I posted this to freeloaders international this evening


My name’s Jhayne and I’ll be traveling with my friends Mishka and Ian. I work on-line, Ian is a psych student, and Mishka is a classical musician. Our plan is to visit Stampede and come back with a cowboy hat and a painter, though we’ll be interested mostly in playing tourist to the Arts community.

The three of us are in our early twenties, but not terribly the partying type. Well, not that sort of party, anyways. *grinning* We’re social, but geeks. We like to stay up and talk about philosophy and terrible movies. If you ask nicely, Mishka may play the viola. None of us are drinkers, nor do we smoke anything in spite of being from BC. We’re all English speakers, (Ian speaks french as well), though are more than happy to learn anything you may be able to teach us. We’re willing to crunch up and share a bed or sleep on floors as we’re not fussy people. We’re tidy and certainly not axe-murderers.

You can find out marginally more about us in our livejournals at porphyre and varsil respectively. Our writing styles, if naught else. We won’t be requiring tours, as we have a few people in town, but I have to admit a nudge in the direction of internet access would be appreciated.

Thank you,


Another year missing the Jazz Festival. If I had Rehkas number, I would have dialed her it so fast I would have broken buttons.

For some reason I can’t get the last show I did at the Cultch out of my head today. The Artists Against War Red Cross Fundraiser, hosted by Felix Culpa. I suppose it’s running into Bill on Canada Day. He looked so broken. He looked maybe a tiny piece of how I felt that night. Running the back stage – something like thirty theatre companies – then a hall full of congratulation and animated conversation, and I sitting on a stool in the back corner. Staring at the pale wooden floor and knowing I’m not allowed to talk to anyone. The one moment where I would have run off with another man. Thank you, I love you, for calling me out onto the stage to feel the applause. He wouldn’t face the audience until I stood out beside him. I wanted to hold his hand as we swept into bow, but I knew Bill was watching.

I have something for Davids son somewhere. I think I saw it while unpacking, but for the life of me, I cannot remember what it was. Something I thought highly appropriate for a young boy. I know Bill’s apparently working on the new Felix Culpa performance in the works, so I don’t know what the relationship might have shifted to. Knowledge of our break-up. When I find my little object, I’ll go leave it on the doorstep with a note.

waiting for a signal on the sound

Today has been a day of news that isn’t. Mishka’s breaking up with her boyfriend because they’re not “soulmates”, Beth’s had to cancel on me so no Costume Party this evening, and work was supremely dull. Not a day of inspiration. Working with children kills braincells. Ther’s nothing immortal about them.

Now I’m sitting like some Nice Girl from the fifties. Waiting by the metaphorical phone for a boy to call her out to the Malt Shoppe. Ankles crossed with a hope in hand. It’s not an image that belongs. I don’t sit right for bobby socks.