Blank

Montreal, QC

2010-09-08T17:56:00.000-07:00

It's a new home for now. I still haven't wrapped my head around this amazing city, and believe me, there is much I need to wrap my head around. This city bursts with creativity;I came to Montreal expecting some US-satellite-city. I was so wrong. You notice it from your first step in - there really is a different vibe to it, a unique feel. I swear I walked into The Room of Requirement the other day on St. Laurent, and it turned out to be a thrift store where the salesgirl offered us lemonade shots. Yum. There is much this city has yet to show me.

Pictures

2010-08-13T12:51:00.000-07:00

here's to you and me, and this year, and this life, and all that happened. and here's to you and me still here, and here's to the day before. Here's to this fucking city
It's never going to be the same

Hi

2010-06-21T14:17:00.000-07:00

Your beauty is different; it is agile, lean, white. It rests on selflessness, generosity, and sincerity. It's different. Keep it that way.

xx

Storm in a teacup

2010-06-06T19:47:00.000-07:00

I have often thought of what I would say to you if I saw you. Whether spitting in your face would be an adequate measure to express the sincere hatred in my heart. I actually cannot come up with an adequate measure. It's hard to label your feelings as this or that...I have moved on from protecting and sheltering, to running but you have to understand this is only because of the personal attacks leveled at me. This fixation on 'virtue' and chastity, this talk of women being tissue papers, it sickens me. Resistance is an exercise entrenched in futility.(I despise hypocrisy)

The human heart is a fragile place. The mind is just another cog in the machine - its is a verb, not a noun, and it's sole purpose revolves around repeatedly trying to erase the indelible scars the heart's suffering leaves behind. People say experiences are enlightening, all of them. I beg to differ, I can't sleep anymore, and I can't write or love the way I used to. My fantasy has now transformed and involves me running, running, running, running. I do not see these as particularly beneficial developments. Some experiences, are counter-productive.

I'll grab anything to soothe away the pain (I despise desperation)

June, 3rd

2010-06-03T10:41:00.000-07:00

there's only one way it can go
*.*

2010-05-22T17:37:00.001-07:00

No alarms and no surprises, please.

Loveless

2010-05-06T00:30:00.000-07:00

Come to me when you've got a name for it

Re: to You

2010-04-07T06:31:00.000-07:00

You don't need to be like her. But you already knew that. You're beautiful the way you are. This is for you. Turn and run. It'll save you the unnecessary heartache.

2010-03-31T12:49:00.000-07:00

There's always questions. First it's always 'why?' that's when you're still not over the denial, and the unfairness sinks in. Next it's blame (I spy with my little eye...)
I can take you through the processes of the human psyche. Or I can tell you how I deal with it. I'd rather the latter. I make no secret of how selfish and unfeeling I am. It's disgusting really.

This is not a safe space, and I have nailed my heart to the back of that boat and it has set to sea. I want it to rot away.

2010-03-22T12:48:00.000-07:00

I have to abandon writing as though I possess a monopoly on the universal truth. I do not. I will leave collective conscience for another time and story. Universality only works for so long, and for so many ears.
New Creative Outlook 101. Bring back the self. I am self-centered again.

2010-03-19T12:13:00.000-07:00

O what have you done?

HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME

2010-03-08T11:01:00.000-08:00

I want to get high. Just so I can hold down my body from getting up and swaying every time you open your mouth to sing, or every time you pluck your signature chord. you are my counterpart. I've heard your voice before, a hundred times over, and I'd hear it a thousand times more. I freeze up when realisation hits me. What's mine is yours what's yours is mine. My voice wavers when I'm emotional and I can't sing when I'm lying down. I'll show you mine if there was any remote possibility you'd show me yours.

I like compartmentalising my thoughts in chaos situations (this is not the time, as in not this time, that is, not right now). But I go to the blank white room in my head, and shut the door behind me. My thoughts run pell-mell into each other on another plane on loop (when the floors of memory and rational thought dissolve). I think I'm trying too hard again, and I'm thinking too much

2010-03-02T05:38:00.000-08:00

Fuck you.

