The Adrenaline Runs Quick When The Queen Enters

I just love her, have such a soft spot for her heart, passion, every little glorious mistake, her uncertainty, her tenacity, her burning

her get back up and rock the house down kiss,

XX

PS> Cello <3

My 2012 moleskin is called Dandelion. If I am looking for it I can ask, "Where' s Dandy?" for short. Usually, I will use short form then think something is missing so I can also ask, "Where is Dandy... lion? This is useful because Dandy is Oscar Wilde and Lion is RAWR. Also it is just Dandy to be Lying (in bed). Plus, and this is srs, dandelions are the wishing weeds.

There you have it DANDELION the wishing weed.

Now to come up with a finder's reward kiss,


XX

yeah, well, LJ has a cozy feeling about it, i really like reading people who post their details, hints and cryptic or essayed with minute. i like people who are maudlin or witty, dreamy or stitched up with facts. i really like people who post stuff in the open so i can read them and i've added a few new journals of people i thought i'd want to read again (i know right, how unusual a reason to add). i'm pretty annoying and too lazy to hit the shift key, but i am lying on my side propping my head up with one hand knocking out words with the other. and ive been sick for weeks and then got the flu so :(

i miss lj of years ago, feels like ive missed it for years, i might as well keep on because i never know when to quit or leave or be around but then i am and i really like you. sometimes even love.

quite a lot of love actually kiss,

xx

ps. ok so ive only added two journals so far but it's morning so ... zzz

In thinking about a security feature for a dumpster, I became obsessed with the idea of a puff of breath. But. But. But. I protested. A puff of breath is hardly a fingerprint, is hardly a retina scan, hardly anything at all, just an expulsion of the waste of life. Oh. see. Suddenly necessary, so I approached google.

Wired has a story on a wine vending machine. The machine has a camera feed to an employee and a breathalyser is needed before dispensing. Hmm. Well, tres interesting, but not exact.

However, stable isotopes in blood, feathers, feces and BREATH in birds can indicate changes in diet in migratory birds. Yes. Yes, muah haha perfect. The dumpster is outside a Fashion Food Fusion Fastish joint. The story takes place in a world where you need to give to get, no handouts, come up with a prize and maybe we'll buy ticket. Food distribution, food intake was only to play a background role but suddenly she's been promoted to Best Supporting, perhaps Co-Star.

And suddenly I believe in myself again kiss,


XX

Now, y'all know my usual bit about not being huge fans of the Obamas but tribute must be paid when it is due. The President has remained poised throughout the disgusting birth certificate escapade, most recently hammered on by Donald Trump, The Trumpster, The Trumpet, The Trump-bop who wants to run for President. Well the quiet confidence of the current Lord of the USA ended last night in the most glorious of public displays.

YOU GO, OBAMA, YOU GO!

Donald Trump was thoroughly, completely disarmed and humiliated at last night's White House Correspondents' Association annual dinner. Obama and Trump were in attendance.

Choice moments include:

Obama saying now that his birth certificate has been produced, Trump could focus on serious issues, from whether the moon landing actually happened to "where are Biggie and Tupac?"

He showed a screen with how the White House would be improved by President Trump. It included glittery gold pillars, "TRUMP" in black 3 ft high letters and party-women in a jacuzzi on the front lawn.

From Seth Myers, "Donald Trump often talks bout running as a Republican, which is surprising, I just assumed he was running as a joke."

Obama also showed his live birth video-- a clip from The Lion King.

OMG giggle OMG

Well played Obama kiss,


XX

You're so sweet and thoughtful. I'm sure to be ever so much better, get on with the healing, perform some internal magic ~keep growing as a person, possibly a metamorphosis. I am reading Alice Munro of the Southern Ontario Gothic and as you know I am easily influenced by creepy Canadian female writers (atwood is included here)well, mainly just Alice. And so as I am saying a cheery and true, "I'm sure to be better!" I cant help but become a character in a munro story. Cheerfully chatting on while I measure out poison slit from the red veins of the ancient back-yard rhubarb plant, planted the year the pretty twin drowned in the well.

I'M JUST FINE OK WANT A CUP OF TEA? A NEW ~flavoured~ TEA JUST SHIPPED IN FROM THE "ORIENT."

The "orient" isn't a word used in polite, educated society, places where they care about racist tones and know applying the exotic texture over the unknown is wrong. Also the suspicious use of flavoured tea would give the whole thing away.

Therefore, I present the friendly wood-cutter version:

We'll do things in a more primitive, hardy manner. We'll go out into the bush, "the deserted forest", where trees of all kinds mingle in tangles, not at all laid out and orderly. I'll talk to you about how the oak is the fairytale tree. We'll muse over whether England still has oak-groves. Do they, our fore-mothers, for really we are borne of women, do they dot their backyards with oak trees like we do with the maple? We're far removed from our roots and we laugh over the question, England as remote as Mars. Do they even have yards?

