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Jun. 10th, 2007


The Bane/End of My Existence

I'm certain this is the most guilty of all pleasures, but I must confess...

I really love the song Fergalicious.

Don't judge me. I associate it with maiming and dismembering and Crispin Glover.

In other news, the caravan (that's me and Omah and James) will be hitting the dusty trail at the end of July. Goodbye Toronto. Hello Rochester. Goodbye life I've loved for so long. Hello life I have yet to discover.

It won't be for long, but I need to get away from it all for a while. I'm glad to have Omah and James along. I honestly didn't think they'd join me as this was a last minute decision. I know there will be nobody I love here in the very near future, but I didn't want to be the last to go (Omah wants me to point out that she gets it hardcore). I didn't plan to be the first, but here we go.

After I leave, Vincent will be going back to Nevada with his father. Ben is going to school in Vancouver, and Linda will be setting sail to Hollywood with stars in her eyes. Expect to see her name on the marquees. Alice and Victoria will be in from Germany. Alice was my first friend when I moved here from St. Catharines. I can't say I'll miss her the most because I've been missing her for a while now.

I will be having my going away shindig sometime between the 23rd and the 27th. Anyone can come, but since I don't know yet the exact time, date, and place of the event, I'm sure it will just be my tight-knit group of misfits (that's Ben and Vincent and Linda and Alice and Omah and James and special guests Victoria and Diello and Charles). Expect lots of hugging, some drinking, and hopefully not too many tears.

Mar. 2nd, 2007


Different like everyone else

It seems that I have fallen prey to the addiction that is MySpace. I suspected it would happen. I've only come back to post the lyrics to what I believe is my favourite King Missile song:

I want to be different, like everybody else I want to be like
I want to be just like all the different people
I have no further interest in being the same,
because I have seen difference all around,
and now I know that that's what I want
I don't want to blend in and be indistinguishable,
I want to be part of the different crowd,
and assert my individuality along with others
who are different like me
I don't want to be identical to anyone or anything
I don't even want to be identical to myself
I want to look in the mirror and wonder,
"who is that person? I've never seen that person before;
I've never seen anyone like that before."
I want to call into question the very idea that
identity can be attached
I want a floating, shifting, ever changing persona:
Invisibility and Obscurity,
detachment from the ego and all of it's pursuits.
Unity is useless
Conformity is competitive and divisive and leads only to
stagnation and death.
If what I'm saying doesn't make any sense,
that's because sense can not be made
It's something that must be sensed
and I, for one, am incensed by all this complacency
Why oppose war only when there's a war?
Why defend the clinics only when they are attacked?
Why are we always reactive?
Let's activate something
Let's fuck shit up
Whatever happened to revolution for the hell of it?
Whatever happening to protesting nothing in particular, just
protesting cause it's Saturday and there's nothing else to do?

That is all.

Dec. 19th, 2006


Regarding My Spacely Sprockets

I thought I might give in to the Web V.2 that is MySpace. Do you know what I found there?


I have been stolen! I wonder if this person means the same thing I mean with the handle.

Regardless, I am not her, and I really REALLY dread the thought of anyone thinking I am her.

I just went by my name if anyone's curious.

Over and out.

Nov. 21st, 2006


Wish List

This is the best idea since sliced beer! I found myself contributing before I even joined :)
The community is holiday_wishes and it rocks!

Just read the guidelines, post up to 10 wishes, and look for other people whose wishes you can grant! Oh, I always get so giddy before the seasonal depression sets in.

Okay, my list...

1. Pocket Goths These are plush toys made by my evil master Voltaire, and they can be found in claw machines all over the country (most people have found them at wal-marts and targets, but the only claw machine I've found them in was at Kmart, so far). They are the cutest things ever and they seem to only be found on ebay, in claw machines or at Voltaire's live shows. He never comes around here, so I never get the opportunity to nab one of the little guys.

