Month: July 2006

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A wobbly ride to reason. Regardless of my upset stomach I push on.

I am here. Right here, at this moment, because of my decisions. There is no welcoming wagon.

I’m scared. Unsure. Insecure. I’m determined.

I sound like a self help book… Where is Tony Robbins when you need him?

12 steps. Mars and Venus. 8 ways. 30 minutes to happiness.

There’s some hope though. I look fantastic in that skirt.

I’m hungry…
I’m horny…
I’m lonely…
I’m crowded…

Yes! I am confused. But things have been worst.

I need a dick…
I need a drink…
I need a couple of pills…

Proud owner. Proud parent. Proud employee.

Hum… How about proud period? Getting there, getting there.
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Some of you have noticed that in order to leave a comment here now, you must have a Blogger account. The reason is that SPAM has made it’s way through the word verification system and when I came back from vacation I found 2 spam comments.

So for now that’s how it’s gonna be. Sorry.

*Edit*
Ok, I put it back to “everyone”… It’s still crap though… Moving soon!

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de trouver dans la mélodie de mes verbes un air triste ou mélancolique ne me fais pas peur.
de t’entendre revouloir repenser redemander sans musique ne m’émeut pas du tout.
de te sentir si près sous les épaisseurs de mes pensées et malgré mon pied sur ta poitrine me déstabilise un peu tout de même.

j’ai envie de répéter redire et réécrire sans cesse de nouvelles lettres avec un crayon bien aiguisé.
j’ai faim ce soir de formes flottantes et de bruits de gorge.

pourtant…

seuls mes doigts savent te toucher. seules mes lèvres connaissent tes saveurs.
et aucune musique de mots si forte soit-elle n’arrive à me faire trembler comme tes échos savent le faire.
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In the next few days, I will make some changes. First in my personal life. My line of questioning lately has been directly linked to my leading a double life. I do not want this anymore. I want my writting here and my reading you to be known but mostly accepted.

I will not change how I write. I will not avoid matters. I will not impose censorship on myself. I will not hide my love for you, who come here and who I visit and read and admire.

But by pushing L. away from here, I also denied him of a part of me. Denied myself of enjoying this experience to its fullest. And the more I thought about all this, the less hiding this made sense.

L. was devastated when he read my blog. The last time he was here was in early January. Since then things have changed, stalled, moved, stalled. Overall though what I realize is that if I want to grow, to reach some kind of peace within myself, I have to let him back in, if he wants to.

Let him back in here and also introduce him to my life here, to my friends, to the things I love, the things that fascinate me. To share.

When he read what I wrote, he asked me if anyone we knew was also reading. Because there is so much personal stuff here. It was not the case. But now I’ve made some friends.

So. Very soon, maybe this week or the next, I will start a new blog. As a peace offering. As proof of my good faith that I want him to be part of my passions, my pleasures. Same name, only a different address. I will never, ever let go of what is here.

I’m scared. But I know that it has to be done. Whatever happens happens. I know that the outcome will be worth it.

-o0OSO0s-

That being said. Which platform? Should I pay for hosting or just use the platform’s service? WordPress? Platform27?
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idée

c’en est une ou non?

probablement

je cours l’enterrer avec les autres dans la cour

mon clavier est hanté

la lueur de l’écran un spectre de possibilités

c’en est une ou non?

-oOSOo-

C’est rendu que j’ai peur de mes mots. D’où ils veulent m’emmener. Trop peu, trop tout court. Plein aussi. Ça peut déborder le vide? Et si? La touche 6 (shift pour ?) s’efface tellement elle est utilisée. Le j aussi (des fois J). J et ?. C’est pourquoi j’ai acheté un nouveau clavier aujourd’hui. Pour donner une chance aux autres.
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Finality in the search for oneself is quixotic. Accepting that this search is a long string of lessons, impulses tended to and dreams hovering above attainable is in itself a draft, a pencil drawing of my own finish line.

Finding my own place, actually looking for an identity. No, I have one. Trying to relate? Trying to identify? I don’t feel the need to. But I sometimes look in other people’s eyes to see if they identify with me. Do they see themselves in me? I have it the other way around don’t I?

It’s the same thing, just backwards.

I’m pushing through. I’m emerging from. What? Where? I forgot where the starting line was. Or it’s been following me around. So I start, every day. Is the finish getting further then? I have strained before to see it. But now I think it’s impossible to see it. Ever. Is there a finish line at all? Probably not. Not the one I’d like to see. The one that I know is there and exists I’ll reach just like every body else.
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A quick recap of our week’s vacation:

Sunday: Quebec City
Monday: Cruise to Grosse-Ile (look it up, it’s worth it)
Tuesday: Karting in the morning and spa for me in the afternoon
Wednesday: Mountain biking , hiking and a visit to a dog village at the top of mount Ste-Anne
Thursday: A visit to a canyon and zipline across the gorge, Quebec city in the evening
Friday: Valcartier waterpark, then back home

It was a great week. I have bruises and sunbruns. I’ll probably post a small photo album tomorrow night.
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My friend Crunchy Weta is hosting the fourth Ringing of the Bards starting July 15th. It’s a great opportunity to discover new poets from around the world and celebrate the love of words.

Please pay him a visit. And to the writers he will be featuring. If you want to know more about this event, please visit the site.

Enjoy!
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Avant de partir je trouvais qu’il ne se passait rien. Hey, j’ai 85 feeds dans mon Bloglines, pis c’était mort. J’pars 5 jours, c’est la folie furieuse. WTF?

D’la marde. Je sais pas quand je vais lire tout ça.

Sur une autre note, est-ce que le temps c’est arrêté en 1968 à québec? Je suis allée 2 fois au festival cette semaine. Des poils partout, du patchouli, des sandales indiennes, des dreads, des vestes en cuir (come on!). Une p’tite gang de punks (cute).

Une belle ambiance tout de même dimanche après-midi, près du Portofino, après la victoire de l’italie.
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De retour… avec plus, plus tard. vous m’avez manqué, mais pas trop tout de même 🙂

Back… with more, later. I missed you, but not too much! Just enough 🙂
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