Magdalena O!

Oh. It’s so sunny outside.
I’m gonna go make waves.

Water carries things away.

I ate a protein-rich chocolate cookie
while pooing yesterday. It felt
satisfying.

Tomorrow I got hooked up last minute to DJ set for the official Canadian launch of the Tenori-On, an overpriced fun music toy. Although they had them set up at Mutek in Montreal in May, but perhaps that wasn’t “official.” Who knows? The line up includes I am Robot and Proud, LAL, Isabelle Noel and some other names I don’t know. I think it might be a pretty big deal. My lover made me do a b2b with him. He’s so cute and demanding like that especially since I get more DJ bookings than him in this city, but he’s a fucking international commodity. Toronto is such a joke sometimes. We’re playing in between the music performances then closing off the night. I don’t really write in here about my own musical involvement, so I don’t know why I’m bothering now. That life full of drugs, sex and bass should be kept off public record. I don’t know. I’m keeled over Shinji (my laptop) clutching my stomach in pain and my eyes are criss crossing across the screen because I’m about to pass out. I am feeling really unwell. Leave it to me to always get sick before any big gig. I really wanted to sort out my records and see what I’m going to play.

I really wanted to rinse out some dubstep but I have it all on mp3 and DJ’ing with mp3′s is whack, so I better find all my idm records in the mess that is the music room.

Here is a song I would play if I owned it.

Official Tenori-On Launch

Gladstone Hotel | 1214 Queen St W | Queen & Dufferin | 8pm – 3am ish (last call is at 4am!!)

June 27, 2008

Why do people find

a. pissing on someone else

b. being pissed on

c. pissing together into a mutual stream

so offensive?

I spent the day walking around my neighbourhood trying to get some sun. I sat outside for a bit reading Erica Jong’s biography of Henry Miller but the midday sun burned my scalp and I got awfully dizzy. So dizzy my stomach started hurting and I had to keel over and lay down on the dirty gravel messing up my white shirt. Instead, I grabbed my camera and walked around the Wychwood Green Art Barns. Sneaking around the construction, hoping nothing would fall and kill me. It felt so strange walking around all alone. For a moment, I wanted to call someone, have someone with me even if by telephone, but I stopped myself. How can I ever think about anything if there’s always people noise around me? This summer has been so strange though. It always ends up pouring rain at some point in the day. The weather is strangely proportionate to how I am; I’ve been a pouring thundering sky the last few months. Blindingly sunny in the morning, overcast midday, a bit of sun peaking through in the late afternoon before the thundershowers start. Toronto’s weather has been markedly undecisive and confused, just like itself. Unable to decide what it should do, how it should be. Instead it’s always dreaming of a place that is sunny, that has choices; dreaming how to let go of itself and become another city.  How fast can you untangle history?

“I remember we were driving driving in your car
The speed so fast I felt like I was drunk
City lights lay out before us
And your arm felt nice wrapped ’round my shoulder
And I had a feeling that I belonged.”

“It’s been a long, long, long time running
It’s well worth the wait.”

For the every day, there is nothing else but waking up, dancing around the flat, throwing pieces of clothing around my room to find something suitable. I bike to work, look around at the foliage wishing I was part of it, be half-awake for the eight hours then bike home to spend the weeknight pretending to be productive on my laptop. Sometimes I see people. Sometimes I dance, dj, throw parties or get fucked up. Sometimes I even get to have great sex.  I am too afraid to sacrifice this unchanging reality. I am listless. Wouldn’t you be? Those nights on the computer, searching out something better, something that can throw me into an environment I don’t know, I am not comfortable in (yet).

I moved my bed into the middle of my bedroom. It looks awkward, because there is a big space between the bed and the wall on the left side, and then I’ve basically squished my couch into another corner. The desk will never be used at this point. I should just get rid of everything else in my room. I am always on the bed. I eat on there, use my laptop, fuck, jerk-off, talk on the phone, read, write, paint and draw, get mashed, listen to music, I’d piss on it if I could without any significant damage. J loves being in bed too, maybe we’ll be the next John Lennon & Yoko Ono. I could even write on the coat tails of his fame to catapult my own career. Fabulous. Then maybe cobrasnake will take photos of me and before you know it Nylon will be featuring my lifestyle, exposing my underarm hair and all.

I really need to focus on this novel, considering I think I’m pretty ready to start it.

i am all wet. my shorts stained with the grit of the street. i am soaked all on my backside. my legs freckled with black dirt. fallen tree buds. my hair frizzy. my eyeliner moved from the top to bottom eyelid. yet, my skin so soft. the water loosening it. the water opening me up.

humidity is so teenage.

what is the moat around my house protecting me from? why are there barricades protecting me from the moat?