Wednesday, September 30, 2009

I like this:

Dreaming permits each and every one of us to be quietly and safely insane every night of our lives.
- William Dement

Tuesday, September 22, 2009

My Vagina Is Bleeding pt.1

(The title is explicit and unnecessary because I know you'll love me anyway and because I'm a sneaky-snake and I get away with things like that) (While losing friends... :P )

Dear Globlets,

I'm supposed to be, and I want to be, writing about what's been going through my head lately but all I keep thinking about is how it's not actually that bad, and it's not, but it's still bugging me. I'm even able to provide a solution to most of the issues. I still feel like I need to get it out, I guess.

One of the issues has to do with creativity. It's probably like writer's block but it applies to everything creative that I do. As it is, it's kind of hard for me to write this. The only thing I have going for me in the music department, for example, is really trying to learn Summer's Almost Gone by The Doors and that Mellow Yellow sounds pretty good now. I wrote something on the piano a while ago, but as usual, I hit a wall.
I play songs I know or songs I have known and it depresses me to think of how little I've learned, how few songs I know from start to finish well, in so much time. I know why, though. I try to learn them all, all at once. Off the top of my head there's: Imagine, Whiter Shade of Pale, Bohemian Rhapsody, Moonlight Sonata, Summer's Almost Gone, Waiting for the Sun, Nights in White Satin, Mellow Yellow, Stairway to Heaven, Everybody Knows, White Room, Hallelujah (Leonard Cohen), Let it Be, Hey Jude, and Yesterday. (And possibly more.) This doesn't count all the songs I know parts of like: Angie, Babe I'm Gonna Leave You, Rondo Alla Turca, He's a Pirate (yes, really), Somebody to Love (Queen), You're My Best Friend, Green Onions, and I just realized that I think I need to learn Aqualung soon. Yeah, great job. I'm probably forgetting some too.
(22 songs in all, I've listed, provided I counted correctly.)

And what happens when I don't play a song for a while? I get rusty and forget things and I get pissed off at the muscles in my fingers when they don't remember as well as they usually do. Then I get pissed off at myself for being a lousy musician and for not practising, but that I shouldn't be bothering at all because I'm a lousy musician to start with.
So, it's stupid. Really stupid.
No practice -> Practice -> FIAL -> Upset -> Realize you shouldn't play this now in the first place -> No practice -> Practice -> FIAL -> Upset -> Realize you shouldn't play this now in the first place -> No practice...

I guess what I'd need to do is just pick 2-3 songs I want to really learn until I can play them backwards, upside-down, while blindfolded. I was going to say, "I probably won't." But now that I've said what I'd need to do, I think I might. I hope I do. I don't know if I will. I want to. I think if I had some motivation I would for sure. But it's not like you can just pick up a 12-pack of Motivation from Costco.

Yay! Easy-decision-making Oris gets to make a decision!

PS. The only thing I never get a block with is photography... :/
PPPS. This isn't a letter, moron.

Wednesday, September 16, 2009


Dear Globlets,

Doodoodoo... something weird. I wrote it using the picture above. I didn't actually feel this way for Ms. Emily... whom I've known for a couple of years now. This isn't a diary entry, it's a story, just so you know.


The park was filled with hugs and laughter and cheerful shouting and greeting by long-time friends and new campers. We gathered near the yellow school buses waiting eagerly to get on and drive away to a destination so remote yet so friendly, welcoming, uniting, and safe. The large group separated themselves between the buses and began boarding quickly, single file through the narrow walkway between grey, leather-like seats. Whether it was real leather or not, I couldn’t tell - but if they can afford real leather on school buses, surely they can afford new textbooks and other school materials. In any case, it was the kind of upholstery your legs get stuck to when you don’t wear long pants. Lucky for me, I chose capris.
Without too much delay, we were on our way to Myrtle Creek. There was such excitement in the packed bus; so much chattering, so much giggling. I had my camera with me and was taking pictures of everyone I could, trying to capture as much of the activity as possible. I loved scanning the faces of people I knew and people I had yet to meet.

I was talking to a few people on the seats around me when I, for some reason, felt compelled to leave the conversation by turning away to look towards the back of the bus. Amidst the campers and their ecstatic voices and elaborate hand gestures, was a girl. A beautiful, sweet, redhead with pigtails and the most amazing, caring blue eyes was looking my way. Was she looking at me? I hadn’t met her yet. I looked around to see if there was someone else she might be looking at but there was no one who seemed to be looking back in her direction; no one but me. I realized that since I looked away she probably would not be looking at me anymore, but to my surprise, she was. She smiled, and I smiled back. God, she was pretty. She looked like the nicest girl you could ever hope to meet. The freckles on her cheeks and nose, without a doubt, added to her sweetness. Her smile came easily and her eyes were bright. Her deep-red hair contrasted with her smooth, pale skin, although somehow the two complimented each other so nicely. Perhaps it was the red blushing of her cheeks.
I broke the deafening, smiling stare, which was as loud as it was inaudible, by bringing my digital camera to my face and taking a picture of her. I got it just in time, for the friends around her started talking to her once more and she turned away. The camper sounds turned back to their normal audio level and I faced the front of the bus again. I smiled, thinking about her. I decided I wanted to see her face again but when I looked back, too many heads and bodies blocked my view. But I had that picture. Thank goodness for digital cameras, I thought, as I reviewed the photo of her. I decided I needed to get to know her. I needed to know who she was, what she was all about, what she likes, what she hates, what she loves, what she wants, what she does, where she wants to go, what she wants to be, wants to see, and really find out how she... is she. I’ve never wanted to get to know someone so bad in my life, never mind meet them! I couldn’t wait until we got to camp.