Once upon a time

2010-02-22T06:24:00.000-08:00

she tells me a story about her life. It's a central image actually, around which her life revolves. It's Jessie Weston and James Frazer for Eliot and his resulting masterpiece. It's archetypes to human free association. I am only trying to impress upon you the significance of the image. Think of a snapshot that captures your heart, soul and emotion. It is not my story, but it's the story of my life, and yours, and it is sensual, it's every feeling between happy and sad.

Tell Mina that image is every image in my head, it's every moment in my life. It is a snapshot of a beautiful sunny day at the beach and the details are so vivid, it is devastating. Those details make up my life. I can spot a grain of sand, because it calls to me, and only me, and you. The ocean sings to me, I can feel the tenors in every sparkle where the oblong rays of the sun fall on the ripples of my kingdom and it ebbs and flows and crashes in my ears, making a symphony of my life. I can spot seashells in the swollen belly of the shore, and the pregnant wave is ready to hit my knees, and I am ready to collect the seashells. And I'm waiting for the water so I can sink my hair and submerge my soul. It fills in me such a feeling of fulfillment and contentment, and my head is filled with circles. I always find circles are laden with so much meaning, don't you? I am waiting for the moment to happen. I am thinking of only one thing: I must collect the seashells, because laughter filled with joy and rapture surrounds me, and it is my best friend, and my teacher, and his sister, and my lover, and you, and her, all around me. There are so many beautiful seashells, and I am a collector of the highest caliber. It leaves me there, and I'm sure only you and everyone can understand the spectrum of emotions in my life. Every feeling between happy and sad.

2010-02-21T03:35:00.000-08:00

I am inspired every day. Don't you think it's kinda cute that I wear the stars on my sleeves, and see the world through my heart-shaped sunglasses? So Lolita-in-the-New-World.
White lights, in your arms tonite.
Till I lose sight.
Tripping through your psychedelic reds makes me a little dizzy. For one day, I'm the bare-foot girl with the wild hair.

heaven is only in my head in my head

2010-02-17T13:28:00.000-08:00

I am tired of fighting battles everyday. They leave me battered and bruised, and with a bad taste in my mouth. I am far too young to have to believe there are no turns for me to take, and I lose faith. How long is the angst supposed to last, anyway?

You have kept me going, and no, I'm not hiding anything, there's nothing that's wrong, really, I don't think it'd be a good idea for you to indulge in my fatalistic discourse. I am the same person I was two years ago, and it terrifies me.

There are two colours in my head

2010-02-02T09:54:00.001-08:00

I think if I wrote out my life for you, in a series of stories, it'd serve as a far more coherent description of who I am. Maybe it would explain to you why I am this way, and why that, instead of the things I say to you when you are too sleepy to listen, and of course, your voice is heavy with sleep. It makes me mad, but it is a tender image, so I don't make a huge fuss out of it, and the next day I tell you I love you anyway.
My life is the autumn leaves that never fall in this city, because it feels like there's two seasons, wouldn't you agree? I think it has something to do with the maritime influence; you know, I can never imagine myself living in a hot climate even though we grew up here, you and I. I've always loved the winter. Maybe it has something to do with the way I was brought up, which of course, you wouldn't know about.
Sometimes I don't know who I am. It's just transitory identity crisis, and I talk myself out of it. But sometimes, I can't answer a lot of things about myself, even when you ask leading questions. Stories would help because my stories are usually one-sided, and leave little room for conflicting view-points (for the record, I used to be the one initiating, you made me realise I don't anymore and I think it has something to do with bad past experiences).
I wonder what your opinion would be on a person having two lovers or the moon and lunar madness, and if you think you own me. Maybe if you tried sometimes, I wouldn't be such a tarnished out-of-tune radio. It is a bit funny how I bottle up, and then gush out everything I've been keeping in. You've made me learn to laugh at it, and that's another story in the making.
The one thing I wouldn't want you to feel confused about is that I love you, and that I am especially great with love stories, without the possessive noun, of course.

