when i was 5 i was a bunny with a fat lip

“My favorite review described me as the cinematic equivalent of junk mail.”
It's a mad house.
We're all super busy.
So. I'll be brief.
I live for this rush.
I'm only 20 for 3 more days.
I love to write. I love what I'm writing and think about it all
the time. I talk to the dead about it. It helps.
I feel that already this is probably the best week of September.
The weekend was meaningful. And this coming weekend will be
even moreso. I want there to be lots of kissing... but not
involving me. I wish to be a spectator and commentator
but not an actor in the sensation.
I'm living off of the energy from my acting class this morning
and my memories of past autumns. of your apple pie.
of my - "im a funny girl phase".
i miss that phase. I want to be joe pesci in Goodfellas.
do I amuse you? im funny?
My fingers hurt but I can't wait to touch my cello strings.
I seriously am in love with Mary Louise Parker
and wish i wrote WEEDS.
I am surrounded by sexy women and love it.
(shout out to my roomies , my sister and homegirls o and my
regular hooker. (all my bests in one big bannana boat bowl
of Thumbs Up Korean for a cool 5.95.)

My head feels light and airy.
I feel like a weight has been lifted from my shoulders
or is slowly lifting up.
Thank you for one of th most life-changing and life shaping years.
It was brilliant.
I feel alive. And that's all I've really wanted since the day i died.

xo
Lo is HIGH.

ps. If I were halloween treats I would be:
- the house that gives the orange, can of RC cola, rockets and a halloween
pencil with a black tip. o how i miss trick or treating on walts street


Steve Buscemi

Singapore Sling

Chapter One

They say there are two sides to every story. I agree with “them” who ever they may be - assuming “they” is actually a small and highly secure unit that controls and directs the tides of popular culture. I also assume that “they” were born in bland business suits and use a profuse amount of Depp styling products, all the while planting such all-purpose universally recognized truths and idioms within society for the masses to adopt, and later reference at their convenience (like I am doing right now.)

I argue however that there are more than two sides to every story given the obvious factor that a “story” usually involves a number of characters each with their own set of experiences resulting in burgeoning stories that shoot off of the main branch. “Spin-offs” one might identify them as. A story can also focus around a single event that affects a group of characters related or otherwise. This single event may be one individual’s experience, but in turn stirs the pot of so many people’s daily grind. Explicably becoming a smorgasbord of story as opposed to one serving of a single dish from one restaurateur.

A woman gets cancer for the second time. This time however she does not respond to any of her treatments and thus lies in a hospital bed on New Years Eve hooked to an IV drip, eyes half closed, jaundice skin the color of squash and sunken cheek bones that remind her youngest daughter of the animated crypt keeper from the YTV television series she watched as a child.

This woman is surrounded by the closest members in her family, all paying hyper attention to the sound of her breaths, the acute rise of her tummy up and down -- the slightest pause making each of their hearts skip a beat, sometimes in unison. At this point the members of the woman’s family present, are all dumbfounded by the mystery of life, death and the lottery of disease -- lost in the silence of thought, memory, prayer, all of which are too ideal for the current and seemingly expected inevitable dooms of the woman’s ill-fated reality.

The heart rate monitor beeps.
The woman’s youngest daughter rests her head against the woman’s chest, feeling the bump of the mastectomy scar from 9 years earlier through the thinning fabric of a hospital gown washed a batch too many. She hums Day Dream Believer by the Monkeys as finally, the woman’s body succumbs to the evil unknown invading her cells, traveling her veins – reaping her of her old age, her motherhood, her every last desire on Earth that could have been (should have been), and catapulting her into an entirely separate unknown. This unknown being the second of two sides to this woman’s story. The story that ensues while on the “other side.” Hence there are two standard sides of one person’s being. One while alive on Earth and one that carries on after that person has passed on to whatever and wherever the other side may be. In any case, after the woman passes on, her being perpetually affects and crafts the stories of all those she touched as she goes on to live inside the hearts of each of them all at varying degrees but really to a fucking immeasurable level.


