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29 déc 08 15:45

Why don't I write anymore?

11 mar 08 16:38

Wow. I really don't update this.

My puppy, Pock-a-lock-rock Steve Austen, is sick. She's curled up on my bed beside me. Poor little creature-beast.

I've ben forced to drop physics for the sake of my average, I feel quite defeated. That, and this means I have to replace it with some other class. That means a seven course load if I choose to take the summer off. I suppose I'm not taking the summer off, huh? Ah well, I'm still looking forward to some nice weather. And gay pride! It's strange, I've lived in Toronto's gay village for two years but I haven't been to gay pride yet- I'm always travelling. I think it will be exciting! Of course, there's the fact that the parking lot beside my building is turned into a giant concert stage that does not stop at any time of the day, but I think I'll not mind that so much.

"Oooh baby..... it feels like- music sounds better with you."

21 nov 07 05:45 - Wow.

So, I haven't updated for a while.
Second year university, still working towards Psych degree, shitty job, white skin black hair red lips, too much psychobilly, too much hard liquor, might be in love, refusing to stop wearing dresses just because it's winter, love you all, see you later.

9 sep 06 07:06 - Voice Post

VoicePost
470K 2:28
(no transcription available)

14 juil 06 23:49 - No song unsung, no wine untasted

Alin and Daniela are 9 years old today. Time flies.

I saw Barrington Levy and it kicked ass

Cheap champagne is fun, fun, fun. As is cheap whiskey, cheap vodka, cheap beer.....

I've given up on moving on

Neitzche sucks, I hated Twilight of the Idols, but I still felt bad for accidentally ripping the cover

Next person who makes fun of me for liking classical music is getting their fucking ass kicked

I couldn't begin to talk about everything that's happened in the last little while, but there's a lot of it.

When I grow up, I want to be a tyrant. Full on- a harem, slaves, and torture every Thursdays

28 juin 06 22:49

Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck.

I'm absoloutely terrified to forget the sound of his voice.

17 juin 06 19:17

 

Soo- I somehow managed to hurt my foot a great deal last night. Tequila. So It's all bruised and I'm limping everywhere, including to and from Chels' party tonight if everyone stops acting like it's a mortal wound and releases me, I feel like an idiot. It doesn't matter. I've been having a great deal of fun with everyone and by myself for the past few weeks,mostly at the beach I spend my alone time lying in the sun reading, I'm opiate on fairy tales right now. Positively.

^-^

Soo, I'm moving on soon. Out east. I'm a little nervous about fitting in over there, everyone's so rushed and pissed off over there in the winter. And I'm going to be some silly west coast kid who can't keep up with the pace. Oh, well-I'll make friends. I've always depended on the kindness of strangers. I'm really looking forward to getting to know my family over there again as well, it'll definitely be nice. Even if I am leaving my personal Inis Eala, I'm going to be strong and face the world now, all by my lonesome. I'm excited.

Past, present, future. It's all blurry and interlocked, but I intend to enjoy it. What's the point of going straight into my Psychology degree then, you say? I might not. Who knows? I may be around in 15 years and have the world's cutest babies and be married and financially secure, world-travelled, beautiful and in love. But probably not.

 

Music is beautiful. Im constantly wrapped in it. S'neat.

 

This is where I am almost every day :

 

 

 Alfred Noyes. I suggest you read it.

 

The Highwayman

    THE wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees,
    The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
    The road was a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,
    And the highwayman came riding
                      Ridingriding
    The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn-door.

                                                 II

    He'd a French cocked-hat on his forehead, a bunch of lace at his chin,
    A coat of the claret velvet, and breeches of brown doe-skin;
    They fitted with never a wrinkle: his boots were up to the thigh!
    And he rode with a jewelled twinkle,
                      His pistol butts a-twinkle,
    His rapier hilt a-twinkle, under the jewelled sky.

                                                 III

    Over the cobbles he clattered and clashed in the dark inn-yard,
    And he tapped with his whip on the shuters, but all was locked and barred;
    He whistled a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
    But the landlord's black-eyed daughter,
                      Bess, the landlord's daughter,
    Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.

                                                 IV

    And dark in the dark old inn-yard a stable-wicket creaked
    Where Tim the ostler listened; his face was white and peaked;
    His eyes were hollows of madness, his hair like mouldy hay,
    But he loved the landlord's daughter,
                      The landlord's red-lipped daughter,
    Dumb as a dog he listened, and he heard the robber say

                                                 V

    "One kiss, my bonny sweetheart, I'm after a prize to-night,
    But I shall be back with the yellow gold before the morning light;
    Yet, if they press me sharply, and harry me through the day,
    Then look for me by moonlight,
                      Watch for me by moonlight,
    I'll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way."

                                                 VI

    He rose upright in the stirrups; he scarce could reach her hand,
    But she loosened her hair i' the casement! His face burnt like a brand
    As the black cascade of perfume came tumbling over his breast;
    And he kissed its waves in the moonlight,
                      (Oh, sweet, black waves in the moonlight!)
    Then he tugged at his rein in the moonliglt, and galloped away to the West.

                                        PART TWO

                                                 I

    He did not come in the dawning; he did not come at noon;
    And out o' the tawny sunset, before the rise o' the moon,
    When the road was a gypsy's ribbon, looping the purple moor,
    A red-coat troop came marching
                      Marchingmarching
    King George's men came matching, up to the old inn-door.