2. Kelly:Shoes CD. There was no way I'd walk away from the Shoes and Text Message Break Up videos and NOT be addicted. S/he is so cool :)

3. Message plant These are the coolest things ever. They can be found somewhere among all the awesome stuff at thinkgeek.com or jlist.com. You get a can with seeds, stick the seeds in the dirt, and then it buds with a message written on the pod! SO COOL!

4. Participation in my Letter Project All "rules" and whatnot are there.

5. Corset patterns I just learned that one of my best friends knows how to make corsets of any kind, and all he needs is a pattern and supplies!

6. Lace, ribons, colourful fishnets, or anything EGL-related Any lace of any colour. And any fabric ribons as long as they're not wrapping ribbons (the kind with wired edges or the paper ones). EGL-related covers anything you've ever seen on the subject, as well as whole magazines, clippings, pictures and whatever. I'm a floozy for it :)

7. Liquid eyeliner of any colour I'll run out soon, and if I have other colours, I won't use up my black so quickly :)

8. Foreign ANYTHING. Postcards, candy (even american candy *sweet tooth*), trinkets, magazine/newspaper clippings, beads, paper...

9. Gift Certificates to just about anywhere national, but preferrably to thinkgeek.com, jlist.com, or amazon.com.

10. A nice SURPRISE maybe candy, maybe handmades, maybe fake flowers (they last longer and survive through post), maybe money (you can stop laughing now), maybe mix cds, maybe double eyelid makeup, maybe gift cards, maybe boggle, maybe a card, maybe toe-socks, maybe the Tom Baker Dr. Who scarf, maybe goggles or a gas mask, maybe kosher water sent from a spring in Israel....

mail bombs and dead things should not be sent hereCollapse )

Nov. 20th, 2006



Я в Роцстр Ну Ëрк с Моя сестра и зять. Это весело.

Поедем к нам на благодарение тусовку! Аммонал есть, лук есть что ещë надо? Я шучу. У меня есть бутылка Экстры. Ещë бы пару ампул на всех, мога бы хватилою

Приезжайте. Звякни мне вечером. У моя есть мобильный.

Oct. 24th, 2006


Letter Project

Somebody else did this once, and I thought it was a very cool idea. This can be a one shot deal if you wish it (meaning, once a couple letters have been exchanged, we stop), or we can continue on the roleplay.

I would like you to write me a letter as somebody else. Be anyone you want to be under any circumstances.

Be a poet, an artist, a philosopher, a mad (wo)man, a prisoner (of society, love, the gov't, ANYTHING), a character/actor on a tv show, a wrongfully accused cellmate on death row, a schoolgirl, a body part, a whore, a hospital patient, a rock star, a homeless person, a child, a person of the opposite sex... And you can write to me as being whoever your creation wanted to write to.


I will reply to your creation as the fabricated person your fabrication wrote to. Please, have as much fun as you want.

Write to:

Jane St. James
1454 Yellow Mills Rd.
Palmyra, NY 14522

Sep. 11th, 2006


Those Pants Would Look Better On Your Sister

MC Chris is a fascinating man. Although, I must say, what in gay hell (I don't know exactly what gay hell is; a lack of lube, a lack of fashion, or a classic hell for gay people) was the Icon manager thinking when he booked that horrid emo band to open up the show (after the equally horrid DJ)? Chris HATES emo! At least I wasn't the only one complaining. A bunch of people in line near me said they couldn't believe it, either.

But when the time came, prophet60091, vaselineboy, doomtm and I ripped up the dance floor. Ben didn't make it. Everyone go ridicule him: (duma_hell).
I saw my little sister and her man-boy friend Chuck. I saw Ko-chian, but not Es. And I saw a few Buffalo friends. I thought I saw my Rochester friend Kris there, but after approaching her, I realized I was mistaken.

Anyway, the show was amazing.

When I wasn't getting jiggy with my rap-hand, I was caught in a cornucopia of pure adoration mixed with massive blush-sydrome, as they (should) call it, over DJ John, the man behind the music behind the Dungeon MC. Something about a smile on a face that barely does so is what does it for me. That, and he was very attractive, simply put. I gave him a hug after the show and expressed how easy he was to adore and he smiled at me. Aaah, I was his forever!