SEXon

2010-01-05T10:09:00.000-08:00

Hello it's 11:09 PM 5th January 2010 and I'm alive :D

MUNon.

2009-12-28T11:48:00.000-08:00

Hello this is to let you know that I was alive at 12:49 AM, December 29th

Once upon a time

2009-12-19T08:39:00.001-08:00

I'll spin you a story, something so devastatingly beautiful, you'll have to know my name. It'll be sensational. I'll tell you a story of every man I have loved, whose name starts with every letter in your head right now. It's everything you already know, everything inside your heart, but nothing ever said out loud. I don't talk of love, or my lovers. This is not a love story, nor is it about you. It's my life, and yours, and you won't be able to break away. This is so you will remember me every time you live the story, or every time you dream about it. It is comical, fantastical, tragic and sensual. Particularly sensual. it's every feeling between happy and sad. You'll see. You'll want to know my name, because I made you aware. It'll haunt you one day, this story of mine.

What's the matter with you man

2009-12-11T04:48:00.000-08:00

There's not a cent I could scrounge off this, but this is alright, because I like the familiar newness of it all. It says 'Hello, I need you to stop making those noises with your mouth so I can hear myself think' like nothing does.
A minute goes by, and every silent move is a supersonic reality. He pulls back his hair, and it sounds like a sigh. A scratch, and a tap of the foot, added to something being dragged across the floor combines with the sound of my eardrums throbbing. It makes a symphony of mess in my head. It's the map I leave for you, in times like this, when I am not making sense.

I am trying to say I need myself to think so I can finally piece together what I've been feeling for the past 3 odd months coherently. But I can't. And I can't write anything, although so much has happened that I would like you to know about. I've started to rely far too much on what songs can say for me, instead of actually writing. You know, I'm just being lazy.

2009-10-16T09:38:00.000-07:00

Yaar, I'm not funny enough.

Yours sincerely, M.M

2009-09-28T13:12:00.000-07:00

I give up

there's too much to lose, not enough to gain, and I am tired.

2009-09-11T08:25:00.000-07:00

Used to be one of the rotten ones and I liked you for that

Now you're all gone got your make-up on and you're not coming back

That's not my name

2009-08-31T10:27:00.000-07:00

What's Up, Tiger Lily? ;)

Vancouver

2009-08-23T07:32:00.000-07:00

In the corners of her heart, you'll find what you seek, a photograph, just a peak, In Vancouver, in the corners of her heart, you'll find what you seek, her love.

Find my way to Vancouver, to our shotgun wedding, in the barrel of a gun, Feel your way to'ards her tongue, the kiss of her lips, just as she slips, Sweep her right off her feet.

'I could kiss you, with lines of escape in my mouth'

Find my way to Vancouver, where I'll wait.

Mindfucked.

2009-08-14T09:45:00.000-07:00

I need to wash my memories clean. I am unclean, perverse, riddled.

You help me forget, so I can block out the music, so we can make new memories.

It's that simple really. Hello, good night, goodbye.

Back to school.

2009-08-07T09:06:00.001-07:00

Life's back on track, what UP. 'Til Monday, anyway.

*bites into her lemon*

Let's party on the weekend. xD

Off the top

2009-07-16T07:42:00.000-07:00

This'll be the last time I swear I swear I swear I swear I swear I swear I swear

it makes me pull my hair out
it makes me bite my fingers through

The Cure.

