I'm pretty much the most useless person in Western Canada right now.
I haven't spent this much time swooning in, er, ever.
Fuck. How happy am I right now?
So happy, is the answer you are looking for.
11.24.2006
11.22.2006
*Smirk.*
I got less than two hours of sleep last night. And not because I was writing a poem in loose blank verse. Sorry, Carla. I promise I have a good excuse.
11.21.2006
To the immaculate boy in my Psych lecture, Part II:
You only pale in comparison.
*****
how little the reach, what is love love? its
impossible repeat attenuated through telephone
wire the light letter language of "fax it," hearts
darling and x's intend body's imprint, stand in for
the unremitting smell of your skin just there at
neck's bony hollow in your hair both kinds that
arc the pelvic ridge keys your other speech
close up and swollen lips aflare with wet
declaration bold face - without which I sleep
small print in the white of the page
- Daphne Marlatt, Small Print
*****
how little the reach, what is love love? its
impossible repeat attenuated through telephone
wire the light letter language of "fax it," hearts
darling and x's intend body's imprint, stand in for
the unremitting smell of your skin just there at
neck's bony hollow in your hair both kinds that
arc the pelvic ridge keys your other speech
close up and swollen lips aflare with wet
declaration bold face - without which I sleep
small print in the white of the page
- Daphne Marlatt, Small Print
11.19.2006
11.17.2006
The desert seemed so promising, but then it paled somehow.
I think the best part of my new life is that I just don't wear bras anymore. Ever.
And you. Of course.
And you. Of course.
11.16.2006
woke up this morning still stoned
Me: What are you looking at?
Her: The Calgary skyline.
Me: It'll turn you back into a hetero if you're not careful.
Her: The Calgary skyline.
Me: It'll turn you back into a hetero if you're not careful.
11.15.2006
November
Winter is coming
its long monochrome
a tired body
weathered grey
and blemished
by the bare arteries
of freezing trees
but already
these last days of fall
the man in the blue rain
slicker has his blue
broom and stands stiff
arms out.....sweeping
their yellow detritus off
the sidewalk
the day cold through
his plastic jacket
his hands purpling
blue capillaries showing
through thinning skin
its long monochrome
a tired body
weathered grey
and blemished
by the bare arteries
of freezing trees
but already
these last days of fall
the man in the blue rain
slicker has his blue
broom and stands stiff
arms out.....sweeping
their yellow detritus off
the sidewalk
the day cold through
his plastic jacket
his hands purpling
blue capillaries showing
through thinning skin
11.14.2006
11.12.2006
11.08.2006
To the immaculate boy in my Psych lecture:
I think I'm in love with you and I don't even know your name.
Always,
Chelsea
Always,
Chelsea
11.06.2006
Don't pretend this will not end.
I really have to stop deluding myself and come to terms with the fact that Kraft Dinner has absolutely no nutritional value. Also, I miss Jenna.
The end.
The end.
11.05.2006
Happy birthday.
This rain is hardcore, man. The sewers are flooding, it's pooling in the gutters. I'm really going to hate my astonishing lack of waterproof footwear tomorrow. Straight up. If I didn't have a Psych test tomorrow I would probably just stay in bed.
I bet you figured I forgot.
I bet you figured I forgot.
11.04.2006
Fuck, Margaret Atwood. Why aren't we lovers?
This is what I miss, Cordelia: not something that's gone, but something that will never happen. Two old women giggling over their tea.
This woman has printed my entire existence in literature, and I don't know her at all. My life as the plot of Cat's Eye would be far more disconcerting if I wasn't so fascinated by how the hell she did that.
There is, however, always the possibility that I am one giant cliche, full of flat adjectives and stale anecdotes. There is the possibility that we all are.
I haven't been to the ocean in weeks. It's killing me. There is no time. Also, I am dying to see Bruce Cockburn at the McPherson Playhouse tonight, but I've resigned myself to an evening of poem revision over dinner and the Amelie soundtrack, and laundry, if I can work up enough concern for personal hygene. I still have clean underwear, so the chances of that happening are quickly waning.
This woman has printed my entire existence in literature, and I don't know her at all. My life as the plot of Cat's Eye would be far more disconcerting if I wasn't so fascinated by how the hell she did that.
There is, however, always the possibility that I am one giant cliche, full of flat adjectives and stale anecdotes. There is the possibility that we all are.
I haven't been to the ocean in weeks. It's killing me. There is no time. Also, I am dying to see Bruce Cockburn at the McPherson Playhouse tonight, but I've resigned myself to an evening of poem revision over dinner and the Amelie soundtrack, and laundry, if I can work up enough concern for personal hygene. I still have clean underwear, so the chances of that happening are quickly waning.
