pulp

Im currently writing a paper about lesbian pulp fiction in the 50's. and I've grown quite obsessed with and amused by the covers. There's some real winners out there. (and look! only 95 cents! what a thrill)

Looks like I'll have a new reading hobby this summer.

..And then I found Hope

jubilee in the park

Today my heart walks

Outside the confines of a chest

and into the world.

reckless

I didn't realize I was scared until someone called me courageous.

I hadn't even considered fear- i plowed a head, confident and with an unyielding sense of optimism. I assumed my vision and my passions were legit simply because i felt it-- i breathed it-- i knew it as it pulsated through my veins.

I knew my vision because it was my heart.

I saw no reason to fear it. To question it. to hide from it. It made sense to me, so I assumed it' make sense to everyone. I assumed that because it mattered to me, it'd matter to others. I shared my vision with the anti-capitalists, the Queer feminists, the anarchists, the jewish reconstructionists, the nuns, the homeless, the suburbans, the students, the intellects, the abused, the misused, the vegans, the freegans, the musicians, the hoarders, the artists, the farmers, the addicts, the neo-monastics, the Jesus Freaks and the atheists. I told them my vision. I invited them out. I showed them my heart and I waited. Waited for the afternoon where they'dall come together. All these contradicting identities in one space at one time-- for one reason-- a hunger for social change.
I did not see this act of sharing or invitation as a daring act of bravery, nor did I see it as a risk.

But then he said it.

he told me I was courageous.
He told me he didn't have the guts to dream what I dreamt and plan what i was planning.
and then it happened,
I felt fear for the first time throughout this whole thing. I felt a fear so deep and so real that it paralyzed me. it stompt on my breath until exhales became brief and painful. It swarmed through my mind, like venom, poisoning my thoughts and words. It found the home of my optimism and pillaged it. leaving me empty and without much hope or ambition. This fear became a heavy and oversized stifling jacket, I unwillingly wore in the hottest of weather.
Suddenly I began to question everything: my dreams, my politics, my voice-- this entire afternoon.
Suddenly I saw the cracks in my vision and from these cracks emerged a creeping darkness. A darkness that told me to give up/ To side with apathy. That I wasn't strong enough. A voice that reminded me daily that no one really gave a shit and that i was a fool for thinking they ever did. And that''s when the shame leaked through-when I thought of all the people I had opened up to, invited, craved to collide with, it occurred to me that not all of them shared my vision--would ever share my vision. or even cared about it.
I realized that my dreams had likely offended, angered and irritated many.
This daunting threat of judgment turned a simple act of dreaming into a dangerous act of vulnerability and risk.
I felt that risk and then I felt for the first time a need , a desperate need, to be brave.
A need to dream fearlessly and speak recklessly with passion untainted.
I never knew what courage was until I felt my own fears take hold.
I didn't realize I was scared, until my entire body and spirit ached to own the courage he said he saw in me.

time capsule

Beneath the soil

this soil

is us.
A vision,

a passion

a heart

a life.

Lives.

ten lives in one box.

Beneath the soil

is a story

many that bleed into memory

memories

bound by laughter and heart-ache

prayers, both spoken and silent

Beneath this soil is a box

is you, is me, is us.

Here

both connected yet unfinished

here in the earth

for another ten years.

Butler

"In other words, acts, gestures, and desire produce the effect of an internal core or substance, but produce this on the surface of the body, through the play of signifying absences that suggest, but never reveal, the organizing principle of identity as a cause. Such acts, gestures, enactment, generally construed, are performative in the sense that the essence or identity that they otherwise purport to express are fabrications manufactured and sustained through corporeal signs and other discursive means" --Judith Butler, from "Gender Trouble".

After five years, it's all starting to finally make sense.

home.

instant comfort

Things I find Comforting: (and remind me everything will be okay)

-secretly watching women apply lipstick from a distance (preferably while on a bus, in a library, or in a lineup)
- when my mom chews gum
- when pink, purple, and burgundy occupy the same place at the same time, without me expecting it
- surprise artichoke hearts
- the sound of other people peeing in the morning
- being barefoot in public places, and almost getting in trouble, but not really getting in trouble
- the colour beets leave on your skin after you cut them
- dark little rooms
- the way smoke dances when you exhale
- andrew's hand writing
- thick blankets that are sort of ugly, but not incredibly ugly
- when you accidentally touch my arm
- sitting close to others while they draw really slowly
- infomercials about unnecessary kitchen appliances
- when others put face paint on my face
- clips on youtube about morphing
- thinking about dinosaurs being in love
- my aunt elaine's voice
- the sound of a lawn-mower
- highlighters
- an opportunity to stick a sticker on something
- watching snails
- the theme song from Family Matters
- sequins
-waitresses that call me "hon" or "sweetie"
- when men on movies drink liquor in tiny round cups on ice
- Noxzema
- unexpected tea parties
- when people pretend to put my hair in a pony tail, without asking first
- looking at clouds through my nose-ring
- "Have you ever seen the rain?" by CCR
- looking in my underware drawer, while not wearing underware
- when people whisper for no reason
- watching people without umbrellas in a rainstorm
- when there's a small light on, at nighttime, in my neighbours window
- smelling other people's doorways

Number Six:

THE CIGARS!!!!!