Soon after, I began analysing the situation.

I’m a girl, and she’s a girl, yet I seem to be so interested in her. I’m outrageously intrigued to the point of running up to her to ask her... ask her what? How she’s doing? What her name is? Where she’s from? These questions are so microscopic and superficial compared to the depth of my desire to know her. I don’t know her name and she doesn’t know mine. Oh, I wonder what her name is. How I would love to know what her name is. Julia. Elizabeth. Catherine. Belle. Melissa.
I wish I wasn’t so shy. I just want to talk to her, but I can barely hear my friend next to me speak and if I want a real conversation, I’ll have to wait. Why am I so eager to know her? Why do I feel so flustered? She’s just a girl. She’s probably a very nice girl, but I’m sure there are other nice girls right here as well! Why her? What made her stand out? What makes her special? Why was she looking at me? With all these cute boys around... not that I’d... I wonder if she feels like this about me.
What am I really feeling now anyway? I’m probably getting overexcited about something insignificant. She probably won’t even like me. Look at me. I’m not as good looking as she is. Nowhere near, in fact. Every facial feature is exactly how it should be on her– eyes not too far apart, nose not too big, lips not too thick or thin. Her skin is so flawless and smooth-looking; I would love to feel it. Her freckled cheeks and nose, her long neck, her collar bone...

And then it came to me: She wasn’t just a girl. She was something special. Something happened in that moment and I need to find out what that was. If it means stepping out of my comfort zone, so be it. If it means going out of my way for her, so be it. If it means putting my presumed heterosexuality on the limb, so be it.
I’ve only seen her face for a moment, but it’s clear to me, even if I don’t know why or how, but I’ve got to follow my gut on this one; I now know what I want and what I want... is her.
The only thing is, will she want me too?

Tuesday, September 15, 2009

Speed-Writing Workshop Outcome.

Dear Globlets,

Doodoodoo... At camp I went to a writing workshop where we were told to choose between two paragraphs or a scenario that was provided. One was a CIA thing, one was a job thing (I think) and the scenario was about someone in a family dying and the family not being able to afford the funeral. I chose the latter. This is what I got. I've built on it since. We were given 20 minutes to write.
I really enjoy doing this kind of thing. Writing about something. That makes sense. I mean writing about something using an already existing element like a picture, a random scenario, and so on. I have a lot of fun doing it and I'd like to do more. (I accidentally wrote "and I'd like to do you." Oops! Hehe.)

I'm just thinking about it now, but if anyone wants to help with that, I'd love you forever but I'd let you sleep on it. Like send me a thingy and if I likey then I might do writey and I'll be thanky! K?-y.


"What do you mean he's dead? But I talked to him last week! Put mom on the phone." were the frantic words of my mother as she faced and put her head against the kitchen wall. She didn't try to hide her emotions from me. She started to cry and fiddle with a nearby refrigerator magnet as she thought about the news she just received.

Right then, I heard dad arrive. I can tell it's him by the sound of his shoes on the floor, the way he walks and how carries himself. Briefcase down, door closed and locked, click, click, then the rattling of the gold chain and the quick slide of the small, cheap metal knob. It's always the same. My older sister ran to hug him, tears running down her hormone-infested cheeks. He put his hand on her long blonde hair as she buried her face in his button-up shirt. He asked why she was crying but her constant sobbing prevented her from speaking. He insisted she stop and tell him but she pushed him away instead and ran back to her room.

