A 12 hour day at school on a Sunday?
Sunday funday...
I feel: tired, worthless, alone, forlorn, love, dazed, and fragile.
I miss moments that never happened. And I miss a touch (that was only fleeting).
My work for the next couple of weeks is about love.
I'm scared. I'm sad.
All you need is love, right?
Sunday, February 27, 2011
Saturday, February 19, 2011
The Damned Girl
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
Here Lies Andrew.
- time is just a concept... Theatre plays with it... Don't put yourself into your writing, use your writing to find yourself.-
Thank you, Daniel MacIvor. I thank you. Deeply. You're inspiring, and your process gives me solace in how I work. It's supports me. And I love your work. I really do.
I have this drive to create with space and bodies right now. It's all I want to do. I want to throw people together and create something. I'm even finding myself drawn to the idea of exploring text. That is coming. It hasn't arrived yet, but I can feel it.
I want to go to George Brown. I want to learn to act better. I want to be in Toronto. I want to discover what this country has for me. And what I can do for this country.
'Cause I'm on my way. And it gives me happiness, and it feels real.
Thank you, Daniel MacIvor. I thank you. Deeply. You're inspiring, and your process gives me solace in how I work. It's supports me. And I love your work. I really do.
I have this drive to create with space and bodies right now. It's all I want to do. I want to throw people together and create something. I'm even finding myself drawn to the idea of exploring text. That is coming. It hasn't arrived yet, but I can feel it.
I want to go to George Brown. I want to learn to act better. I want to be in Toronto. I want to discover what this country has for me. And what I can do for this country.
'Cause I'm on my way. And it gives me happiness, and it feels real.
Saturday, February 12, 2011
Relocation
Thursday, February 3, 2011
Ain't Seen Nothin' Yet.
Are you acting the cruelty?
Do you enjoy the foolery of looking in thine eyes and feeling that breath; that sting; that mist.
You ain't seen the word. AIN'T seen it.
So. How could you understand it? Feel it? Fuck it?
BREAK that window, get the fresh air in. You need to breathe and see the shining stars of the afternoon. They're bleak and thin, but they're still there. Breathing for you.
I ain't here. I ain't with you in the darkest depths. HEARTBEATS. BUM boom BUM boom. The resounding sound breaks the back of our destitude and describes my love. For I do love you, but only in the way the sun loves the earth. I give you warmth, but I can't hold you. I can't feel you.
See this. See me. I fade. You glow. Siphon and lock. keep it all in and hold your breath.
I'm going to come back, and release the shadow of thine eye with mine own. And then you'll see it all won't you. Watch it all. But not feel it.
You are a windowless door, surrounded by concrete beneath the mountain. The mountain in the sky's river.
- Found. It's mine. From troves. It's from May 2010. I haven't edited, because I usually don't. But I, also, do not claim to be a poet.
Do you enjoy the foolery of looking in thine eyes and feeling that breath; that sting; that mist.
You ain't seen the word. AIN'T seen it.
So. How could you understand it? Feel it? Fuck it?
BREAK that window, get the fresh air in. You need to breathe and see the shining stars of the afternoon. They're bleak and thin, but they're still there. Breathing for you.
I ain't here. I ain't with you in the darkest depths. HEARTBEATS. BUM boom BUM boom. The resounding sound breaks the back of our destitude and describes my love. For I do love you, but only in the way the sun loves the earth. I give you warmth, but I can't hold you. I can't feel you.
See this. See me. I fade. You glow. Siphon and lock. keep it all in and hold your breath.
I'm going to come back, and release the shadow of thine eye with mine own. And then you'll see it all won't you. Watch it all. But not feel it.
You are a windowless door, surrounded by concrete beneath the mountain. The mountain in the sky's river.
- Found. It's mine. From troves. It's from May 2010. I haven't edited, because I usually don't. But I, also, do not claim to be a poet.
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