they say only fool’s rush in, but I don’t believe, I don’t believe

take the pain away, getting strong today, a giant step each day, all I want in life’s, a little bit of love to take the pain away

Employment has fully landed. Wednesday I begin work as a base-rung contract clerk for a market research firm, Saturday I begin preparation for setting fire to the Renfrew Harvest Moon Festival, and Monday evening I start my training as a receptionist front-person for The Scotiabank Dance Centre.

The clerking is temporary, only a few months long, but it’s more than I have and the employers have said that I can shift hours around my pyrotechnic gigs. The Dance Center is also willing to help shuffle. This being October any minute now, that’s really important to me. Fifteen an hour to show kids how to properly light things on fire makes me a better person. The show on Saturday, October 7th, sounds like it’s going to be a really good one. There’s rumour of an orchestra performing in a swimming pool before the fireworks, but I won’t really know until dress rehearsal. In either case, I want as many of you as possible to be there supporting me in my ridiculous endeavors. They are good and worthy things and deserve audience.

Who has my copy of Dead Leaves? And my missing Invader Zim?

This means that next week, in between training shifts and rehearsals, I have no evening’s free until Sunday. The week after, things will open up again. Dance Center work is expected to only be two shifts a week, once I know what I’m doing. I’ll still be on the computer in the mornings, so it will be possible to get ahold of me, but I won’t be able to make it to anyone’s shows or parties, I’m sorry. I know there’s a couple.

Speaking of which, after a day of filming things at UBC and spending time with Chelsea-cat, tomorrow evening I’m planning on attending April Curry‘s Maha Samahdi Medicine Show at the Cottage Bistro at Main and 29th. The e-mail I received said that the event will be an informal collection of performances by four local songwriters, with a lot of improvised jamming on one another’s material. Between the lot of them, there’s going to be guitar, fiddle, banjo, and saxophone, which sounds like a pretty nice mix to me. The music starts around 8:30 pm and admission’s by donation.

Stephen says: Look to the left of this page to see what’s on the cover of Newsweek around the world. Notice anything?

don’t you remember?

011 by Lung.
Originally uploaded by Foxtongue.

I walk by the house like hanging up on an answering machine. It’s dark and I’m too delicate for this. Easier to walk home, continue, and not dare to put my hand on the gate. Footsteps the tempo to an old slow song. Lyrics winding through from my feet through my spine. “Hello, I’m so lonely, And it feels like disease, Come and stay, stay beside me”. The air like velvet wiping my face with the back of my hand. Child’s play, this is easy as child’s play. Something I never could understand. Tag, you’re it. My books were always thrown into puddles. My desk always full of sticky wet chewing gum. A young man walks past me, tastefully dressed in an unexceptional way, and offers me drugs. I hesitate and wonder what to say. I tell him that he’s not what I need. He looks offended a moment, as if I’d insulted his hair, then shrugs me off and walks on. I can’t wake up from this, because it’s not a dream.
Britain art project photoblog: “Little hand-painted people, left in London to fend for themselves.”

Talking with Alastair earlier on his black leather couch, the one I have the photographs on, he said, “All I offered you was stability. I think you wanted more than that.” I replied, “Stability was nice, I appreciate stability.” “I think you needed more from me. I think you needed romance, attention, affection.” “That last one, yes. That was what I needed the most”. A little peculiar, it was a miniature revelation, realizing how that’s the only base-line of my demands, just like he used to always give me. Two years almost and practically nothing’s changed. He’s better at communicating as I am more sad. He was never scared of me.