Can you believe the audacity of one who would ask this question of a reader of literature?

Question: Is a story satisfactory if it presents a riddle and then withholds the means of solving it?

Is this not the essence of the life experience? Isn't this the feeling that you should have when you read? I implore you.

more time

i love you kitty cat!

as small as a world and as large as alone

maggie and milly and molly and may
went down to the beach (to play one day)

and maggie discovered a shell that sang
so sweetly she couldn't remember her troubles, and

milly befriended a stranded star
whose rays five languid fingers were;

and molly was chased by a horrible thing
which raced sideways while blowing bubbles: and

may came home with a smooth round stone
as small as a world and as large as alone.

For whatever we lose (like a you or a me)
it's always ourselves we find in the sea

- e.e. cummings

a few pennies more

Would you buy a penny for a penny? Even if it was 'odd'?
Would you pay more? A penny seems so unbelievably small to me...what can a penny do for you? If you need to collect one hundred of them to give yourself a dollar, and you can't buy much at all for a dollar (except maybe half a load of laundry in the washer), what role does the penny even have anymore? Have you ever dropped a penny and not even bothered to pick it up because it is so worthless? Have you ever seen a lucky penny on the ground and decided that it is not worth the energy expended to bend down and pick it up? I feel bad for the pennies. But I am embarrassed to pick them up. Aaron always picks them up. "One penny closer to Cuba!", he will say. Every time. I am so lucky to be so close to such a person.

that time, outside

I think the nightly ritual of going for a walk, a slow and aimless walk, has sadly lost its significance to the jaded, fast-moving city folk. My mom's family always invested a great deal of energy on the evening walk. It seemed like a waste of time to me at the time, but looking at it now I see that it was anything but. To get various generations of a family to spend time together, outside, without any form of meddling, artifical influence is a feat that I now believe may be somewhat impossible. These walks took place on farms and in mountain communities and involved grandparents, parents, aunts, uncles, cousins, cats and dogs. Mostly I remember how the air smelled and how the grass felt, either dry or cool on the evening of a hot summer day, depending on the province this took place in. I remember pounding the dirt, ground with my feet - by this I mean to emphasize the lack of concrete - and not worrying about dirt or bugs or dog slobber or school or anything. It's amazing how those elements - air, earth, sun, sky, stars, the smell and colour of the moment when you can't tell if it is still light or almost dark - are the only things I can understand as timeless. This experience only exists in an urban setting in an extremely muted and astoundingly less awe-inspiring way. I heartbreakingly realize every day that even if I wanted to try to re-create those moments, the people and places that hold them together are long gone.

art school retard

I really hope that pottery class isn't as freaky as this picture makes it seem. This makes me think of the macrame hangings and crochet owls that my grandma used to make. It also evokes the smell of cigarette smoke, orange shag carpet, red meat, shot glasses, the chicken dance and white tube socks. What's with the coloured hands? Are they supposed to encourage you? That yellow hand looks like it has a thumb growing out of its wrist.

I am going to be optimistic. I am going to try really hard to not try too hard at pottery class. I have a habit of thinking that I am not artistic and/or creative and then overcompensating by trying really hard to evoke those qualities and unintentionally creating absolute drivel. I guess it is still creation...? I get the feeling that creativity should just come to you naturally, flow out of your masterful fingertips with careless ease. You shouldn't have to psych yourself up and force yourself to 'think outside of the box'. If it doesn't come, it doesn't come. However, my art school friend likes to inform me that creativity isn't innate, but is a set of carefully laid out rules or steps, if you will, that, if followed correctly, lead you to the garden of creative energy. I actually find that way more depressing than the idea that I might just not have a creative bone in my body. I like to think that creativity is an energy that some people possess or at least are able to easily tap into, rather than a formula from a manual. Alas, what shall I believe? I dost not knoweth.

Cubbedge, my dear

I know you can do it.

I think I would have really liked this when I was about...seven. Or eight. But I can't quite figure out what it could possibly mean. Are the shoes just ready to prance right into the ocean, eager for a wild fling? Maybe they are shy, testing out the waters with the tips of their toes. I think the way the ribbons are limply lying on the rocks indicate that the shoes are definitely shy. The way the right shoe is kind of supporting itself up against the cliff also shows an aloofness very uncharacteristic of a ballet slipper...I think if there was a unicorn on top of the cliff and a rainbow subtly grazing a darker sky I would have this poster in my room.

i'll bring home the turkey and you'll bring home the bacon

if i ever start feeling at home here...psychic suicide will follow. i do feel that this cubicle could do with some more flare. say like a troll doll or a picture of a cat/dog/child/smile. or maybe a postcard...a trip to mexico with the girls! a feather from the hat of that cowboy you met at the stampede. a seashell, a flag, a snowglobe. a miniature eiffel tower. actually, now that i think about it, the presence of those items might make me so wholly depressed that i droop mournfully into an eternal coma. or maybe it would just make me sad. how people collect these meaningless, unoriginal, mass produced items that they imbue with some nostalgic significance. in truth, these items are as generic and predictable as the generic and predictable office furniture that surrounds them. so in a sense they are contributing to the staleness of their surroundings with their feeble attempts at reminding themselves of the pathetic, packaged vacations and 'great', void times that await them at their next annual leave. but then i like to think of myself as an eternal optimist...go team!

Take these mittens and run away with them! Save them from a life of tedium and endless masochistic depravity! Hide them in your desk drawer and sneak them sips of coffee when no one is looking...Take them up the mountain and let them fly down...Clutch them to your sorrowful chest like a wailing child...Do you see what I mean?

Can I live here? Please?

The thought of the day...Wouldn't it be nice to have retractable claws? To climb trees, open cans, puncture skin, effortlessly cling to items of your choice...
But - would they be annoying to maintain? Would you have to sharpen or trim them? Or would they always be perfectly ready, just waiting, perched, invisible inside your fingers?

the first of the worst

I guess I am in for it now...Another project to leave hanging? A test of my potential? A harmless frittering away of my precious time? Will I win?