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Go after her.

May 18th, 2014 § 0 comments § permalink

I am so glad I know so many women that feel.
My friend Helena Kvarnström wrote this many years ago:

“Go after her. Fuck, don’t sit there and wait for her to call, go after her because that’s what you should do if you love someone, don’t wait for them to give you a sign cause it might never come, don’t let people happen to you, don’t let me happen to you, or her, she’s not a fucking television show or tornado. There are people I might have loved had they gotten on the airplane or run down the street after me or called me up drunk at four in the morning because they need to tell me right now and because they cannot regret this and I always thought I’d be the only one doing crazy things for people who would never give enough of a fuck to do it back or to act like idiots or be entirely vulnerable and honest and making someone fall in love with you is easy and flying 3000 miles on four days notice because you can’t just sit there and do nothing and breathe into telephones is not everyone’s idea of love but it is the way I can recognize it because that is what I do. Go scream it and be with her in meaningful ways because that is beautiful and that is generous and that is what loving someone is, that is raw and that is unguarded, and that is all that is worth anything, really.”

attente / waiting

October 12th, 2013 § 0 comments § permalink

I feel like this blog has just become an update receptacle and even then I don’t keep up, like the news of Part I of my interactive documentary, microfemininewarfare: exploring women’s space in electronic music being screened at ElectroFringe Fest in Australia last week. Last week, however, I was in New York being too much while chasing memories, tattoos, love & blue eyes. But also being a serious productive cat with meetings and potentials.

I’m having thematically recurring dreams in which a medley of my (ex)lovers come in and out of various situations. Every night is a different mix with different expectations. I’m also having dreams about Chiapas almost every night, still. Everything sticks to me like that. Is there a way to just have sex all the time? Like with breathing—you do other stuff but you have to keep breathing but then sometimes you take time to focus on breathing and find your body’s orientation. Could not the same be of intercourse? You just do it all the time while living life and then some of the time you focus on each other’s bodies completely?

2013 has been all about waiting. Is waiting synonymous with patience? I don’t know. I didn’t even realize that my snail tattoo is also part of that theme. Of course it is, yes, all of it. Sanyu told me something I’ll never forget: “When he is ready, if you wait, he will come back.”

Here is something better from Roland Barthes’s A Lover’s Discourse: 

The lover’s discourse is of an extreme solitude

attente / waiting— Tumult of anxiety provoked by waiting for the loved being, subject to trivial delays (rendezvous, letters, calls, returns)

Am I in love? –yes, since I am waiting. The other one never waits. Sometimes I want to play the part of the one who doesn’t wait; I try to busy myself elsewhere, to arrive late; but I always lose at this game. Whatever I do, I find myself there, with nothing to do, punctual, even ahead of time. The lover’s fatal identity is precisely this: I am the one who waits.

Waiting is an enchantment: I have received orders not to move. Waiting is woven out of tiny unavowable interdictions to infinity.

September 2013 so far…

September 16th, 2013 § 0 comments § permalink

A 5521 kilometer-long open wound the salty ocean won’t let scar

“Wild tongues can’t be tamed, they can only be cut out” —Gloria Anzaldúa

My Top 3 #lastfm Artists: Julianna Barwick (35), Slow Dancing Society (28) & Lubomyr Melnyk (19)

Your art/work is what makes me hold on & admire you. I’m in awe of the chance of experiencing the vast unknown w/in your work —with you.

Olfactory memory, how your tentacles suffocate me so tender

Brazilian jazz you make my love my body —Flora Purim, Airto Moreira, Astrud Gilberto …

Staying home to read poetry. Staying home to learn new words to love you with.

Chile’s made some great poets—Pablo Neruda: “As if you were on fire from within. / The moon lives in the lining of your skin.”

London, chasing light with you has been a pleasure / The moments our speeds cross paths I burst with energy & love for you with me.

My Top 3 #lastfm Artists: Lubomyr Melnyk (24), Slow Dancing Society (21) & Austra (21)

i’m eating a squash/spinach salad & drinking a gluten free beer I snuck in at the club in Brixton while everyone dances to drum’n’bass in Brixton

The sun bouncing around the English countryside & through my train window, hello there

“We are each other’s orientation devices. We self-alienate in relating by recognizing the other as both that which grabs us and that which turns us away and into the world.”

Lancaster, your tender sunset & wind out my window are so lovely. Thank you.

Attempts at sleep with music on headphones when not having slept for a really long time always imparts amorous beguiling images.

Love as responsibility towards the Other.

Where is my Colonel Sanders & his magic of “Abbreviating Sensory Processing of Continuos Information” ?

Turned into cats.

July 12th, 2013 § 0 comments § permalink






When patience toward you is handed to you like this, it’s difficult to do anything but fall in love.

catemoticons (1 of 1)

“There is always something traumatic, extremely violent, in love. Love is a permanent emergency state. You fall in love. It is crucial that we use this expression. To fall in love. You lose control. I claim that love, the experience of passionate love, is the most elementary metaphysical experience, a Platonic experience, in the sense of: You lead your routine daily life, you meet friends, you go to parties, everything is normal, etc.—and then, you passionately fall in love. Everything is ruined. The entire balance of your life is lost. Everything is subordinated to this one object. I almost cannot imagine in normal daily life (outside of war and so on) a more violent experience than that of love.”
— Slavoj Žižek

We are so open right now.

