Magdalena O!

DREAM DECEMBER 25TH, 2003 MORNING

Me and Jason with others on a road trip because I went to Montreal, but it was supposed to be me and Steve, and I had other people to hang out with but somehow we started hanging out and it was us together.
We were driving & I was still kind of sick from my homeopathics so I was resting in the seat a lot still. The driver was crazy, driving all over the roads. I get up and he talks to me, and almost crashes into a huge ton truck that barely swerves out of the way. We almost die again when he does the same thing, and at one point turns the wrong way and we end up in a field that has a house attached to it.

Jason & I stumble in & I have my yellow Ikea blanket covering me because sometimes I don’t wear a top. We lay down on the floor among a huge mess, not even thinking of the owners. I play with his hair & we awkwardly kiss. I’m without a shirt now & nervous. Our one other friend stumbles in; he ís much older. We get up because we realize we have to go, & as we get up I lean over to kiss Jason, even though I am always the one to keep things in secrecy & he kind of doesn’t want to do it, but then gently does it anyway.

An old lady that looks like my grandmother, wearing a blue dress but only speaks Latino. After everyone leaves I go back to the house & ask her is she lives alone, thinking maybe I could go visit her sometime again. She has an adopted daughter, which is really just a caretaker.

There is a hypochondriac girl traveling with us, so somehow we end up at a house, maybe it was the old lady’s house? to all take showers even though I don’t want to wash my hair yet because tomorrow is the big day & I want to get some nice hair products in Montreal on Boxing day. So instead I just wash it with soap, just to manage it because it is pretty dirty. The others girls are all in the shower too, somehow we all fit & discuss the hypochondriac clean freak because we haven’t let her in. I’m trying really hard to wash myself & my hair in such a way that the girls won’t notice that my breasts are of different sizes. One girl dyes her hair prior to us coming in & I freak out but not really because it is red & I think it looks like blood.

Running down a Montreal street over and over, with no top on. Who am I running to catch? Who am I running to? I know I’m not running from anything.

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I guess I’m home for the holidays. I’m not sure where home is. Is home where my parents rent their house in Port Credit? Is home my flat in Hillcrest? Maybe it’s the house they own in Wasaga. Is it in Poland? Will I ever have a place that’s mine? Do I even want one?

I’m feeling anxious. I’ve been painting. I’m inspired. I’ve been eating more food lately then I’ve ever been. Food offerings happen at every corner, and I just eat and eat and eat. I love feeding people I care about too. I want to cook for them and feed them spoonfuls of veggies and sauces so that it drips all over the tablecloths.

Tomorrow morning the family is going up to Wasaga Beach and I’m going to walk through the woods and get lost in the snow and run around with my brother, listening to “Flutter” by Bonobo and The Avalanches. I love how we have the same taste in music, but he is eleven years my junior. I am totally obsessed with him. But I’ve mentioned this before. Oh, and I’m applying for arts school in the Netherlands (or anywhere that has an English multimedia/arts program in Europe outside the UK.)

mp3: glib – unorganized (my brother’s incredible downtempo)

[02:47] MUSICS GOT ME FEELIN SO FREE

[02:50] music is lying to you

MP3: gorfadrianmiroslav_v6.mp3

(This is what happens when boys interact!)

When you are in the moments of birth of any relationship, platonic or sexual, it seems like you want to tell the other person as much information as possible. Squeezing past, present and future into every declaration, such as, ”Oh, I will come see your play because my plans to go to Saint Donat to ski with my friends that I paint with got cancelled.”It is at those times you are searching for connections and things to have in common, things that will help you both relate to each other, so you will make a run down of music you enjoy, or films you love or hate, maybe even discuss friends you have in common or a traumatic high school experience. Sometimes it is nice to take walks together because the pace of footsteps can slow down or speed up depending on the course of the conversation. You want to know everything about the person next to you. Are they a dog or cat person? Being one or the other is often of high importance. Also, when you are walking beside each other, eye contact is voluntary and doesn’t happen as often as sitting in a restaurant or on a couch. Eye contact is important, but you don’t want to assume a stare, which can often happen if you are excited to be around the person. I often laugh too much in these situations and cup my face with my hands because it can get embarrassing to keep talking with such fervor. I work myself up to a frenzy and jump around smiling, flailing my arms around.

