tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-39134482011-04-21T22:51:47.229-07:00ramblings in delicate prose...margaretnoreply@blogger.comBlogger991100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3913448.post-1085359026748197642004-05-23T17:37:00.000-07:002004-05-23T17:37:27.333-07:00

You're Lolita! by Vladimir Nabokov Considered by most to be depraved and immoral, you are obsessed with sex. What really tantalizes you is that which deviates from societal standards in every way, though you admit that this probably isn't the best and you're not sure what causes this desire. Nonetheless, you've done some pretty nefarious things in your life, and probably gotten caught for them.

margaretnoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3913448.post-1081907920810317742004-04-13T18:51:00.000-07:002004-04-13T19:02:31.513-07:00

and just like that my life changes. like a rushing river i was, heading towards the edge, the lip of the waterfall, to crash, rush, speed towards the calm surface of the pool below. in love and finally ok with the past, with everything that has happened. it all finally seems to make sense, or what never did make sense i have made peace with-all of the mess, the confusion, the melded mixture of

margaretnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3913448.post-1079466801436683042004-03-16T11:53:00.000-08:002004-03-16T16:01:19.530-08:00

i am at a pinnacle, and it feels like i am at the centre of a whirpool. I see everything going up all around me, and i can't stop it, but i am removed, not caught up in it. and at the centre there is you. and in you i can achieve balance.

margaretnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3913448.post-1078857215015169852004-03-09T10:33:00.000-08:002004-03-09T10:36:37.903-08:00

I feel like i've stumbled into some sort of alternate paradisal universe in which spring cannot contain itself after february. This is the most beautiful March I have ever seen. Victoria feels even more so like Mr. Roger's neighbourhood right now. The postman whistles as he does his rounds, students and commuters peddle by on their bikes, ringing bells and wearing shorts, children play under the

margaretnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3913448.post-1078727632644649312004-03-07T22:33:00.000-08:002004-03-08T00:11:16.373-08:00

I really believe in my title: the heart of a broken story. It isn't random, although, I must admit, I decided on it before I actually read the Salinger short story. My life is not the story of a broken heart, although it could be twisted around to seem that way. My heart is full of broken stories, not love tragedies. Essential ingredients in a good story are a beginning, middle, and an end.

margaretnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3913448.post-1078600623418819572004-03-06T11:17:00.000-08:002004-03-06T11:20:02.623-08:00

The Dante's Inferno Test has banished you to the Sixth Level of Hell - The City of Dis!Here is how you matched up against all the levels:LevelScorePurgatory (Repenting Believers)Very LowLevel 1 - Limbo (Virtuous Non-Believers)ModerateLevel 2 (Lustful)HighLevel 3 (Gluttonous)HighLevel 4 (Prodigal and Avaricious)Very LowLevel 5 (Wrathful and Gloomy)LowLevel 6 - The City of Dis (Heretics)Very

margaretnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3913448.post-1078428649017022492004-03-04T11:30:00.000-08:002004-03-04T11:35:55.903-08:00

here are a few poems i wrote for class last term...i'm not happy with them, but i can't get feedback without posting them: grave waiting In November my father cuts into the earth a wide dark hole for our dog, who barks at ghosts, not yet dead. The ground freezes, the hole waits like a cold dark eye. Sledding in January I drop into the grave and disappear. I think this must be what death

margaretnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3913448.post-1078427984960208512004-03-04T11:19:00.000-08:002004-03-04T11:22:41.543-08:00

Well, here I am. Sometimes I can't believe that I have come this far in my life. I feel like I have lived one hundred years, while at the same time I feel like I haven't lived at all. Wax wax wax. Sentimentality is not my desired forte. Yet, in the last few weeks I have been waxing poetic and waning cliche enough to move the ocean. An entire life of transitions has exhausted me. I applaud myself

margaretnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3913448.post-1078009443987990012004-02-28T15:04:00.000-08:002004-02-28T15:07:16.610-08:00