Chapter Two

This is not the woman’s story. This is the result of the woman’s story on her youngest daughter’s being – whom of which just happens to be me.
Cocktail anyone?

xoLO

In Toronto

It's a little early for a Summer '08 post-mortem.

As you might have noticed, I've deleted most (i.e. all) of my previous entries. I'm not going to offer an explanation except to say that I own 1/3 of this blog and I can do whatever the hell I want with my fraction. Hah! However, I do offer sincere apologies because self-censorship isn't really what this space is about. At least, that's how I see it. What's the point of publishing free-hand rantings if you stop and regret it later? My usual philosophy is: You've tainted the air with your words, now live with it. There is always that moment of hesitation before you click that shiny, orange 'Publish Post' button and once you do there is no going back (in theory). But alack...alas...that's what I've done. Not to be gone forever mind you...only to resurface years later as 'Inari Classic'.

I'm so happy to be home. It's good times. I woke up far too early...probably something to do with the time difference even though time zone logic would suggest otherwise. Already the moods are going up and down and now I'm wondering if my moods are only undulating because I pay such close attention to them. Hmm? I need to get out of this gorgeous brain of mine and start living present-tense! At least, that what I imagine my imaginary therapist would tell me.

No plans for today or for any of the days leading up to when I go back to work. I need to print out a schedule for my boss that will somehow keep my weekends open and still allow me to make enough money to pay rent...and make my movie...and maintain my rather expensive book-buying habits. Gosh, Inari! You got a library card! Use it!

I have nothing else to say. Odd. I probably shouldn't have posted.

Too late now.

Head-noddingly yours,

Inari

If I were a lyric, I would be: "I got soul but I'm not a soldier"

This Sally wants her Harry.

The release of Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince has been delayed from November 2008 to July 2009.

8 months.

I manage to have the worst thought possible. How many people, who were looking forward to the film, will die between November and next July? I know what you’re thinking… and yes, I am a riot at parties.

Six degrees of separation: A law of the universe? Would the Earth turn backwards if we were disconnected from the person next to us on the subway? Hopefully not, since at the moment I feel about 10,000 degrees away from everyone in the universe.

My soul is currently split seven ways.

1.
I want to dance. The kind of dance where you’ve been partying up a storm the whole night, and you’re both gross, sweaty, and sloppy. But you find each other. Your hands find their places, and suddenly the group party falls away and it’s just the two of you. Maybe one of you tries to say something, but the noise carries it away. Thundering loud club music, and yet somehow you’re softly swaying in each other’s arms. Like nature. Like waves to the shore.

2.
I want to hold hands. The kind where the fingers lock. So innocent, yet oddly saucy, happening secretly in the dark of a movie theatre, or a club, or some campus walkway at night… No one is around to witness it. Who grabbed whose? Can’t remember. It happens with neither of you mentioning it before, during…. or after.

3.
I want eye contact. The kind of moment where I want to ask what the eyes are saying. And they answer me wordlessly.

4.
I want to be hugged. There were times when I felt so bitter about being hugged. When I felt so upset, so angry… and suddenly I was being hugged. I didn’t hug back, and all I could think was how mad I was that they had the nerve to think that this stupid hug was going to make me feel any better. They are just arms, and cruel people have arms too. But right now I want a hug. I want to be on that selfish receiving end… where I can weep, and keep my arms at my side …and still they continue to hold me, trying to blanket the fire.

5.
I want a kiss on the shoulder blade. It sort of always sneaks up on you. Since, I am rarely looking at my shoulder blades.

6.
I want a hand to brush the hair out of my eyes. Even if it isn’t really all that much in them.

7.
I want to be in the same room as someone who cares about me. Between four walls, zero degrees of separation, sharing the air, and the universe with someone else.