He took off his shoes, threw his coat on the sofa, and headed towards the kitchen where he heard my mom talking on the phone loudly. He took a deep breath and loosened his tie before walking in, bracing himself for his wife and what ever issue had risen. I ran to him and grabbed his leg tightly. He continued walking with a section of his pants clenched in my small fists, and I followed.
"Okay. Love you too," momma said and hung up. She looked up through watery eyes at daddy who asked her what happened. I let go so he could hug her.
"Dad's dead," she said and she buried her face in his shirt just like my sister does.
"What are we going to do? We need to arrange a funeral. How are we going to afford it? We just spent a small fortune on Jane's school and her broken arm and... and..."
"I know. We'll think of something."
"Like what? What are we going to think of? How are we going to do this?!"
"Lower your voice, you're scaring the kid." They both looked down at me.
"She's too young. She doesn't understand!" I tried my best to smile back at them. I wanted them to be happy. I wanted them to smile back and pick me up and forget about this 'funeral business.' They looked back at each other.
"Why don't we cremate?" suggested my dad.
"Cremate!? You know my parents are Catholic!"
"Well, I don't see another way to solve this! Cremation is cheaper than a burial and funeral and whole bit."
"I know but... and it can't be a plywood coffin either, oh my god. He always wanted the best even when he didn't have anything left. He wanted to be buried. It's what he wanted! It's what my mom wants! They're bloody Catholic! You can't change their minds about this kind of thing. We need to get the money... or do something!"
"Don't forget we have bills to pay. Rent is due soon. Our children need food!" He looked back at me and told me to take the dinosaur out of my mouth. I was only trying to be funny. I thought it would stop the yelling. I climbed onto a chair and grabbed my bowl of Cheerios where I began to pop them in my mouth one by one like popcorn as I watched the tension and temperature rise in the room, the fingers point, the arms flail, the hearts pound, and the short, harsh words fly back and forth like bullets in a battlefield.

Until all of a sudden there was silence. There was no more shouting; nothing more to be said. They breathed in deeply and they stared at each other; then to the floor. It seemed like minutes and minutes went by. An evening breeze that made the curtains near the sink dance was all that could be heard.

Dad finally looked up and said, "I have a plan."

*dun dun dun*

Monday, September 14, 2009

She says dangnabbit.

Dear Globlets,

Dangnabbit, is this weather ever screwed up. I left today at 11:30 to go have lunch with my mom wearing jeans, runners, t-shirt and hoodie. I almost brought my scarf because it looked cold and I haven't been the healthiest lately. On the way down, I thought to myself how glad I was to have the hoodie because it was cold. Literally halfway there I get hot and need to take off my hoodie. It wasn't like "Ohhh myyy goddd it's sooo hottt!" It was like, "Ooh, heat."
During lunch the sun came out. So, of course, it's really warm when I get to walk back up the hill in my runners and jeans - two things I would not have worn if it was as warm as it was earlier.
What? You know what I'm saying.
I would have worn capris and maybe flip-flops. Rawr. And soon we'll get even weirder weather, no doubt. It'll get cold and we'll have hale then rain then snow blizzard then sunshine all within two hours. I wouldn't be surprised if the sky turned purple and raindrops turned to gumdrops that made puddles of mojitos at this point.
I'm really just saying that it's hard to figure out what to wear when you go out in this town.

I was going to write more but I stopped and now I don't feel like it so there. Lucky you, a short post. :P

I need to write more. I have a bubbling sensation in me like lava... with bubbles... so I need to erupt some Orishit. And no, it's not gas.

Thursday, September 3, 2009

First Thursday, Portland.

Dear Globlets,

This is a quickie. I'm in bed at the Ace Hotel in Portland, Oregon, sniffling and sneezing, aching and whining, snuggling with a new "cuddlefish" team member(?) and eating pineapples, watermelons, cantaloupe, blueberries, all of which I can barely taste.
I love, love, love it when my nose is stuffed up but runny at the same time. It's the best. It's the best especially when you're uberstuffed up and then out of nowhere your nose begins to drip. It's embarrassing. It didn't happen to me yet, but it almost did. Bleh. I sound like I've got a grape stuck in my nostrils and like my head was pumped with helium and like my sore throat has a starfish wrapped around and stuck on it. So, generally, I feel pretty shitty. I'm tired and sore everywhere but I'm still very happy. I was singing earlier. It went, "I've got a lovely bunch of coconuts..." I believe.

The Ace Hotel is pretty cool. It's like old style... with a style that is... old... but everything that isn't old is modern and cool. We got a tiny room but it's okay. Apparently there's a hum/vibration from the neighbouring cafe/restaurant but being half-deaf, I don't notice it. It does bug my mom though.

Today is the first Thursday of the month and that, apparently, is a special day in Portland. We went out for dinner (curry soup that I could almost taste) and walked around to find a grocery store where we could buy:
- kleenex box
- emergenC (powdered vitamin stuff to put in water that campers down like no tomorrow)
- fruit
- beverages
It took us quite a while to find it because we weren't really sure where it was and it was dark out already. We ended up just coming across it. But on the way we walked by some art galleries, open, free, and exhibiting (I smell a sexual innuendo). We popped inside to have a look and there were many people there, along with some great, and some WEIRD, art.
It's clear what kinds of art I like and don't like. I like modern art most of the time - as long as it's not too weird or stupid. I DON'T like paintings of forests or fields or farms, light-coloured fruit/flower arrangements, or Dali all that much. Dali is interesting but I wouldn't put it on my wall.

This isn't short any more, is it?

We walked around a little more, in search of a Fred Meyer that was said to be near. (It wasn't) On the way, we saw there was a little market-type thing where we saw even more art being displayed and sold. On every corner there were musicians playing great music, on every turn we saw an art exhibit, and the downtown city of Portland, Oregon was alive and well at 9 o'clock on the first Thursday of the month.

What do I think about Portland? Well, I like it. So far.