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Substance
The moment I step out of the door, I become ( Read more... ) -
A diary entry.
Dear Diary,
The final stretch is proving difficult.
Perhaps it's easier to be alone. -
A diary entry.
Dear Diary,
Sooner or later, we all have to come to terms with not being perfect. If only it was sooner than later.
On another note, these diary entries seem to making for useful filler in between entries that actually talk about things. -
A diary entry.
Dear Diary,
Went swing dancing for the first time in months. Literally, months. I live mere minutes away from the swing studio in Montreal. It will be shameful if I do not go.
Oh, and apparently my genetics suck. I'm adopting all my children and saving potential biological spawn from strange feet, awkward birthmarks and unexplainable, benign -
A diary entry
Dear Diary,
"You know who likes long distance relationships? Women. All talking and no sex."
Not true.
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Is Facebook is this generation's equivalent of last generation's answering machine? Personally, it's the first place I go to in order to check and see if anyone else is aware of my existence in this world.
That's quite sad. -
A diary entry.
Dear Diary ( Read more... ) -
Sandwich? I'd love one. (And a diary)
I miss the format of the diary. You know, the kind of journal where one writes for oneself rather than for the amusement of others. Where events that have never been chronicled are constantly referred to because you, and only you, will know what has been going on. The kind of journal where massive mistakes in one's life are not written about but ( Read more... ) -
Segments, Segues, Segways
I spend more time thinking of what I want to do, rather than getting off my chair, off the Internet and actually doing it. I haven't written anything substantial for weeks, aside from journal entries, and what I have needs some severe editing. I worry about the fact that I am destined to change, simply because I've found a self that I'm satisfied ( Read more... ) -
All The World's A Stage
It's perhaps less an observation of the ephemeral qualities of life and moreso a testament to the exhibitionism that runs rampant in each and all. Or maybe it's just me. Most of what I do seems to be motivated by a certain degree of performance that has yet to turn itself off. Ever since I began performing in front of audiences in public, some ( Read more... ) -
I was walking through the bush and my sleeve caught on a (b)ramble
Bertolt Brecht would roll over in his grave if he knew I was referencing him. Then again, he's dead and sometimes the spirits of the famous and decrepit just need to stop haunting everyone and find hobbies ( Read more... )