To date, that was the best show I'd gone to all year.

Sep. 9th, 2006


Slingin' Wicked Bling

Thanks to Ko-chian (boobiemissiles), I now know that 1. She is in town (and by that I mean in St. Catharines, not Toronto) visiting Es. and 2. MC Chris is starting his American tour TONIGHT in Buffalo.

Since he's failed to put Toronto on the tour list, Vincent and I will definately be going to this show (not as dates). I hope Es will go, and I'm pretty sure Ko-chian will be there. My sister and her beau are going. Ama, Ben, and James should go too!

I have compiled all my emcee empee threes onto a cd of pure awesome for the trip.
T'will be merry and sexy.

Aug. 8th, 2006


Remnants of Dash X

She remembers no beginning, just a blacklight shining in her mismatched eyes and a thunk on the head.

Nails Phalanx is, of course, not truly her name, and any thought that it is really should be expelled from the mind immediately, for it is an obvious fabrication molded from the hands that make food disappear off the supermarket shelves. Her hair has aged far beyond her years, or at least she hopes she can't be so old.

Rubbing out the night's dried vitrium from her eyes, she realizes she's seen this all before, but from where, she has no idea. No past, no parents, snow white hair and a body full of scrapes and bruises that serve as a dead giveaway that she was a born survivor, and Nails fully intended to survive.

Let's just hope she doesn't meet some ominous fate in the process of this so-called survival.

She reaches up to turn off the blacklight, which is hot to the touch, but she doesn't mind. She notices her hands and feels relief about the lie told by her mane. Under the filth, her hands look far younger, but not so young that she couldn’t escape to the nearest bar to drink her memory away, if she had any memories to speak of, that is.
The light is out and her surroundings become less vibrant but more clear and she is suddenly aware of where she is. Deep in the heart of the American world is a shack with no zip code and quite possibly no town at all. The sleep is leaving her faster and faster and she feels time slowing down as if the inside of the shack has a different perception of just what the devil time actually is.

Or perhaps this place has it's own time, she wondered as she began her search for more clues, which so far included a sleeping bag, a musty blank book and pen, and an old mirror that casts a foggy reflection, symbolizing her life out of spite.

The girl hereafter called Nails wipes some remaining crusties from her eyes, which have completely dried as she has completely regained her consciousness, and contemplates who the hell she is by using the book to save all the memories she’s got so far. She only wishes she could have done that before.

The book smells of rust and smokers. Did she smoke? The first page has an illegible scribble in one corner. She can see that it’s a date, but can only make out the month… October.

So she writes:


Nails steps barefoot outside into the harsh morning rays and sees flowers when she should be seeing Desert Wasteland, USA since that’s what it seemed to appear from the other side of the window.

Stumbling around the pollen-infested shorelines of her stone walkway, a spider plunges its tiny teeth into her big toe. What vigor the little guy has, she thought. What spunk! It quickly discovers that her feet are hardened warriors of the great rocky earth. Tough as, well, nails. Her new spider friend fails to penetrate her thick pad of skin.

Back into what she now has seen is a mill, Nails checks the windows. They aren't real. THEY AREN'T REAL. Uncertainty presses he heart fiercely to the ground and it beats so hard she imagined that Uncertainty was playing basketball. She tears the photos of cracked landscapes revealing that there is only almost no window which is to say it is caked over so severely it almost looked like the filthy wood surrounding the frame.

She looked around, forgetting the memories, ignoring the future, seeing how much work she has ahead of her in order to make this place as home as home can get for someone with nothing but an old book as empty as her head.

Aug. 3rd, 2006


по русскй

Мне нужно что-то задеклариравать. Я люблю рома! Я пьяный в дугу.
У меия целый день одни пролёты. Не спрашиваитею
Но кончайкашель Жяын! Все тгак сейчас живут!
Я не знать... Может быть менс начинаемся.

Я хщчу ещё пить.