Then there'll be a bashing or maybe a slip of the axe. Do you know early settlers had so many misfortunes with axes, lost so many limbs some would only cut trees while standing in protective, steel buckets? I learned that in my Culinary History of Canada book.

ANYWAY.

AN ACCIDENT,
and perhaps someone left behind
a slate wiped clean, temporarily, at least,
with the season's first lasting snow,

or with the birth of our saviour Jesus Christ kiss,


XX

I try to think back to when I first became aware of the ending, the passage, fragility pulsing, beating. It must have been with Chloe. Certainly, I had experienced loss before my first baby was born. Relationships had ended. My parents divorced. People I knew had been buried. A house I had lived in, fucked in, ate in had been demolished for a strip mall. My cousin blew his brains out when we were nineteen. I always remember him laughing, kissing me 12 or 13 in a sun-light dappled swimming pool, telling me I was beautiful. Ever charming and mine-- at least for the seemingly endless weeks of summer holidays together. You've been told the story before. It is one of my favourites.

I certainly felt dislocated, shock even at the house being torn down. I had spent a lot of time there with my highschool boyfriend. We played hedonistic house. Dramatic, emotional, we both delved into the extremes of every emotion. Perhaps a small list is in order: love, heat, I poked at my wrists, he threatened to kill himself, we were terrible at being estranged, presents given, spending every penny on eachother, road trips and shows and storming out to walk halfway across town (a big town, I suppose a small city) in frustration, having learned how a female should act from movies, how hard he fought for me to return was a measure of his love, telling secrets, being proud, being neglectful, hurting, throwing items and punches, despair, loneliness, theft, lies and young.

But I've gotten off-track and told you something you've already read. What I wanted to write about was the scary feeling that it had all been erased. The unease inside me as I drove by and sensed that an era was over. How I still see the house, how well I know it, though I can't remember the kitchen floor but remember the bedsheets and window curtains, how cruddy it was when we were there fucking and fucking and how Chris whipped it into immediate shape when my boyfriend moved out. I guess that kind of story has been told before but usually the main character goes away and returns. Then change is expected. When you return you know, or at least you know of, the possibility of things being wiped out. I didnt get a chance to leave and then it was gone.

Maybe it was the birth that decisively moved me along the generational ledge, the conveyor belt of life (and then only if one is very lucky and manages to side-step the perils, the freak moments that reach out and grab). I guess it must have been. I wasnt of the youngest, I was no longer a child, I was a mother, my mother a grandmother.

It's all going to end. I dont want to speed things up. But there are a few knowledges and secrets I will keep. Some shoddy practices you won't be privy to, not everything is for display, keep a few truths to myself. Easter is coming anyway, any excuse for a new beginning, an improvement.

I guess what I want to note is that I have a new hand-painted shower curtain. It is all white, the image the artist swirled out of deepest black is of an almost life-sized flapper. Other than lovely, she is nothing more than an representation of art deco, glamour. I also have a garment stand in my room. It is draped with hats, scarves and handbags, vintage jewelry boxes nestle on the inner shelves. The point is sometimes, when I blot water from my eyes, I am startled at her presence. It's a moment, a split, a heart beat skipped. Same with the stand. Occasionally, it is alive in my room when I am alone and my heart pauses until I register the facts of the matter.

My message is that when I am wispy, not much more than paper thin skin and memories, my eyes will be dim and shadowed things will dance.

There is a future to be seen, an ending rushes to brush against you, a foreshadowing kiss,


XX

My old journal gave up lots of little pleasures. Some of my very favourites were moments with Chloe. Most of my moments since then have found their way onto flickr or paper diaries, do you think LJ will always be here? Should I be duplicating things of importance? Do you?

Though the girls near seven years apart, they are similar. Often Olivia will perform some individual feat previously accomplished by Chloe, something thought to be unique, not merely a stage of development, leading me to point out how much alike they are, feeling the need to tie them to eachother.

Their differences are apparent. Both thoughtful, tender, spirited and fun, one is a soap bubble, no a series of bubbles set free on a puff of air, rising and popping, iridescent in sunshine, merry laughing, wide-eyed. The other indulgent, languid, day-dreamy and sardonic, a summer stream, luxurious, silver movement and cats.

Olivia does not like baths. To be specific, she doesn't like the idea of getting into a bath. Once settled into the frothy heat (jacuzzi jets on, please mom) she'll happily transform into a mermaid and spend 40 min frolicking, dipping, diving, floating in the tub.

Last night, she did not want. What she did want is for me to spend money on webkinz pixels, "It's just ten dollars!" pouting, spoiled princess. To be told no is often too blunt for her. She prefers for me to say I know you want, I would want too. It's hard not to be presented with your every whim and wish, I understand, I do. Sometimes we have to wait for things. Sometimes wishes don't come true and it's very very sad and hard. Then we hug and comfort. But I was too busy. I was too busy shopping for exactly what I wanted an iphone 4 with otterbox case.

