Friday, October 23, 2009
A lot of people come here. They have to. If they didn't they might shrivel up like a raisin and decompose into fertilizer. The human kind. Then they could truly aid in the growth of their own fruits and vegetables. But how useful would that be to a pile of dirt? Not very.
I remember before I was a baby, petals and pollen. Malus Domestica: my birth home. My birth form: a rose blossom, you know. How romantic. I was very mature for my age. Not by choice. Those little buzzing creatures, entering the center of my five petaled body, that centre where everything comes to a point of sweet, desirable dust. They can't resist the temptation. Everything changed after my buzzing lover visited. I started to get fat and swollen. My petals slowly died and my center, my lone ovary, became encompassed with warm flesh. I became a red heart of protective obesity, hanging from my stem. Just hanging there, witnessing every sun rise and sun set, showering in the sky's tears when she was sad and basking in her warm sunlight when she was happy.
Now I am here. Watching the people. Every single kind of person. Because every single kind of person needs to eat. Fat people, skinny people, smart people, stupid people, young people, old people, sick people, even anorexic people need to eat a little. I just perch here under a mass of my not-quite-identical twins. Watching. I'm not sure how I got here.
I do remember the confusion of feeling the pressure of five fleshy fingers clench onto me and the horrible sting that came from being forcefully detached from my multi-armed mother. Then it was dark and bumpy for a long, long time. But not lonely. I could hear the moans and yelps of hundreds of my siblings. All of us carefully placed in our own little cardboard cavity. This must have been to ensure we didn't get into any fights. Picture hundreds of brothers and sisters crammed into a jolting, small, dark space for days. Sibling rivalry is bound to kick in and nobody likes bruises.
Someone just made a window for me. Before I had to peak out between the cracks of my compatriots. Light is unstable here. Always flashing so slightly. So cold.
I am grasped and fondled, bagged and carted. Lifted, weighed, bagged again and carted again. If only my stem wasn't a dead reminder of where I came from. (My home. Malus Domestica). I wish it was an arm, like people have. Even with only one I might at least have some say in my destiny. Instead I roll around uncontrollably in another one of those dark, bouncy, uncomfortable spaces. It's kind of fun, rolling around like that. It tickles me all over. But I am a bit worried about where I will end up. I miss the sun and the breeze and the sky's emotions.
I crash into a wall and remain still. Then, click. And there is light again. But it's not the same when its beams have to get through a layer of plastic first. I am lifted and carried to another inside space, debagged, and placed in another cavity. It's colder and harder than the first one. It's bigger, too and there are other fruits and vegetables, vegging with me in this basin. And so we veg together under the cold, artificial light of domesticity.
Then someone says "I'm hungry." Now I am stomach acid.
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
Sunday, August 9, 2009
Friday night lasted until the sun came up. I know why the "jig" comes naturally to me after participating in a Ceilidh. haha there is definitely Scottish in my blood. So fucking fun! I really didn't want it to end. Do you know the helicopter dance??
So then myself and about 7 others took a cab to the Grass Market and continued the drinking . dancing combination... Let's see... First to Biddy Mulligan's, then to Sneaky Pete's (a dirty bar that projects black and white porn on a huge screen while playing lame rock-dance music.. i really didn't get it), then next door to Opium ( a no comment kinda place) and then to C (?? i think that's what it was called) which was really fun. The first time i've ever heard Frank Sinatra played at a club.. immediately after Jammin'. Nice! Everyone stopped dancing.. sorry Frankie. A walk home at 5am and a sleep until noon. Quite the alright night.
Saturday wandered the graveyard with Tom and Sylvia and got some interestingly creepy photographs. Hopefully soon to be posted. Saw a guy swallow a sword on the Royal Mile and wandered to the Mound. I love being aimless in this city!
Today my legs were extremely sore. Nisha (my lovely neighbour) and I took it easy and went to a nearby Indian restaurant where they put cilantro in EVERYTHING! (barf) The vintage shops here are a lot easier to scrounge through and find something actually nice. It is now 10 pm and I have spent the last hour and a half trying to come up with ideas for a novel (hardest thing ever) and doing work for a prose exercise. writing anything and everything that comes to mind with a given first sentence... The one i chose being "Blue." It's harder than you think! But I wish all school was like this. It's freeing.
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
AMOR VINCIT OMNIA (LOVE CONQUERS ALL)
What we need now
fog, and the pincushion baize
of pine trees
like the trees in Chinese paintings.
What we need now is distance and local tradition;
the breve of italic; the minim of untold love;
a new vocabulary
names for the things we have lost,
so we know what to mourn.
so i made it to Edinburgh! The Pollock Halls campus is looking much like Laurier's... more yellow construction vehicles and piles of rubbish than beautiful architecture. The buildings around this area of campus aren't too historically charged... were probably built in the 70s. But the city is not far and totally makes up for the constant rumbling and reverse beeping that flows through my window all day... not that i even spend much time in my room at all! I do have a pretty magnificent view of Arthur's Seat from my room. I need to get on that... i mean literally
The course is hectic. Only two days into the course, the lectures have been general, comparisons of modernism/post-modernism and very open-ended. I always wondered where to go from "post-modernism" in writing and literature or whether it was even possible to get past it. The first lecturer, Professor Andrew Gibson of The University of London, proposes that we've been stuck in a cycle of modernism since the Romantic Period and that post-modernism is just another extension of this cycle. It was sad but reassuring that someone of a pretty high standing also recognizes the literary hole that we, according to him, should just keep digging as writers. Who knows... maybe there is another side we haven't reached yet.
Today the CW class attended a Masterclass led by a Scottish playwright, Douglas Maxwell. So funny and good preparation for rejection... He passed around a 2-inch stack of his rejection letters from the past 8 or so years. only a small portion of what he called a factory full of letters that make him so sick he can't bear to look at them. Understandably so. We looked at photographs and had to make up a scene based on the photograph... not my cup of tea but it ended up being hilarious for the most part.
Hooray for a boring first entry!