                                                 II

    They said no word to the landlord, they drank his ale instead,
    But they gagged his daughter and bound her to the foot of her narrow bed;
    Two of them knelt at her casement, with muskets at their side!
    There was death at every window;
                      And hell at one dark window;
    For Bess could see, through her casement, the road that he would ride.

                                                 III

    They had tied her up to attention, with many a sniggering jest;
    They had bound a musket beside her, with the barrel beneath her breast!
    "Now, keep good watch!" and they kissed her.
                      She heard the dead man say
    Look for me by moonlight;
                      Watch for me by moonlight;
    I'll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way!

                                                 IV

    She twisted her hands behind her; but all the knots held good!
    She writhed her hands till her fingers were wet with sweat or blood!
    They stretched and strained in the darkness, and the hours crawled by like years,
    Till, now, on the stroke of midnight,
                      Cold, on the stroke of midnight,
    The tip of one finger touched it! The trigger at least was hers!

                                                 V

    The tip of one finger touched it; she strove no more for the rest!
    Up, she stood up to attention, with the barrel beneath her breast,
    She would not risk their hearing; she would not strive again;
    For the road lay bare in the moonlight;
                      Blank and bare in the moonlight;
    And the blood of her veins in the moonlight throbbed to her love's refrain .

                                                 VI

        Tlot-tlot; tlot-tlot! Had they heard it? The horse-hoofs ringing clear;
    Tlot-tlot, tlot-tlot, in the distance? Were they deaf that they did not hear?

    Down the ribbon of moonlight, over the brow of the hill,
    The highwayman came riding,
                      Riding, riding!
    The red-coats looked to their priming! She stood up, straight and still!

                                                 VII

    Tlot-tlot, in the frosty silence! Tlot-tlot, in the echoing night!
    Nearer he came and nearer! Her face was like a light!
    Her eyes grew wide for a moment; she drew one last deep breath,
    Then her finger moved in the moonlight,
                      Her musket shattered the moonlight,
    Shattered her breast in the moonlight and warned himwith her death.

                                                 VIII

    He turned; he spurred to the West; he did not know who stood
    Bowed, with her head o'er the musket, drenched with her own red blood!
    Not till the dawn he heard it, his face grew grey to hear
    How Bess, the landlord's daughter,
                      The landlord's black-eyed daughter,
    Had watched for her love in the moonlight, and died in the darkness there.

                                                 IX

    Back, he spurred like a madman, shrieking a curse to the sky,
    With the white road smoking behind him and his rapier brandished high!
    Blood-red were his spurs i' the golden noon; wine-red was his velvet coat,
    When they shot him down on the highway,
                      Down like a dog on the highway,
    And he lay in his blood on the highway, with the bunch of lace at his throat.

                  *           *           *           *           *           *

                                                 X

    And still of a winter's night, they say, when the wind is in the trees,
    When the moon is a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
    When the road is a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,
    A highwayman comes riding
                      Ridingriding
    A highwayman comes riding, up to the old inn-door.

                                                 XI

    Over the cobbles he clatters and clangs in the dark inn-yard;
    He taps with his whip on the shutters, but all is locked and barred;
    He whistles a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
    But the landlord's black-eyed daughter,
                      Bess, the landlord's daughter,
    Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair
.

9 juin 06 00:29

four hundred million things have happened since I last updated.
foremost, I'm going to Ryerson University.

7 juin 06 10:47 - Awwww

I found a poem Ailbish wrote when she was thirteen. It's kind of cute.

Friends Are Best
By Ailbish 

I’m glad I’m not a boy
‘Cause I can go shopping with Rachel
We can talk about Puffles her cat
Or wearing pink
Buying a new sweater
Or listening to the radio

“Friends are important” says the man on the radio
But he is a boy
So he doesn’t know anything about Rachel
Or me, or Puffles the cat
He never wears the color pink
Or appreciates a cashmere sweater

I remember when we got that sweater
He heard about it on the radio
About how great is is to go shopping with a boy
But not as great as going shopping with Rachel
We saw a store with the name “Black Cat”
With a big sweater in the window, plushy pink

Rachel said I look good in pink
So I tried on the plushy sweater
“Everyone needs a sweater” blurted the radio
It’s the only time I ever lsten to the voice of a boy
Mostly because it was first said by Rachel
In that little store “Black Cat”

My sweater was shredded by Puffles the cat
The threads on the floor, all puffy and pink
The remnants of the sweater
Discussed by Rachel, me and the radio
But never a boy
Because it is better to shop with Rachel

I owe a lot ot Rachel
And Puffles her cat
For telling me I look good in pink
And destroying my sweater
For as it is said on the radio
“A friend is more important than a boy”

Shopping with a boy is like shopping with a radio,
It is not as good as shopping with Rachel
Even when my new pink sweater is shredded by her cat

28 mai 06 18:49 - La Vie En Rose

I just watched "Love Me If You Dare", it was amazing and I cried like an idiot.

I wan't to die in love. I don't care when, I just want to die while I'm in love.



"Nothing.

Nothing for 10 years.

For 3,650 days and 3,650 nights

I wandered through it like a Racine tragedy

Like I was Hermione. 'Where am I, what done, and my future hours? What transport grips me, what woe devours? May I not know if I do love or hate? My love me did bait- flay me and slay me, fuck me and chuck me, and other silly rhymes..' "

La Vie En Rose.

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