kiss kill bang bang

We were like our own Jerry Springer episode me and this guy. But it wasn’t always that way. We met. We liked one another. We shared the same interests—we were both easily bored and we liked adventure. And by adventure, more often than not, I mean trouble. And by liked, more often than not, I mean desired.

One of the first things he told me that I actually remember was that I look like trouble. I wasn’t sure if it was a pick up line or a warning, but those words made me feel warm and my actions right.

We would start fights on bridges that would end up in bedrooms—drunken, stupid fights in the middle of winter that left both of us cold, tired and defeated. He would set my bras that I left at his apartment on fire and send me photographic evidence of his rage. After all was forgiven, I would look back on those moments and think of them as acts of romance— minor instants of misplaced love. When waiting in lines and crossing through city parks on my way to work I would imagine all the intensity he must have felt while torching my delicate underthings and I would smile to myself on occasion. How silly! How juvenile and dysfunctional of me to think that way. I should have figured it out then. I should have known it was never romance. This was never love. This was a game –Russian roulette for the emotionally negligent. 

image Rene Magritte 


For the last few days my bed was a garden and my limbs felt tethered to it like weeds. I was smacked with the flu even after all my efforts of eating vegetables, drinking bland teas and tucking myself into bed at a civilized hour. Half in and half out of a responsive state of mind I spent the time staring at the ceiling while flipping through photography books and watching painfully good reality TV. Nyquil sang me a lullaby every night. But my immune system is back and so am I. 

just another existential dilemma

Honesty is always the hardest thing to spit out. Writing the truth takes courage. You have to be  shameless and, at times, quite careless to write down what is really happening in your mind and then share it…. share it. Doesn’t the word “share” sort of imply that the reader is a willing participant in the matter of receiving information? That the reader, in fact, wants and accepts the possible bullshit that he or she is about to read? People should never “share” their thoughts--assuming that others want them-- instead they should expose them while waving a casually stretched middle finger in the air to those who do or don’t want to know what is on the writer’s mind. This is one of those times—whatever you want to call it: sharing, exposing… this is your warning.

If you’re looking for a light and airy post on fashion or romance or what I ate for lunch, then stop reading right now. This isn’t the post for you. When I started this blog, I began writing on the premise that I would be revealing. I would be honest, candid and real. Over the last 2 years I’ve kept this promise on occasion; divulging momentary parts of my life and head space that are at times a bit embarrassing to think that I let strangers in on. But, there have been many, many posts that I’ve been vacant from. Although the images or music, etc that I post have some meaning to or affect on me, really they are only a fraction of what is likely happening in my life.

I’ve been questioning the purpose of this blog lately. It started as a personal project—a sort of exhibitionist’s diary that morphed into something less personal over time. To be honest, I hate it sometimes. Blogging is not like riding a bike. Blogging is like diet and exercise. It’s a lifestyle that can be tiresome, time-consuming and self-indulgent.

I didn’t start writing for the sake and enjoyment of other people. It was always something deeply personal. Then I wanted to get a reaction….I wanted to hurl my words out into the world to see happens…hence, the birth of the blog.

It kills me a little sometimes to think that in order to increase followers one must appease to the typical reader’s desire to see pretty pictures or skim text five sentences or less. Don’t get me wrong. I like looking at pictures too. I guess it just frustrates me when I know I could use this blog to express something more significant at times and then I don’t.

So I’ve reached the point of thinking fuck it –I’m in a slapdash state of mind these days and no sense representing myself any differently. There are times before I hit “publish” I hesitate putting the truth down on the page because my heart is in my throat (likely will happen at the end of this rant), but let’s face it, the truth is the only thing worth reading.

So here’s a hefty dose of the truth. I’m stuck. I’m locked in love, lust, like and well, mediocrity at times. All simultaneously.

Sitting on my bathroom floor night after night after I get home from a bar, dinner or just being out I slam words into my keyboard hoping that I can look back at the sentences and turn them into formulas…maybe then I can begin to make sense of things. I’m trying to chase dreams that my mind made up but I don’t know if these dreams are actually mine or spotty bits of an unfiltered subconscious.

Chase the dream? Don’t chase the dream? Damned if I do and damned if I don’t.

I write to remember the moments--to immortalize, remember and eventually draw from them—but I have to remind myself that there are people attached to those words. And every word from someone’s mouth was fueled by an emotion that was influenced by an event. There’s so much I want to publish, so much I want to say, but I’m trying not to exploit my friends, foes and lovers. I’m trying to figure out where the line is and how much of this blog should be commentary on reality and what should be left private. Should everyone be notified out of common courtesy that nothing is off limits or do I show some modesty?

So that’s today’s pickle: an existential writing dilemma. Check back tomorrow. Maybe there will be some pictures. 

this is what I'm talking about

“Just because you're naked doesn't mean you're sexy. 
Just because you're cynical doesn't mean you're cool.” 
Tom Robbins

A Guide to Sexual Philanthropy

Another Valentine’s day has come and gone. Despite the obviously sappy connotations, over-priced flowers and copious amount of candy hearts I happen to love valentine’s day.

Admittedly if I were to be in a relationship right now I’d certainly had to have been tricked, but aside from that, I’m notorious for abandoning all responsibilities for a brief moment of passion. Therefore any holiday that celebrates romance and encourages crack-pot love affairs is a-ok to me.

Perhaps you’re not into the sappy stuff? Or maybe you’re against the commercialism aspect? At the very least Valentine’s could be a day that spurs you to challenge your assumptions about love, sex and relationships.