May 8th, 2010 § 0 comments § permalink

from the ferry back to Toronto // may 2010 // more here

“And it came to me then. That we were wonderful traveling companions but in the end no more than lonely lumps of metal in their own separate orbits. From far off they look like beautiful shooting stars, but in reality they’re nothing more than prisons, where each of us is locked up alone, going nowhere. When the orbits of these two satellites of ours happened to cross paths, we could be together. Maybe even open our hearts to each other. But that was only for the briefest moment. In the next instant we’d be in absolute solitude. Until we burned up and became nothing. ”

– Haruki Murakami

I believe in God.

March 12th, 2009 § 1 comment § permalink

President Roslin, who is dying of cancer sits with a dying woman, Emily, who is at the last stages of her own terminal cancer in the hospital quarters.

“Those are the gods you believe in? Capricious? Vindictive?”
“They are not to be taken literally. They are metaphors.”
“I don’t need metaphors, I need answers.”

I believe in metaphor, thus I believe in God. I don’t need answers or reassurance, because they’re in me already.

I don’t think I was ever truly an atheist. The anagram of my name spells A Mad Angel.

MP3: Frog Pocket – Celebrimbor Tur-Anion (Planet Mu)

Where is the ecstasy?

February 25th, 2009 § 3 comments § permalink

I was talking to a friend about poetry a few days ago. Moreover, they were just listening while I went on and on. I don’t have many poetry-lovin friends.

9:22:33 PM Number 6 (Magdalena): Poetry is difficult to love. I love it. But I can understand why people don’t. It’s often looked down upon as a lesser art even though sometimes it is through poetry that the most intense truths can be articulated. That’s why most people are drawn to artists, cos they are drawn to people who can express themselves, imo, and articulate desires because everyone has desires, but often do not have the vocabulary to express or even understand them.

Then today, I started Erica Jong’s Seducing the Demon (I specifically linked this review because it’s only fitting to Jong to be both, lauded and laid into always) and she talks a lot about poetry, and considers herself a poet first. I think about poetry as the most potent fantasy you can have – the most amorous hands can seek you out in poems. I give myself to poetry, writing and reading it. I’ve grown to be more weary about losing control in all parts of my life. I took pride in relentlessly giving into my passions and my politics, and standing my ground loudly. I’ve become louder in some ways, and have turned meek on others. Jong talks of Lawrence, no doubt, one cannot talk of sexual pleasures and books without Lawrence.

“Sex is everywhere in the media, but ecstasy is absent. Many literary novelists shy away from sex because it’s become a pornographic cliché. But it doesn’t need to be. Lawrence was a master of ecstasy (Jong, 78).”

“Sex has the unparalled power to make us absurd to ourselves, It also has the power to make us understand transcendence. When it it ecstatic nothing is more powerful than sex. And nothing is more difficult to capture into words than transdence. It’s not only because sex is embarrasing to many people, but also because ectsasy implies loss of control. This is difficult to acknowledge. Nobody seems to talk about ecstasy these days. Sex is always talked about in terms of control (Jong, 76).”

“Ecstasy cannot exist without a complete loss of control (Jong, 77).”

That complete loss of control is what we’re constantly after, isn’t it? Yet, we shy away, unable to completely surrender. Surrender always ends up in hurt. How much risk is enough? too much? That ecstasy is missing from everything it seems. It’s all just sex. Being seduced and seducing simultaneously should be on sex’s pedestal. Sometimes I worry I sound so superfluous or teenage when I go on about my lust of love. Why is trying to unravel your demons characterized of youth, moreover of immaturity? I once threw myself on a street after a rainstorm, rolling around in dirt until I was completely covered to show my devotion, to give the person a tangible sign of what they meant to me when their doubts rose high because their own love for me was more than they were ready for. Was my act immature? or is it the articulation of it in words seem lame? Part of me never sees any act of love as lame, because I have the hopes that everything that comes out love is as true as it could get. If anything, the doubter would be lame, because they never doubted my love, but doubted their own capacity in handling their love, not mine.

I still have doubts though and reservations about poetry and the lust of love. I wonder if I am a lesser being because I am easily caught up in all of it, that it takes me along and I lose sight of other things. I’m not sure what these other things are though, or why they are more important than living out fantasies. Is it all get filed under ‘self-absorbed, self-involved narccisism’? I’ve never been good at being organized anyway.

Nin & Miller

September 15th, 2008 § 1 comment § permalink

“Henry’s definition of human is the one who drinks, forgets, is irresponsible, unfaithful, fallible. Mine is the one who is aware of the feelings of other human beings.” – Anais Nin

I aspire to be more like Anais, but instead I always end up like Henry. A long time ago I wrote out this long piece of how loyal I am in my unfaithfullness – maybe that brings them both to me. Not like June though, she’s another abstracted fantasy of someone I wish I could be and someone I wish could be in my life.

MP3: Kyrie Kristmanson, Origin of Stars (new Canadian woman I am in love with thanks to my roommate Stevos)

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