Jul. 30th, 2006


Phoenix Saga

I went swinging on the playground of emotion last night. My mood conquered any fury laid down by the phoenix Jean Grey and I felt the rush of a thousand invisible blades running across me, coming from all directions and snagging little bits of my flesh and pulling me onto the merry-go-round where I swirreled in my emotional conclave, whooshing by each one as they pass by on their horses.
But like a phoenix, I fell at the end of my reign. I laid my burnt-out body to rest and in the morning, I felt new. Better. As though the dawn's early rays came flowing into my window like a golden river of light and washed away all the ashes of the night before.
I feel so much better.

May. 4th, 2006


(no subject)

The comfort has at long last been fully restored to my bed, complete with new bedding and a deduction of blankets in set for the coming warm weather. I cannot wait to sleep in it. I was so excited about fixing my bed that instead of using the washroom mirror to pluck my eyebrows, I grabbed my compact and plopped belly-up in my queen-sized pamper-machine. The only bad part is now I have a giant pile of old bedding and worn comfort-foams that I need to take care of somehow, but I have nowhere to put anything just now. They'll have to sit there making my room look like the linen closet drank too much tequilla and vomited all over.

Warm weather is a beautiful thing, isn't it? I even got to take the plastic off my windows and opened them. The breeze felt so good.

And for good news on top of more good news: James is teaching a class where the students' main project is to come up with a comic book concept, write the storyline for it, and submit the first five pages completed to a comic book company (they have to research companies and their submission policies). This is my area of expertise, so I've decided to help. I'm going to write some guidelines as to what kinds of comics are out there, what the difference between a trade paperback and a graphic novel, character developement and introductions, text bubbles, fonts, styles, scripts, narration boxes vs. dialogue boxes, and list some good sites, publishers and comics, too. I'm temporarily donationg a bunch for the cause, so my floor is dominated by my entire collection. I have until monday, but to buy some extra time, he's got them starting a smaller project involving making a 3D paper puppety thing. I made one and it's super cute. I got the pattern from the last issue of Computer Arts Projects magazine, which, along with Imagine FX, has become my new favourite magazine. Unfortunately, the Barnes and Noble around here sucks with keeping up their stock, but I'll live. I'm flying off on a tangent, anyway.

Time for bed! AWESOME bed.

Mar. 30th, 2006


Zombies in the Snow (the most times I'll ever say "zombie" in a post)

I've decided to practice insomnia again. I'm picking up this fine art just where I left off last time. Lying on the floor and wondering if Zeus is going to stop laughing at my weakness.

Relatedly, I must divulge a bit of a personal side of me. Late some nights, or more usually, the hours/moments before dawn, I lay in the total darkness or maybe in front of the idiot box and contemplate my reaction to a zombie raid.

Now, when I'm cuddling with my best chums on the couch complete with a bowl of fake-buttered popcorn, and we're into a really, but unintentionally bad survival horror, we all inform each other of what we'd logically do when faced with the situation, and then we MST the thing into the proverbial dirt. But it's always "in that situation" where the dumb but cute so-called hero has access to the best weaponry (yet chooses the damn baseball bat!!) and we ridiculously yell at the tv loudly (so they can hear us this time) "geez! haven't you ever seen a zombie movie??" and then shove more popcorn in our faces.

But I digress.

In these pre-dawn hours, I think about zombie movies (the better ones) and Silent Hill (best survival horror game ever) and then I wander into the darkness of the house and can't see two feet ahead of me so I hold out my hands to the pitch and after all that zombie thought I get scared that maybe I'm going to run my hands right into the muscle-exposed chest of some once-sexy zombie and I will have nothing, not even sight until I struggle my way to a lightswitch. My imagination drives me nuts sometimes. It was just getting light out when I walked downstairs to the washroom and I looked out the kitchen window on the way. It was very foggy and I thought what if that post in the yard is some zombie standing there and staring in my window, and if it is, I'll just call the cops, oh, what if I do call and all I hear on the other end is gargled demands for brains? So I made it to the washroom, the only room that's pitch black, coming just before the laundry room which is nearly pitch black and I fear zombies there, too.

