I've got crabs in my milk.

I drink Old Milky like it's going outta style.
I'm slowly building up a collection of wine.
It's a good thing.

I'm feeling vaguely artistic these days, and starting to actually paint.
Got a big canvas on the go.

I want SO BADLY a Suzuki Kei Mini Truck.
They are beautiful.
Sooooo beautiful.

Kevin bought a beautiful new camera that has taken up residence in my bag...

I'm putting the word out about starting a 'zine.

Sound good anyone?

Sunday = Birthday

This is where I will start my debauchery.

I have a place in Victoria now, part of my things are moved in.
I am ready to go back to school.
Now.
Right now.
Fuck August, please end.

I turn 20 tomorrow.

Awesome?

MARTIN!

My brother broke Kevin's camera (which is the one I use... it's essentially mine...)

Can I afford a new one?

beeTdub: This is my brother Martin, dancing. For best viewing, please turn your head to the side or the screen.

Oh fuck I forgot

I find it ironic the last title is "I will never 1-2-3-4get".
What did I do?

I haven't been taking pictures.
These are old.
Perhaps.
Moving.
Will change that.

Summer's been hot, my Macbook is making weird noises, and I have no work for the month of August yet.
I haven't spoken to two people in my life who were supposed to matter, and I'm wondering if I can survive another month and a half.

I want more tattoos.

I will never 1-2-3-4get.

Oh the rest of May Long.
How did I used to function at work completely hungover and ready to puke again at any second?
...I wish I was the same.

Don't you forget the doctor.

Sweating penguin flesh like it's in style.

I could paint all these stories and have creative fodder for a lifetime.

This is May Long

And how was your May Long weekend?
Mine... well... each year, it just gets better and better.
Last night?
I went to bed.

Truly happy.

Simple bliss.
:)

The electricity in your house wants to sing

It all leads to an end.
It all leads to one thing.

Starting to realise that I don't know what I want.
And perhaps I need to be told what to do.
Having too many options, and I get lethargic.
Passive.

My brother got married.
I patched holes in walls.

Leif Erikson asked for forgiveness

Martin's ghost on Kevin's bridge
Fulford Driveby
The cross road home
The last critique

This is the coffee shop. Mundane activities become public, because it's the faint human connection of voices floating over head that makes the human condition of loneliness feel not so... lonely.

I'm slowly starting to accept what my life is going to be like for the next 4 months.
And it's a hard acceptance, I can say that much.
I feel this urge to create so badly, but I'm only just starting to draw inspiration from this new pool.

Let's see how it all goes, shall we?

I stopped breathing that night

There are, in the most extreme cases, sudden fits of nostalgia that can grip a person vice like and pincer grip, to act as the most terrifying moments of someone's life.

Something as simple as a shudder at a bus stop, the mere memory gracing skin, can leave a person speechless and salty, can choke a person.

Sometimes, I wonder why I kept trying to so hard.

It's my weak spot

"Thanks for complimenting my eyes, I wish I got that more often."
Regrets, mistakes, accidents, nostalgia, lamentation.

"I'm looking for sugar substitutes"
Insipid, banal, mundane, pointless, tedious.

"I dig a solid convo"
Stout, corpulent, tough, strapping, hulking.

"I do stupid things when I get drunk and horny"
Foolish, absurd, inane, senseless, witless.

Oh you should have called again.

These are the lonely mornings

" but you pushed
pushed enough
enough to make it more than just a radio wave
more than just the static of hearts
more than just glances, touches, accidental brushes
more than just mistakes, regrets for things of non existence. "

Back on the grind.
Drawing inspiration from a new pool.
Old Milky.

Oh shit this is my life

And it's all over.
It's over for 4 months.
FUCK THIS FUCKING SHIT I DO NOT WANT TO BE ON SALT SPRING FUCK IT FUCK IT.
I WANT TO BE IN VICTORIA
I want to play poker till 3am before class.
I want to drink rye and rum on the walk home.
I want to blaze on playgrounds.
I want to hang out.
With people.
Who understand the differences between gouache and acrylic.
Who can tell you what Cubism did for Futurism.
And why we're all just students.

I miss this fucking shit.

With nights like these...

... You have to believe something like fate exists.

No one has sat on a playground with me and talked for that long in ages.
And when you've got mad pasties and only rum to drink, you know it's a good night.
My arm is sore from sleeping on it. I can't believe we walked that far.
We went to bed at 8am.
You were sweet.
Thank you for listening.
I won't forget that night for a while.

Art, understanding, addictions, relationships, drugs, drinking, past, present, future, sunsets, sunrises, memories, installations, ideas, concepts, cigarettes, walking, hands, photographs and you.

I am robot and proud.

How did we get here? One more class to go, 3 more interviews, and it's over.
Spent 5 hours and counting setting up an installation that doesn't even seem that great.
Putting up the photos was the most intense trip down memory lane.
I almost melted into silent sobs thinking back to the moments that caused those photos to even be taken. It was hard to put them up.
I'll post photos from this final project soon.

Skin flakes, shedding hair, post it notes and empty beer cans.
I wish you'd call me before I move.
So I could see you one more time.
And perhaps, that glance that caused my flesh to shudder off my bones could be so much more relaxed...
And I'd follow through.