Because when the world starts to spin backwards, when I’m not in the room with someone who cares… I start to think about the one who doesn’t. And then I think of our first dance, and his hands and eyes; I think about the Xs and the Os. I think about the drunk nights, the sober mornings. I think about my dad waiting with a shotgun, and then passing him the keys to his car. I think about all the time spent…

And I wonder how substantial a difference 8 months really makes.

Signed,
Desiree Thrash

If I were a screenplay revision colour, I would be… Buff.

The KKK took my baby away!!

Morning After Disclaimer: I wrote this entry last night and waited to post it until the morning mainly because my stolen internet was not cooperating with me. Looking back, I should warn you that it reads more like a PMSing rant as opposed to a thoughtful blog entry. Funny thing is... I'm not PMSing.
Enjoy...

I feel people watching me. I know when people are looking at me and seeing me work or play or eat or whatever humanistic ritual I am conducting like everyone else – I know some are wondering what is running through my head. What is going on behind those eyes? If only I could explain in a few short words I wouldn’t be the rogue I am told that I am from those onlookers I have encountered in my life.

What are other people thinking? I watch people. I know they are thinking something but I don’t know what exactly those somethings are. Truth be told, I’m too often consumed by my own thinking, lost in a labyrinth of personal thought that it really doesn’t tickle my curiosity all that much when it comes to other peoples mental activity. If I’m interested I will ask. And when I am really interested… I will ask a lot. There are a few people in my life that I am very interested in and would like to get to know them so much more… I am just nervous to make that leap! It will happen when the moment is right.

Anyways! -- A lot of people in my life can be quite transparent actually. And although they think they are subtle and alluring; well you’re not.

In fact, I believe that the people who think they are one way (which makes them look cool to a specific degree) and actually take the time to tell others that they are this way they think they are are actually the complete opposite. And I would argue that this makes the whole lot of these folk come off as jackasses.

On that note - I was out with a peer not to long ago and all they did was talk about themselves. Come to think of it, all they ever do is talk about themselves. (There are only few people I can tolerate this from – some of which I actually quite enjoy this from - but this is comprised of only a special select few).
Anyways, at the end of the night finally this person asked about me and mentioned how they always seem to be the one who does all the talking. Well that’s because they start talking about themselves and their current fleeting plans, meaningless sexual escapades and other various shenanigans….and anytime I try to segue and share a personal experience to relate to their’s and perhaps shift the conversation to a more theoretical note… they shift it right back to superficial nothingness and repetition by not acknowledging my comments by doing something like taking a sip of coffee or posing for the onlookers around them… meanwhile making themselves look like a big ol’ dumbass.
It is these types of people – the self-involved\unaware\talkers-never listeners-kind- that are the most unaware of their actions in public and who are genuinely conceded to an incurable extent. Forever will they ask me what’s on my mind only after the coffee is done, the bill is paid and I’m ready to bolt home to my roommates and our patio and cut loose the extra baggage.

This belief of mine actually reminds me that --

Recently, one of the most valued and respected individuals in my life recommended I pen my own personal manifesto – a short impassioned volume on my thoughts and beliefs exploring some of the most powerful claims and truths I have learned and made in my life and formulated as a result of my accumulated experiences.

The manifesto would focus predominately on the definition of human behavior, nature and relationships – as all manifestos are technically variants of such defining subjects.

The bulk of the manifesto would ruminate sex and love – the fact that I do not believe that true romantic love involves sex – because sex is lust and human’s innate need and desperation to get off.

In relation, some of the other (and perhaps significantly less sexy topics in comparison) include human weakness - how controlled we are by our peers and by food and addiction in general. Humans are slaves to their addictions. Humans are slaves to their constant paranoia and thoughts about others thinking about them. And ultimately, humans are slaves to time.