Robert Duval

Number Five: The Wacky Middle-Aged Couple we Befriended in the air-port lineup in Veradero- who in turn, gave us beer.

Tom, who liked to convince some that he was Robert, was a tispy man-- but a happy man. He once got lost for two whole days in Mexico. While in a different airport line , he also spontaneously decided to go to Brazil for a week, without telling his wife, instead of returning home to Canada. Tom-Robert was a great man. and Steph, his lovely wife was a lovely wife indeed.

number four: Club dance song

We sang "Touch me, Touch me", the club dance song, everynight. and did swanky dancemoves.

It was devine. we also made two solid Cuban friends: Patrick Swazy & Baby the chef who wore checkered pants. they didn't sleep. they only danced. this is the truth.

This picture is of Patrick Swazey & I dancing in the dinning hall. He was very nice. but had something in his pants.

Cavewomen

Number three:

LES AND I SWAM IN A FREAK'N CAVE.

(well.. i doggy paddled in a cave...)

Number Two: Dreams

While in Cuba I had two very distinct and bizarre dreams-- both of which significantly enhanced my vacation.
Tuesday night I dreamt about two Police men. I was outraged by them (as usual) and the entire dream i screamed at them on to the very top of my lungs, over and over again, "I'M GOING TO KNOCK OUT EACH ONE OF YOUR TEETH, SHOVE THEM UP YOUR COLON, AND YOU WILL CRY OUT UNTIL THE TOOTH FAIRY COMES!"

The night after I had a dream about Jackie Sisson.

Jackie was an ugly street dog that followed us around near the pool side at our resort. She had a bleeding tail from eating it, a perpetual poop stuck between her legs, patches of random baldness, gooie eyes, fat ankles, and MASSIVE teats that dragged on the ground when she walked.
I dreamt that I saw her in a Cuban humane society and decided that since she was so ugly, no one would ever ever adopt her so it was only fair just to do her in. I asked that she be euthenized, and i decided that she would make the most PERFECT souvenir for my mom. So i put Jackie in a big envelope and placed her in my carry on. When I got to customs however, they said "this will cost 2,000 Pesos to bring back to Canada. I was really pissed. The whole tragedy of the dream was not the rotting dead dog corpse in an envelope, but that I had to pay a tax fee. I remember yelling "Oh no! I cant spend 2,000 pesos on my moms souvenir, and only 3 pesos on my dads! That's not fair".

Jesus & the Tree Rats

Les & I just got back from Cuba!! We had an *amazing* time & experienced, as the online add promised, "unlimited emotions". It was a blissful and bra-less week of laughter, pineapples, dancing and rum. Because there are so many AWSOME memories, I decided that I will, over the next two weeks or so, post entries about specific highlights. A countdown of sorts.

So-- here is number one:

I GOT BIT BY A CUBAN HORSE! In the Knee!

This is particularly hilarious because despite my pacifist vegetarianism & love for most living creatures, i LOATHE, and have always loathed horses. We went on a jeep-excursion, and part of this out-trip included lunch at a ranch, followed by horse-back riding. Les encouraged me to take a risk and try new things- (her adventurousness is contagious), so despite my FEAR and hatred for horses i complied and went on my very first horseback ride ever.

I got a brown one. She got a white one.

white horses are the devil.

We were riding along, in the middle of no where, with two indifferent non-english-speaking cuban cowboys following behind us. it was a pretty strange scene to find myself in to begin with.

Everything was fine... my horse was trotting along side lesley's... then all of a sudden her horse turned its head, looked me in the eye, and then BIT MY KNEE. for NO reason! no reason at all! Just bit me. It hurt, but i was so surprised that all i could do was laugh. We were both laughing so hard that we could barely hold on to the saddle as our horses brought us back to the ranch.

My favorite part is that the cowboys were completely INDIFFERENT to the fact that the horse bit me. They didn't react at all. hahaha, we got off and fell to the ground in laughter.

Then a bunch of white middle aged tourists surrounded me, they were very upset by my horse bite, and didnt find it quite as funny as we did.

It was funny because this huge group of tourists encircled me, as i wiped the blood away with alchol swabs.

The main guy at the ranch said he had NEVER ever heard of any horse biting anyone before.

It was really funny.

When we were back at our villas people i didn't even know were coming up to me and asking, "hows your leg?" and "your the girl who got bit by the horse right?". haha.

Oh dear.