Anyway, when I get out of the washroom, I turned back toward the kitchen (but not in the kitchen yet) where it's still dark and HOLY FUCK SOMEONE REALLY IS THERE!!


The one night when I'm internally freaking over zombie infestation would be the night you decide to wake up when you're suppose to wake up.

I think I'm ready to give sleep another try. Maybe I'll dream of (gasp)

zombies puppies.

Mar. 2nd, 2006


Instrument of Pain

It has become clear to me that the world would be a better place if I didn't touch a musical instrument for the rest of my life. Maybe that's being a little harsh. I should stay clear of string instruments.

Whilst tuning my violin a while ago, not only did the E string snap me open but the tailpiece's string broke, causing all strings still involved to lose anchor and bend all over. I still haven't taken it to get professionally fixed.

Just now, I tuned every string on James's electric guitar. Like with my violin, I had a difficult time tuning in G; it seemed the peg couldn't be turned enough. And, just like what happened to the violin, the high E snapped me open when I went for a strum. It was very disappointing, not only because the guitar was NOT mine, but also because, I had it tuned perfectly and then it goes and snaps.

The worst part is I only had today to practice for a show I'm doing tomorrow! But that isn't the thick of it!

Background check: I've never played guitar before. And James and I are going to a gallery opening where he'd been asked to DJ. His style doesn't really permit him to just play music like a wedding/school dance DJ, but he actually makes digital music live. He then asked me to play some chords on his guitar, the sounds of which will be sent to his computer and he can play with the tunes as they come out the speakers. He dropped the guitar off yesterday, but I didn't have time to play with it then. And now that I have time to play with it, I can't. And the time that would be spent at set-up / sound check / rehersal, I now have to spend going to a music shop to get the guitar fixed.

Can we say "perfect"? Sure. I knew that you could.

Feb. 28th, 2006


I want a Juicy Juice

I'm standing here in a tshirt and that is all. Can I get some validity here? How about a pair of pants? Yeah? Okay, I got a pair of pants. Now I can go ask my sister for the camera so I can work on my webpage. I have image map plans, but for how long, I have no idea. I had a bastard time trying to make a livejournal layout, and I am running out of ideas. Can you hear me oh god of the el jay? FUCK you. But with that out of the way I can focus on the positive aspects of web design.

Except that I cannot. I have been inactive for so long I can actually feel the waste slushing around in my skull. I need a job. A hobby. Something lucrative, perhaps a job, or a will to start illustrating again. Maybe work on some new stories.

My latest idea comes from a CD of broken records. The name of it escapes me, but I feel part of the Pussy Cat song and part of the Circus song following after have something to do with a child who abuses his cat. I don't think it's been done, so I'm going to make a story, completely illustrated, about the drawbacks of beating your pet.

But for now, I need to focus on getting a routine, or at least an anti-routine. Regardless, active ACTIVE ACTIVE! is what I need to be. Yoga sounds good. I need to thoroughly stretch my legs before even thinking of taking dance classes.

In conclusion, as Grace would say (or rather, did say):
"You can focus on the positive aspects when you become aware of them. Otherwise, you are a walking sentence, open to interpretation by others who have other ideas for you."

Aug. 22nd, 2005


I've been dying

I stood by my views and won. So why do I still feel really rotten?

It's not my way to feel sorry for the dead, and even less so to feel sorry for the living. So I rejected the demand that I attend my Aunt's service. She died of old age and she had a really good run. She was a cool old lady, but I am not sorry to see her go. I'm glad. She was really suffering. And now she's not.

I didn't go because 1) I don't do well in enclosed spaces where everyone is upset. 2) I don't have the same views on death as most other people and that tends to upset people. 3) I tend to smile, giggle, and laugh to myself when I get nervous, and I get nervous at funerals, and 4) My family do not like me much anyway.

It's one thing to go to the service of someone you knew very well, and I don't even like to do that (it's happened twice, and one of them, I kept myself very hidden), and it's another to be forced to go to the service of someone you hardly knew for "moral support to the family." And another thing to be forced to attend the service of someone for moral support of the family that you also aren't familiar with.