On another note. I just finished watching Requiem and made myself a tea with a jenk-load of sweetener, both of which are activities that always put me in a “pissed off with the human race – the world is damned and was made that way because we thrive off of it” kind of mood. If we know the habits we do are bad why do we continue to do them?
The sick thing is… (and I bet you most people watching Requiem experience similar reactions) is that this movie does not scare me away from ever doing drugs even though it so intensely shows the tragedy it can often lead to. The movie, rather, is powerfully successful and difficult to watch and a true portrayal of human behavior because it scares me that it doesn’t scare me away from drugs. Like - I can understand without actually understanding. I can see how easy it is to get lost in it all – unable to find your way back – unwilling and unwanting to find your way back.
Which leads again to human weakness. Why are we so goddamn weak? So much bad happens to so many people unasked for… and yet here we are going and putting it on ourselves.

People get raped by unwanted disease and hardship everyday and yet people rape themselves willingly with drugs, or lies, or body image issues, or jealously or work or romance and relationship drama -- and they think that these issues are the important ones. These are mere distractions. Death is a mere distraction. The root of all of this self-rape-near-death?? Insecurity. And those who are distracted with drama and issues etc etc are those ones who fail to acknowledge other people’s lives in their company and ask only about them when the bill is long paid for.

LA LA LA. Distraction. Our minds are mush. Our hearts are goo. Our brain is fried. We are controlled by our bad habits. People THRIVE off of drama and problems and hysterics.
The funny thing is - I’m feeling for the most part happy these days with the occasional downer moment – nothing I can’t grab by the balls and challenge and work through – which is why sometimes I just don’t have that much to say to you and I am completely content in my routine. Which is also why you are probably not interested to hear what I have to say or what is going on with me… No drama. All smiles.

Two New Goals –
1) Be open to breaking routine. Carpe Diem blah blah blah….
2) Babes knit - so learn the fuck how!

Honesty Circle #1 –
I like to flirt with girls but only the ones that work at cafes or sushi take out places on Queen St E. and give me free extras and dig my head scarves.
Peace & Love Gangstas.
-LO.

If I was any sort of drug device\paraphernalia I would be:
The tied Elastic band.


Ps – DON’T IMPOSE YOUR BELIEFS ON OTHER PEOPLE’S ART. MAKE YOUR OWN GODDAM ART. And while you’re at it… go and throw your big ugly signature on it down in the corner or all over the first and\or last title card of the film. Damn Auteurs. Move the hell to France and eat all the goddamn cheese you want. I’m happily resistant to eating dairy. Even though I had a glass of milk today and it was deeee-licious! Mooo. Bahhh. GRrrr. Cryyyy… tear….

he said, babe, you're just a wave, you're not the water

I'm having one of those sleepless nights where I lye awake and let my mind take me to the wildest planes of my imagination. I'm actually having one of those sleepless weeks where my mind is constantly on, constantly dreaming up new situations, and analyzing those that already exist with a fine tooth comb.

With Inari off to San Diego and Desiree and I with hectic schedules... I have not so surprisingly embraced being alone, regardless of the dark and painful places it may lead me.

Anyhow. I have been alone with my thoughts and it has been a lovely visit thus far.

Although lately I have taken on this front that I am in a period of my life where I have the inability to "like" boys... I have actually realized that this is only true to some degree. Once in a while a boy or two comes along that strikes a cord. No, I don't "like" like these boys, but I do want to get to know them and what they believe, perhaps because it is so different from what I stand for, or perhaps because passion is a major turn on, and passion is what they've got.

Side Note: I have been going to church a lot lately and its making me feel more up and ready for life. I am not a "churchy" person but I do claim to be "spiritual". Something comes over me when I am there... as if when I pray... something, someone, somewhere is listening. I know they are. I've also been digging a lot of William Blake lately. I recommend spiritual exploration. It's right-sexy.

I am going to conclude, (rather) focus the next stage of my entry on the very purpose I decided to write in the first place tonight. I want to share with you some profound quotes that I came across as I was conducting copious amount of script research the past few days at work. These are some that struck a cord with me and the tangles of my heart.