Narcissus

2009-06-26T03:37:00.000-07:00

She blames him for many things, mostly because she’s unhappy. But she blames him most for leaving her with the emptiness. It pervades through her days, you see, and has now even managed to permeate her dreams. She has never liked the feeling of being lost, and that is all she ever dreams about anymore. She blames him for leaving her dreams, because it is always him she is looking for. She is not a princess because she is neither delicate, nor beautiful, and she fears she cares far too much to pretend it doesn’t matter. Her element has always been water, not earth. She likes callous people. She believes the truth only ever comes if one is slightly insensitive. She likes the blunt truth, although she realises it is another thing that often makes her unhappy. She has decided she is far too much of a cynic to be a princess. She is not a princess but she likes being cared for, being looked after by someone who is slightly callous, and a cynic. And this is what she wants more than anything. She is unhappy because the emptiness prevents her from getting what she wants most. She fills this void, however, with Take Care Music, and this is how she tries to look after herself. She believes in having a mirrored perspective, although she takes this far too literally and gazes upon her rippling reflection for hours on end. It is the only thing that truly captivates her, because she is not a princess and the water shows her what she truly is – mottled, volatile, tainted. She is riveted, never enraged. She knows that when she finds what she wants most, she will not be able to say no.

Cadence

2009-06-06T02:09:00.000-07:00

The first note hits and it's Revolution all the while it is sustained. The next and it's Resistance and the song melts into a liquid mellowdrone that is Acceptance and Relief. The music merges so that it is our Pen and Ink world…the song resurfaces, Twists and Shouts, and is Yearning, Pain and Desire simultaneously. Just when you are fooled into believing the cadence must mean it is her swan song, it erupts into Promise, orchestrating into your heart Desolation and Abandonment.

"You always disappear," she accuses.

And the music just weighs them down into its cornucopia of Feeling, while voices like oh-so-many melodies whisper, "we will not let them hurt you," over and over again, until they have you completely.

Linger

2009-04-12T01:57:00.000-07:00

The blush creeps up
apologetically, burning, blooming,
Like the bruises on her back
Like the red heart of her pout
Like her rose-coloured world.

I will only stay
juste milieu, bending, breaking
bowing, sighing, swaying,
Hearing strains of his powerchord chortle
Feeling my way through the ebb and flow
Looking through my rose-coloured world.

I am yearning
comme ci, comme ça, begging, blushing -
believing, breathing, surreptitiously seeking, searing
Hearing strains of his powerchord chortle,
in my rose-coloured world.
Feeling my way through the ebb and flow,
of his powerchord chortle.
Looking through my rose-coloured world,
yearning, entreating, bowing, breaking, swaying, sighing.

the bluest light

2009-04-09T13:11:00.000-07:00

I won't touch, touch, touch

we're all afraid of shedding thick skins

This is my country, here is my blood

2009-01-07T06:08:00.000-08:00

Throw your head back. Supplicate. Tug on that dream, ease that itch. Bite that thought, stroke her brain. Sink that slough.

Wait, you've got to get that mood music, man

Cut that quest. Climb out that cesspool. Drop that gun, tread on your tight-rope switchblade - up, down, slash, stem. Dig your ditch. She is your tool. You will use her. She is your tool. You will own her.

Hey, don't forget that mood music, man

Stroke her oxygen. Touch that nightmare. String in the stars. Mirror my malady. Thrum my sorrow. Soak it out, squeeze her heart. Ease out the objectivity, you are jingoistic. She is your tantra, and you are only her anthem. Shed your thick skins, she only wears you. You are vociferous only because she is your tongue.

Listen, now, it's only your mood music, man

Cut that clamour, it won't bring anything back. You are here, you can be no better. Kill the ideology, hold on to that thought. You're tuning in and out, how is she to catch you?

Hey, it's only your feel-good music, man

Lose sight. Fall in. Your certainties are only fallible delusions. You can only turn to her. She is your life. You will breath her. She is your life. You will own her.

Sparkle Someone Else's Eyes

2008-12-28T07:04:00.000-08:00

Don’t come hangin’ around my door
Don’t wanna see your face no more
I don’t need your war machines
I don’t need your ghetto scenes
Coloured lights can hypnotise
can hypnotise -

*.*

Hello, let's give this another shot

2008-12-25T05:20:00.000-08:00

No More ^^