"Imagine living with the compulsive need to scrawl away constantly, scribbling on notebooks, napkins, walls, even skin." Globe and Mail writer CHANTAL MARTINEAU explores hypergraphia, what has driven so many to create. This hits almost a little too close to home. Why does everything have to be a disease these days?

margaretnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3913448.post-1077151967084607832004-02-18T16:52:00.000-08:002004-02-18T16:55:24.403-08:00

I am in an unusually optimistic mood today. Today is the first day of reading break. Last night three friends and I smoked joints, picked up take-out Greek food and played gin rummy (my best game of crib ever was last night: 210 points!) and hangman into the semi-wee hours of the night. I got to spend a lot of time talking incessently with someone who I wish I were closer to, as we seem to have

margaretnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3913448.post-1077056394778303672004-02-17T14:19:00.000-08:002004-02-17T14:26:50.060-08:00

"how i long to be perfect when you look at me" Why do I Lie? Luscious Jackson I don't want to be perfect in anyone's eyes. I don't want someone "perfect," either. Perfection isn't real, its an illusion. i want the real thing. I am looking at a print of a pen and ink on the wall of the computer lab. It is a red and blue design, beautiful in its whole, made up of hundreds of large dots. The dots

margaretnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3913448.post-1077034368109869562004-02-17T08:12:00.000-08:002004-02-17T08:15:23.450-08:00

On a Whim - Ron Sexsmith at times I’m saddled by this nagging doubt and the light so dim through this confusion my heart goes travelling on a whim it’s a cold and rainy day but it feels so right to be out on a limb it’s where I go when my hopes unravelling on a whim and I find myself in the middle of something when I thought I was going nowhere fast this is how it all begins must be the place

margaretnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3913448.post-1076796055784397472004-02-14T14:00:00.000-08:002004-02-14T14:03:31.700-08:00

I need to make some changes. pls pardon the mess.

margaretnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3913448.post-1076609478759668392004-02-12T10:11:00.000-08:002004-02-12T10:20:17.966-08:00

I don't want to leave the house, again. I don't want to stay in the house either. I only want to be alone, completely undisturbed, somewhere serene and calm. I would go to the beach, if I felt I could face the sun. How has this come over me again? I thought that I had beat it away, like dust from a rug. But again, dust gathers. My mind is falling into shadow, again. The days are stretching out,

margaretnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3913448.post-1076540410012257462004-02-11T15:00:00.000-08:002004-02-11T15:19:35.576-08:00

The Walkmen: five upper class white guys from New York singing hard, heavily influenced, passionate rock. I went downtown to Lucky last night to see The Walkmen and The Decemberists. I went by myself, which had its good and bad points. What was bad was that I felt a bit alcoholic drinking beer after beer by myself and I almost fell asleep a few times between sets because there was no one to

margaretnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3913448.post-1076175227362153952004-02-07T09:33:00.000-08:002004-02-07T09:36:09.250-08:00

I wrote a poem today and I think it is good. I am suddenly, for a moment, filled with an intensely sharp joy. This is what it is to be happy. I will post a draft soon.

margaretnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3913448.post-1076173494470336042004-02-07T09:04:00.000-08:002004-02-07T09:11:13.843-08:00

Never have I wanted to forget a single detail of any dream I've had. Never, until this morning, because last night I dreamed of hell. I honestly woke up with the sickest feeling in the depths of my belly and the lasting impressions of the wasteland I visited singed into my mind. I dreamed that the place I love more than anywhere in the world had become my own personal hell. My island paradise,

margaretnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3913448.post-1076129913138264632004-02-06T20:58:00.000-08:002004-02-06T21:00:53.873-08:00

