late any other day but here I am, having to work late on a night I *actually* have plans. Like, really freaking late.

Figures.

Anyway, I do have a spare hour so I may sneak out for a bite to eat and a bit of black clothing shopping, so I can look at least somewhat street cred in the event I do make it to the show. Also, am looking for a way to smuggle my gigantic camera into the venue because in the past they have been jerks about photogs.

But it's Interpol!!!

Labels: drama, how not to be an idiot, job, late night, music, neurotic, New York, opinions, photographs, work

I am not leaving this desk until I update my journal. That means no cigarettes, no coffee refills and definitely no eating of the nasty, bad chocolate eggs that someone has left in a tidy green bowl on the filing cabinet in the hallway. They are clearly for only the mad people, and I don’t qualify. Yet.

The tailpipe on my car is just about dragging on the ground, I haven’t changed the oil in my car which should have been done about 2000 kms ago and I keep forgetting to call my sister back about seeing my nephew this week.

However, I did buy car insurance this morning and managed to blow dry my hair without electrocuting myself with the hair dryer. Kitchen is still a mess, and the bathroom kind of scares me, but…all in all, it’s going to be ok. And I was only 1.5 hours late for work.

And I’m still eating sugar. Which could be seen as a failure or (as I see it) an unconscious decision to continue on with my unhealthy lifestyle. Despite the fact there are two heads of lettuce and numerous bottles of un opened salad dressing in the ice box. Yes, you read that right. I am now calling it an ice box.

Had a quick conversation with Craig this morning, I feel like my head is on straight now. I love talking to him. I really ought to start paying him for my whine services.

Rose and I walked our dogs in the park the other day. Apparently, it's supposed to snow here tomorrow morning, but the past few days have been really warm (where I sweat like a pig if I do more than swing my arms while walking outside) kind of weather. Anyhow, we walked the dogs in the park, where I looked like a bad, non caring sort of dog mommie, and Rose looked like the perfect english nanny kind of mommie. Her dogs were heeling, listening to her commands and following her lead. Meanwhile, Buckley was clawing at the ground and barking himself hoarse as soon as our feet hit the ground.

And he still only weighs about 9 pounds. Rose's dogs are rottwheilers (yes, I am aware I probably spelled that wrong. And used the word 'spelled') who are pushing 100 pounds each. So I guess I should be glad that my little dog is being the jerk, and not her big gigantic dogs. I think I told her I wanted to do this once a week with the dogs.

I must have been nuts. Anyhow, I should get going. They do expect me to work around here, not update my journal and leave cutesy messages for my friends on Myspace.

Werd.

Labels: Craig, drama, electrical, Gish, habits, how not to be an idiot, inspiration, late night, layers, neurotic, writing

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

OK first things first: Has anyone other than myself, heard Willie Nelson's version of Leonard Cohen's SMASH hit Hallelujah? Raise your hands, if you have heard this cover. Don't worry, no on can see, just raise your hand for a final count.

There are so many versions out there ought to be a cut off point somewhere along the line.

So, I officially here and now, declare the cut off point. No more covers of this song that is called Hallelujah by Leanord Cohen. The man has enough money at this point in his life, and even if you think it's the crowning glory on your newest record, he probably doesn't really care. The time to stop is now.

Don't get me wrong. I dig Nelson's (we're on a last name basis now) cover of the song. In fact, I would put it as my second favourite cover of this particular song, given there are about six different versions to be found ranging from Johnny Cash to Rufus Wainright. And those are only the versions that I personally know about.

Enough already.

Because in the grander scheme of things, hands down, the best version of this song is by Jeff Buckley and that is all there is to it. The end. But not really. There have been a lot of changes taking place in the industry they call 'music', when it encompasses so much more than that, these days.

For instance, a lot of the musicians and songwriters are taking power back by spending as much time in the sound booth to ensure what they hear in their heads, is what comes across when you purchase and listen to their art. In this particular cover tune, we have Ryan Adams to thank for the help Nelson recieved in the production of his new record, Song Bird .

I know you think you know what music is. But I have this theory about it. I think of music as an art form, inasmuch as painting, poetry, writing, or sculpting something with your bare hands. And although emulating someone else's sound could be the highest form of flattery.

Sometimes, it's just time to say ok, enough.
So...enough.

Love,
Ms. G

Labels: cover songs, how not to be an idiot, insomnia, Jeff Buckley, late night, music, music opinion, opinions, Ryan Adams, song

Someone, please...
Originally uploaded by Abstract Magdalene.
I miss the Tea Party, I probably have said that somewhere else before. I was called into work this afternoon, having only just returned home an hour ago. Long enough to change clothes and take some pictures, since I missed the 365 photograph of yesterday, being so tired, so blah, so Gish that I didn't bother with the tricks of light and lens.
if you could see this world with my eyes...
I remember getting excited for new albums coming out, but now that I'm older, I wonder. If there is anything to it. My older sister used to always tell me (usually at a Tea Party show) that is wasn't real. I could interpret that any way I like, but I took it for the music. Not real. We can listen, and love, and appreciate but in the end, can we feel it in our hands?
with a sweet wine....
Of course, she probably meant something else.
I think she's gone again...
In any event. I'm not really real. I'm only a ghost of who I used to be. Speaking of which, some weirdo on Flickr wants to worship my feet. I told him I demand money and time. I'm terrible, I shouldn't encourage them.

Track 12 - The Tea Party Triptych album...too lazy to look up liner notes, and you'd think I'd know this by heart. now strife won't let me go...

Labels: how not to be an idiot, insomnia, inspiration, late night, layers, Matthew Good, music, neurotic, photographs, photography, The Tea Party, writing

sometimes, I think my writing really has shit for brains. And I only say that because I am actually working on something important to me right now, but my head can't seem to select the correct tense to use, so I am moronically jumping back and forth between tenses.

I had no idea it was this difficult.
*growl*

p.s I have to stop wishing I had connections with people. I think I am really unconnectable. Know what I mean?

I wish I was tired.

Labels: late night, writing