Well. I would pay for my error in judgment. I was to be bricked up in my space. Left to wither and die, a punishment be-fitting Parisan royality, my catacomb the kitchen. Olivia shut the french door between the kitchen and living room. She didnt slam it, she has been warned but it shut smart. I didnt pay attention. I was designing my contract with Telus Mobility. When I finally ~finally~ decided on everything, leaving the page up but not hitting send. I strolled across the kitchen. Startled surprise, a scream. OH MY GOD.

Olivia had dragged her toybox to the door, a french door, I could see through to the other side. She had piled pillows, blankets and stuffed animals on top. I was shut in (shut up?). She was ecstatic. Glee and mirth and delight, she had asserted herself and won. The Queen is dead or will be soon. Hahahahahaha. Unfortunately, the door opens in so :(

Obviously, I couldnt ruin her fun. I asked, pleaded, begged, "Will you let me out?"

"NO!"

awwwwwwwww. Though Chloe spent many a time writing me angry messages about my treatment of her and posting them on her door, announcement, a proclamation detailing my faults, she never imprisoned me.

I let Olivia wallow in victory until she missed her mommy. She avoided bath-time, success! She still doesnt know about the door. All she knows is she didnt have to have a bath. It was too late. Instead we played Guess Who, I Spy and cuddled in her bed.

However, today she will get clean. It's Palm Sunday. I rose from the dead a week before Jesus kiss,


XX

That puts me at odds with most people I know and so I don't really mention it all that much. Besides I'm sure Mr and Mrs O do the occassional awesome thing, but I go around looking for trouble and guess what I find it.

FAT KIDS ARE THE ROOT OF ALL EVIL

You know fat kids, the ones who continue to be fat, the ones who refuse to hurry the hell up and get skinny? You know, the little kids that suffer taunts, teasing, hazing, being the butt of jokes, who go home and cry. You know the Obamas know it aint cool to go after someone for sex, race, gender issues but hell it's totally progressive to go after fat kids.

THANK YOU MICHELLE OBAMA FEEL FREE TO FUCK OFF

She's proud of herself, the whitehouse is so proud they released her words ~officially~. Here is the link: http://www.whitehouse.gov/the-press-office/2011/03/15/remarks-first-lady-national-league-cities-conference

Here is a clip

"So I'd like to spend a moment today really to focus on the economic impact that this issue is having on cities and towns all across America.
Now, everyone in this room is worried about budget shortfalls. I know that. All of you are making wrenching tradeoffs and painful cuts just to stay afloat. I know that's what's going on. And I know that the last thing you need during times like these is a new issue on your plates.
But all of you here know something else, and that is this isn't a new issue at all. You all know better than anyone that childhood obesity is already affecting your communities. It’s already weighing down your budgets. It’s already hampering economic growth.

And here’s how. In the 10 cities with the nation’s highest obesity rates, the direct costs connected with obesity and obesity-related diseases are roughly $50 million per 100,000 residents. And if these 10 cities just cut their obesity rates down to the national average, all added up they combine to save nearly $500 million in healthcare costs each year.

And that’s just the beginning. Childhood obesity is affecting your workforces, too. I mean, studies show that obese children are less healthy and miss far more days of school on average. So for the parents of those kids, that can mean more tardiness, more early departures from work, and higher absenteeism to stay home to care for these kids.

And all that doesn’t just affect businesses that are already located in your communities. It also affects whether new businesses will set up shop in your towns and cities in the first place.

A recent report by the Trust for America’s Health explains why. And this is a quote from that report. They say that, “Businesses are reluctant to locate in areas where the population, particularly the future workforce, is unhealthy.” They go on to say that, “High health care costs and lower productivity are unattractive to employers and investors.”

So make no mistake about it: When we talk about childhood obesity, we’re talking about the workforce that you're trying to build. We're talking about the businesses that you’re trying to attract. We're talking about the budgets that you’re trying to balance each and every day."

Fat kids deserve love, they deserve to be respected and in my opinion it is a new low to go after kids and blame them for a country's ills kiss,

XX

"All the terms used in the science books, 'law,' 'necessity,' 'order,' 'tendency,' and so on, are really unintellectual .... The only words that ever satisfied me as describing Nature are the terms used in the fairy books, 'charm,' 'spell,' 'enchantment.' They express the arbitrariness of the fact and its mystery. A tree grows fruit because it is a magic tree. Water runs downhill because it is bewitched. The sun shines because it is bewitched. I deny altogether that this is fantastic or even mystical. We may have some mysticism later on; but this fairy-tale language about things is simply rational and agnostic."The Ethics of Elfland; G.K. Chesterton; 1909

Don't get me wrong, science is a wonderful thing; occasional wonky interpretations of its findings be dammed. Broken down into the level of purity it regains much of its magic. Exploded into huge it is alchemy of the rational mind.

My stark, raving mad sweetie was all about defending the advancements science has brought. So it is to his unwillingness to embrace the absurd that I dedicate the disclaimer UM OK I AGREE. I KNOW THE INTERNET DOESN'T WORK ON MAGIC. I ALSO KNOW IT DOES.

It is a great pleasure to hold two universal truths in one's mind at a time kiss,


XX