I like to celebrate lives, not mourn deaths.

Mar. 28th, 2005


Home-Heart-Love (skip the Rozz)

Home is where the proverbial heart is. And that proverbial heart is where the basis of love stands. You see the connection. Love is all hearts blah blah blah.

So trying to find home is similar to trying to find love. It's all relative. Instead of making that twitterpating connection to a person, you're making it with a place. That special place where you can run away to and feel a sense of warmth, safety and comfort, regardless of its freezing weather, crime rates and glass covered sidewalks (there really is nothing more invigorating than the aroma of gun powder in the morning- I smell a coffee commercial).

My heart is split between two cities, conveniently close to each other. I truly do believe I've found my homes, and what homes they are. I could not be happier when I'm living my life in them, and I am in love. There is no denying that. That fluttery feeling I get when I look around in this vast city and see a friend in every direction is the same fluttery feeling I get when I am being held in the arms of that special boy or girl. I don't care how boring or dirty or whatever they may be, I am in love with them! I am in love with my home!

And love isn't something you can find lying around anywhere, yet there it is, right in front of you. Love it when you find it, and make it your home.

Dec. 30th, 2004


(no subject)

Instead of giving you a real update in which I would tell you that I've got the beginning portion of my script almost half done and have been writing to my little heart's content while doing my nails all pretty and pink, I will instead orally vomit drool out of my mouth and onto my keyboard, which creates this mumbo jumbo:

long-ass bold-what-you-did survey shamelessly theived from kitchCollapse )

Oh man... 186 questions??? I'm going to bed!

Dec. 3rd, 2004


goat eem venture.

I'm mastering the basic techniques of insomnia. It snowed last night. I watched.

"I have never had a perfect cup of coffee. That particular title isn't an award. It's a life quest. It's a spiritual issue. And if you don't believe me, then trust me. A lot of people will agree with me on this one. The Perfect Cup of Coffee is the American Dream. It's the attainment of Enlightenment. It's the juice that gets you there.

Coffee is an elixir, the one drug that is both utterly legal and utterly acceptable. I've been drinking a pot or two of this stuff for twelve years. Coffee is a lifestyle that is so omnipresent that we don't even notice it. People that don't drink coffee are weird."

Have you ever chosen a pot of coffee over a place to live? Just grab one to go and head on down to the beach and watch the stars? I haven't either, but I think I would. And I wouldn't have a problem staying awake, either.

Sep. 16th, 2004


Been writing a screenplay

It's still in the brinks, but I've got the main plot, subplots, sideplots and twists down. I only need to work on the sequences and dialogue.

Esh is excited to show off his new girlfriend at his best friend, Maser's latest shin-dig, but when Jill doesn't show up, nobody believes him. He goes on to explain with a picture of her from his wallet. Not only does she really exist, it turns out, she has been everybody's girlfriend! Esh could not be more angry, but to her credibility, they assure him that she is a one-man-woman and worth the lay. Esh then entales that he has allowed her to hold onto something that is very important to him and his friends.

It is eventually found out that Jill did not show up to the party because she had been murdered. The plan is clear. Esh is distraught, yet still burning with anger toward his slutty girlfriend. He wants to bring Jill back to life to discuss her behavior. Maser then brings to his attention that she still had that very important something and they need to get it back. Not to mention, find out who killed her, as whoever killed her is still killing!

Far, the witch of the group, decides to help, but warns them that it is a very complicated procedure and any fuck-ups can cause the whole shibang to go haywire. Esh and Maser agree that they'd better practice, and head for the graveyard.

With the help of his friends, Esh ressurrects several bodies, only to see such terrible flaws. He proceeds to kill each zombie creation, one after the other, and sends Yellow, Maser's brother, to go put them back in their graves. Once he finally gets the art down, he finds out that Jill had been cremated.

Yadda yadda yadda, shit ensues, Jill kicks fellow-zombie ass!

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