Thursday, August 16, 2012


How many times must I abase myself in front of the this narcissistic, stimulation starved, apathetic and morally decrepit generation of entitled Vancouver 20 somethings?

When will I ever be good enough? When will I ever be good enough to hear another person's true fucking opinion of me?

Is there a reason why? Why do I have to exist if I am so useless? Day in and day out, we try to better ourselves and push forward, heralding a new day in the hope that it might be better than the last, that we might achieve a full 24 hours relatively unscathed by calamity and disaster, aching to be blissfully unaware during our quiet moments of the dehabilitiating truths that exist about our bodies, our personalities. We are not good enough, we are going to experience pain, but if we try hard enough to focus on the fucking roses perhaps we can manipulate our reality into becoming "positive". I can't handle myself right now, I have no one to cry in the general direction of right now, and once again ###################.  

I think being completely alone is the only way out. 

Wednesday, August 15, 2012

NEVER google calf rennet....just stop eating your fucking Parmesan, and live in blissful unawareness.

Is this neccesary? Answer: NO

Fun things for Vegetarians to do in Vancouver.

-Go to Meat and Bread when it's smokin busy, order a grilled cheese and a beer. By yourself. Not only will you definitely/probably be able to squeeze your skinny butt into a seat inside, you can cry a little after your meal in their super dooper comfortable and discreet washrooms. (I am particularly partial to the "bread" room) - {I actually feel awesome when I do this, their mustard is to DIE FOR.} 

- Walk up and down Davie/Granville/Denman. Particualrirlily exciting at any hour from 12:30pm-4:30am, espeicially when you are starving for vegetables. Your quest for "food" that isn't nauseatingly unauthentic "pizza" or plain fries will be peppered with chance encounters with drunk idiots, friendly idiots, homeless people, people you know, taxi drivers that want your blood on their windshield. Duration: never ending. Pro tip: Don't ever go to fucking Granville street, you desperate alcoholic. 

- Work in a restaurant that on principle, hates vegetarians/vegans

- Date boys. This is fun because you get to imagine all of the gross, dead, chewed up carcasses that have been in/around their mouths. 

- Go to gorilla foods. Three words, "Bonobos Carnival"  Aaaaand "dessert".

- Go to Stackhouse.  ....unless you are afraid of eggs, you aioli snubbing square. 

- Go to the grocery store.  The farmers market. Your fridge.  Your garden. Smile at all the vegetables and tell them your secrets, take care of them. Hold them and love them. 

Monday, August 13, 2012

Dear django django, please tango my mango. 

Play this sweet tits.  Last night I came home from work and sat in the dark for a half hour of silence. Without the Internet. Without my phone. Without a book, or a lusty thought. Without food, without water. No tv, just me on a couch. No pens.

I was dying for something, a thirsty ant in a desert of wanting, changing into a raven, pseudo suspended in the air, circling above a dry archipelago of sand and death. I hover under the sun, with one purpose.  

Below me appears a vast expanse of water,growing and twinkling gold. I change again into a rain drop, surrounded by my brothers as we move together to infinite enlightenment, readying ourselves to become one joined by all. 
 The plane changes and suddenly we are horses racing into the horizon. 

 We look to the future as our bodies hurl themselves ceaselessly into it, a hopeful horizon that holds change and peril in its infinite depth. , our existence is finite and we only have as much of that horizon as we allow ourselves, dropping to the sand from whence we came as our journey to the never reachable dissappearing point steals our years and asphixiates our muscles.  

(I am the problem, I am the ennui filled vessel. In order I become something more satisfactory, even just to painfully inch towards it, I would need to shatter and become empty and nothing simultaneously, in the past only being rebuilt to a )

We are the bugs in the trees, as the dawg by ze breeze suddenly becomes our sole focus as the perspective shifts to round. The woes and rigors of our own personal cuntathalon gets caught in the branches as we expand and become too heavy for the branches, weeping softly as they lower us back to earth.  

I am free of words, of fire and ice. No boys. My heart, although not intact is not unintact either, no bedside squirmishes, but if there were, (I would tell  myself, it's probably happened to snooki. And feel better, instantly.)

We regain awareness of ourselves in the pool, coming back to our bodies, suddenly becoming disjointed as the sun illuminates our slippery skins. The logistical existence we have turned into our aesthetic experience washes away as we swim, slightly apart from another, wanting to be together more than anything else.

^£ We.