“Boys and girls in America have such a sad time together; sophistication demands that they submit to sex immediately without proper preliminary talk. Not courting talk- real straight talk about souls, for life is holy and every moment is precious.”
-- Jack Kerouac

“Take one fresh and tender kiss
Add one stolen night of bliss
One girl, one boy, some grief,
some joy Memories are made of this.”
-- Johnny Cash

"I met a girl who sang the blues
and I asked her for some happy news,
but she just smiled and turned away.
And the three men I admire most,
The Father, Son, and the Holy Ghost,
They caught the last train to the coast
The day the music died."
-- Don McLean, "American Pie"

"Not being beautiful was the true blessing... Not being beautiful forced me to develop my inner resources. The pretty girl has a handicap to overcome.”
-- Golda Meir

“Why did I allow myself to be bored ever in the past and to compensate for it got high or drunk or rages or all the tricks people have because they want anything but serene understanding of just what there is, which is after all so much.”
- Jack Kerouac

"…maybe it’s the time of year. Yes, and maybe it’s the time of man.
And I don’t know who I am. But life is for learning."
-- Joni Mitchell

"No matter what people tell you, words and ideas can change the world."
--The Dead Poet's Society

And lastly...

"To make an impact, you have to go to extremes."
-- Drive Me Crazy (yes the Melissa Joan Hart movie with Adrian Grenier)

This past weekend I discovered I am one hell of a screamer.
Sayonara & Sweet Dreams.

- xoxo,
Lola Anarcha N.


If I were any American historical event I'd be: WOODSTOCK


p s. my sister told me this morning, that she woke up to the sound of my mom's shuffling slippers and dusting mop. I believe she was there.
...I'm going to try to fall asleep now, praying as I do every night, that she visits me in a dream.

Out of the Red, Out of her Head She Sang…

I want to be a globetrotter. In fact it is my plan to eventually reach a point in my life where I can travel from place to place and breathe in copious amounts of inspiration. Taste the sweet and supple satisfaction of being surrounded by strange lands, strange smells, strange ways in which I am not accustomed but damn well will dive into given the opportunity. In fact, I would pretty much embrace many extremes given I find myself in a situation where something is extremely appealing or “I just feel like doing something – doing whatever I want…_
Like getting a tattoo for example. I will only do this when it pops into my head spontaneously and I could literally just walk into a parlor and be like, “Ink me.” I would.
On a moments notice.

I’m not a dater. I am not a girl who asks boys out or who easily agrees to a date.
That’s it. I’ve declared it. It’s final. I’m not a make-outter or casual “layer.”
But sometimes it is fun to flirt. Correction - It’s often fun to flirt (hellooo I am a Libra). And I find myself flirting with boys I pick out of the crowd or who I have on speed-dial or back-up just to get my kicks and flirt with given the convenience and the fact that I know they think I have babe-potential and would succumb to such simple verbal pleasures. I do take advantage of this for lack of a better sort of entertainment or outlet for the sexual frustrations of any single soul. Im sick and twisted.

And screw off if you think I’m what some ass-holes would brand a “tease.” I’m a little wounded right now as I was recently pounced on. Trapped by someone who forced themselves on me. I hate cheesy lines like… “O, I’ve never stopped liking you.” Or… “I love your innocence.” EW. I HATE the fact that there are boys out there who have jerked off to “innocence.” Who have tried to steal this so-called “innocence.”

I like how it drives boys crazy that I say goodnight at the door. Or I cut the relationship off before it starts or gets into all that lovey-dovey, talk on the phone 24-7, txt constantly junk. Seriously. This is what I refer to as “suffocation.” I’m just not “girl-friend” material. Not right now anyways. Not with you.