And then it happens, a key question is asked about even the most assumingly inconsequential thing, but the other person answers in a way that makes you furrow your brow and grin because it is the answer that scores a near perfect on an exam.

Like if someone was to tell me that the Celestine Prophecy bothers them, or that they love Francoise Hardy. These things can matter, because then it goes deeper. What if they discovered Hardy through an obsessions with French culture and researched Gainsbourg? And then in school they studied Sartre and became clichéd Francophiles? This could mean they are assholes, but if coupled with other characteristics, it can be a nice combination. I am making myself seem like quite a superficial person, but it is often superficial when two people first meet. It is those first Q&A’s that can lead to the synergy we all long for, we all hope for! And then sometimes you can be standing waiting for the streetcar,

“Is that a Reinforced record?

“Yeah” my eyes lit up.<

“Nebula II?”

“Oh yes yes yes!”

“I love Reinforced. So nice to see someone be into that shit.”

“So nice to meet someone into the good jungle music!” I would exclaim.

This would then become a potential friendship, because there is not many people that listen to drum n bass in Toronto, and even less listen to the drum n bass I like, and even a smaller portion that would know track names and another fraction of that would be into buying those specific records. This leaves me with a very small chance of such an encounter. Sometimes storytelling requires a bit of lying, and I confess this has never really happened to me, but something similar did years ago on the subway and it led to a good lay.

We are all full of stories, and there are moments and people we can tell specific stories to, maybe sometimes we stumble upon a person that fits a listener for a specific story we have been wanting to tell, or maybe they fit our story at the time. I find it difficult to gauge why some people become friends at certain times and not others, even if they have known each other or known of each other for a long time. I have worked with a girl for over a year now. I don’t always see her. We ran through the initial friendship Q&A frenzy at a work party early on; the conclusion was very favorable to us becoming friends, even good friends, but it never really corresponded, until one night she was very drunk swiveling red wine in her glass, and confessed,

“I think you are so cool. And I tell everyone that we bonded over fonts and they laugh. But fonts are key. Fonts are so important.”

I laughed in agreement.

From that moment on, I knew I could tell her my feelings about wanting to be friends with her too and how much joy typography bonding had brought me. Sitting in the booth of our workplace, telling each other more things and we would gasp and “Omg, me too.” at almost every statement. This repartee ended with a prolonged embrace, and us promising each other that we have to hang out together and party. This occurred because of the information we both barraged each other with. If it hadn’t been for that initial excitement of a bourgeoning friendship we might have not become such friends.

the dilation symmetry
takes over me.

and there i go
in love
mathematically
when numbers become
figures      

  of [yo(u]s).
perfectly.

My student debt hovers over me like a rain cloud that is unwilling to let its rain particles go. It’s like the cloud that has been there, over your house for ages (because I’ve been paying OSAP for almost three years, so you can imagine the amount prior), and taunts you. Interest is $7.71 a day and since it accrues daily, just keeps going and going and going. Education eh? My mom keeps telling me to stop working so much. Her debts pile and she fails to see how unlike her, mine weigh heavy on me.

by Erica Jong

The poet fears failure
& so she says
“Hold on pen–
what if the critics
hate me?”
& with that question
she blots out more lines
than any critic could.

The critic is only doing his job:
keeping the poet lonely.
He barks
like a dog at the door
when the master comes home.

It’s in his doggy nature.
If he didn’t know the poet
for the boss,
he wouldn’t bark so loud.

& the poet?
It’s in her nature
to fear failure
but not to let that fear
blot out

her lines.