During the course of the day I ran into a friend who was telling me about his newly-vowed dedication to being a socially-conscious member of the community and all around good citizen of the Earth—essentially pay more attention to his recycling and composting habits, eat only locavorious and/or organic foods , volunteer a minimum of 5 hours a week and  march in at least one protest this year.  Good on him, I thought. But what was missing in all of this do-gooding were charitable acts to help the future of fucking. Maybe it was the love in the air but I thought it was imperative to add a dimension of sexuality to one’s daily dose of charitable acts –it’s one thing to be sex-positive but another to act sex-positive, right?

So, I slapped together this little guide to sexual philanthropy. Applying any and all of them do require a sense of humor and levity…and perhaps a mischevious grin. If you have any other suggestions on how to be sexually philanthropic, I’d love to hear them!

A Guide to Sexual Philanthropy 

1. If you find yourself staying at a hotel and there is a bible in the bedside table, replace the bible with a few condoms. God is fine for some but he won’t protect against chylamidia.

2. Don’t bother with posing or facial expressions. Now is not the time. If you’re focusing on your face, you’re not focusing on what you’re doing. You can make cutey pouty faces in the mirror later. Respect your partner’s time. Refrain from the Alba Emoting lesson and leave your vanity at the door.   

3. Stop buying cosmo mag. Seriously stop. It’s as grotesque as it is tragic. I’m sure it made sense to many impressionable female minds at some point but not any longer. Even the headlines “sex boosters” “turn-on tricks” “flirty lashes” inspire a bout of dry-heaving. Subscribing to this magazine  is like attending a gynecological conference without the brains or knowledge to back it up. Until cosmo starts offering advice like Cosmo Sex tip #666, when he’s least expecting it, carve a pentagram in his chest and begin summoning satan do not purchase.

4. Don’t refer to things you think are weird or bad as “gay.” You may not be a homophobe but you’re associating negativity with the word “gay.” Not cool.

5. *Romance is certainly not dead. It’s just hooked up to a respirator, feeds through an IV and pisses in a tube. Romance may appear unaware of what ‘s going on, but really it’s in a state of what medical professionals call “locked-in syndrome”—it can’t move or speak without assistance. But romance isn’t dead. It can hear the beeps of the machine sitting next to it and romance feels alone. Romance waits for someone to sit next to it. You should be that person.

6. When sitting in a cafĂ© sometimes it’s alright to slightly turn up the volume on the conversation you are having with your friend about the guy who likes a slip of a whip over his bottom.....or another other sexually-charged narrative you're recounting. We whine and complain about getting dumped or going on dates enough in public, we might as well give eavesdroppers an interesting story once in a while too.

7. Give sex-positive gifts to friends --and not just the ones you want to get down with. Buy gift certificates to local sexy stores (Ottawa: VenusEnvy) that have more than just lube and stuff. They sell erotica from local writers and artists, as well as hold classes and informational events for people of all interests. Buy the people in your life gifts that are both educational and incite in them a need for adventure. 

8. Girls can fake an orgasm. But guys can fake a whole relationship. It’s best just to be honest and upfront about everything.

9. Don’t assume that just because someone is conservative (especially in this government town) that they are the same way in the bedroom.

*Romance and sex and two very different things and they can help one another out once in a while. Not always the case, but romance and sex should at times overlap.

right time wrong turn

Installation Images by Alicia Kwade

“I like to be the right thing in the wrong place and the wrong thing in the right place. Being the right thing in the wrong place and the wrong thing in the right place is worth it because something interesting always happens.” 

This quote from Andy Warhol echoes the theme of recent days for me. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, I have a habit of being at the wrong place at the right time. Timing, in general, has always been a point of interest and concern for me --I’m chronically tardy, I never wear a watch, and I have an unrealistic perception of time. And luck! My (mis) fortunes should be tracked and studied by the Lady Luck herself  due to the sheer volume of people and opportunities storming in and out of my life in the most peculiar ways. Luck and timing always go hand in hand. And although many people are afraid to acknowledge the huge dependency their lives have on luck --thinking they have this great control -- the truth is that we don’t have as much control as we want to believe. After many years of experiencing head-spinning chance encounters, I’ve realized that there’s no sense trying to control them. So when the clock strikes trouble I’m usually nearby. As much heart- and head-ache as I experience, being where you perhaps shouldn’t (or didn’t want to) be can also be life changing and force you into unanticipated situations where, as Warhol put it, interesting things always happen.

Has a wrong turn ever turned out right for you? 

most nights I go to bed

tony sleeping by elizabeth peyton| random tumblrs| cecily brown|still from les enfants terribles

Guys! It's ten o'clock sunday morning and I haven't slept yet. Seriously. I wish I had some Janice Joplin-inspired story to blame my lack of slumber on but unfortunately that's not the case. I have been glued to my computer for the last 15 hours working. Blah blah blah. I know everyone works. Everyone is busy. Lack of sleep due to one's job is nothing new. But I just hit send! send! fuuck yeah SEND! and emailed this ridiculously lengthy project that I've been working on for the last few days for my writing job. Now I should be high-tailing it home to my snow white bed, but I figured my blog hasn't seen some love from me for a few days and I'm here and my fingers are in strapping condition after all this typing...and...yeah...that's all I've got. Anyways, stop reading my feeble attempts at writing. Look at these sleepy pictures instead and listen to this dreamy song by Band of Horses. Nighty night!