I am rocking mad attitude right now, aren’t I… I am being a little biotch.
I could likely still be jaded from my high school days. Ok, I wasn’t the foxiest girl of the bunch… in fact… I wasn’t even that good-looking. I had braces and glasses… and the few fellas that did find me somewhat attractive got off simply on my “innocent\librarian” look that fulfilled their pubescent sex fantasies. CRINGE.

But in high school there are a select few individuals who I “liked.” LIKE LIKED. I have never like liked any boy that sincerely since then. The kind of like where you feel it everywhere. The kind of like where you get ROLLERCOASTER FEELING when you see them walking toward you in the hall. I love the feeling of the drop.
You think about them. You want to see the person, talk to the person, run into the person, get to know the person etc etc. eeeeeeee The- I – can’t- help – but – smile – im – so – smitten – feeling.
Those were the days.

Unfortunately… none of these individuals I felt this way about back in elementary school and high school felt the same way or anything for that matter, for me. I was simply the chic who got 100 all the time, the chic who you would humor at a school dance with one slow song, maybe even a chat in class. But never, not once did you ever consider me “girlfriend” material.

I remember the week I got my braces off after 5 years of shier embarrassment of having a mouth full of metal and a big ol’ tooth-missing gap that I had in every year-book picture since grade 8 graduation. Mad Sexy. Well that week during reading week first year, he came up to me at a party and he asked to see me smile knowing I had just gotten my braces off and false tooth installed... He smiled and complimented my righteous pearly-whites. In that moment I thought I would know what It feels like to be liked back. To maybe even be a girlfriend. Bastard lead me on. The cherry on top → Had a super hot totally cool girlfriend the next week. (That’s a whole other story).

BUT NOW - Tables have turned. Do I feel bad for often leading guys on… not really because I have not been convinced that a boy has liked me for me and not the way I look and not the way they characterize me in their meatheads as their cute little innocent virgin girl to be all their own. News-flash. I don’t rip off the Catholic school uniform and reveal some lacey negligee. I reveal some fruit of the loom 100 percent cotton my mom bought me for Christmas. Comfortable and economically-practical bitches.

Anyways. Im getting lost in a rant I shouldn’t be ranting about. I just wanted to say that I think I’m still “jaded.” And the day I stop being “jaded” is going to be incredible. It will mean that I have gotten over the past and over myself (then and now) and able to experience dating and romance with joy and pleasure, freely and willingly.

I am a hopeless romantic. I’d love to be able to get lost into some crazy romantic adventures with some babe and travel the world. But until I meet that asshole, I am so overwhelmingly content with just swatting them flies as they come. I like boys. I will continue to flirt with them, smile at them, allure them. But I will not and am in no hurry to date them. Kiss them. Boff them or do anything else that involves them and me doing something I don’t want to do.

Strange men: please don’t come up to me at the Subway or Greyhound station and request my number. And please don’t harass me and call me a “gold-digger” when I refuse to give you (a SCARY STRANGER) my number and\or panties. CRINGE AGAIN.

I watched a film called Teenage Girl today. It was about a middle-aged man who felt like a teenage girl inside… or something roughly along those lines. It was beautiful – the ideas and themes it addressed. So often people see our exterior and think of us a certain way. I am not the person on the inside that I often portray on the outside (materially speaking). And do I have to be… I want to look one way because I like the image aesthetically… This does not mean I have to match or act a certain way just to satisfy others’ narrow minded assumptions that comply neatly with their mind’s feeble characterizations of the way I physically look.

I like wearing hoop earrings. I dig make-up, lace and tequila shots. But no Sir – I do not ever want to or have had any sort of interest in going down on you.

So Zip those pants and get me the fuck out of your fantasy.

I think it’s fitting I end on a few angry bars of Carly Simon while lathering up in the shower…

“You walked into the party
Like you were walking onto a yacht…”

Xoxo
Peace and love
LO.

If I were an elementary school class trip I would be:
- Porky’s Pig Farm