Joni Mitchell - All I Want I am on a lonely road and i am traveling Traveling, traveling, traveling Looking for something, what can it be Oh i hate you some, i hate you some I love you some Oh i love you when i forget about me I want to be strong i want to laugh along I want to belong to the living Alive, alive, i want to get up and jive I want to wreck my stockings in some juke box dive Do you

margaretnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3913448.post-1076125982492646852004-02-06T19:53:00.000-08:002004-02-06T20:02:24.373-08:00

do you ever find yourself reaching for someone who isn't there? I don't mean someone far away or in the past, but someone who you don't actually know. On nights, like tonight, when I am feeling very low and very alone sometimes an image will form in my head of exactly the person who would be able to comfort me, the person who can understand me or allow me to be misunderstood. I realize that I do

margaretnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3913448.post-1074812776751324502004-01-22T15:06:00.000-08:002004-01-22T15:08:18.030-08:00

Today, while searching Google i found the lyrics to a song with the same title as my blog. The namesake of my blog is a J.D. Salinger story with the same name. I thought these lyrics were interesting and definitly worth posting. The artist is The Promise Ring. The Heart Of A Broken Story Four in the afternoon I should be up and gone soon. This is the shirt that I'm wearing out. Torn at the elbow

margaretnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3913448.post-1074812106781477382004-01-22T14:55:00.000-08:002004-01-22T14:59:50.920-08:00

How am i supposed to deal with this always changing world, this contuninualy flowing self. I try to attach personality, image and ideologies to this self. I try to take possession of it. In our western society, everything is sacred when it comes to the self. If the self is always changing, how is this even possible? In i way out there, extreme philisophical exploration of this the conclusion

margaretnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3913448.post-1074221948661167412004-01-15T18:59:00.000-08:002004-01-15T19:01:00.233-08:00

I haven't posted in days, i know. I've been really good, great, happy, peaceful, positive etc. since i've been back to Victoria. I have been re-evaluating some things, but not in any formal sense. I haven't come to any conclusions and I don't assume I will any time soon. My thoughts have been quite scattered..difficult to follow. My mind is like a feather pillow, exploded, feathers and dust

margaretnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3913448.post-1073848021328230762004-01-11T11:07:00.000-08:002004-01-11T12:25:13.530-08:00

Man, I have a lot of complicated relationships in my life. Lately I've been finding myself explaining situations in ways like: "My old roommate and cousin's best friend and roommate's brother is dating my cousin's and his sister's new roommate, but he used to be dating my sister who is also his new girlfriend's roommate's cousin." and "my cousin's ex girlfriend and friend of mine and her cousin

margaretnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3913448.post-1073762216636892222004-01-10T11:16:00.000-08:002004-01-11T10:56:08.903-08:00

Well. I'm back. I'm home, and its great. Coming back to a foot or two of snow was strange. I left Halifax snowless and arrived to a world of white. It seemed as if Canada had flipped itself over overnight. Victoria doesn't own a snowplow, the city sold the last one five years ago (it hasn't snowed like this in six years), so the streets were very messy and slippery for a few days. Victoria is

margaretnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3913448.post-1073059122948333002004-01-02T07:58:00.000-08:002004-01-02T08:00:16.763-08:00

I don't know how to begin this entry. Coming home has disrupted all of my ideas about my life. Everything is going to be different when I go "home" to Victoria. This new year represents a very distinct split from my "old life." I absolutely romanticized Halifax when I was away, which I suspected all along. The people I am close to here are wonderful and Halifax has much to offer that Victoria

margaretnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3913448.post-1072549963965862122003-12-27T10:32:00.000-08:002003-12-27T10:34:10.356-08:00

its very strange to be home. i feel as if i have never left, but at the same time a bit displaced having no job or school here presently. I am understanding why I need to be in Victoria right now, although I really wish I could be here half the time. Halifax is so wonderful for what it is. I feel as if i'm meeting up with an ex who i still have feelings for, but it just can't work right now. it

margaretnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3913448.post-1071938371867932812003-12-20T08:39:00.000-08:002003-12-20T08:43:32.436-08:00

Home to Halifax tomorrow. There will be a lot of lovin', many mornings at the ardmore, many beer at Rouge's, fewer trees, fewer people in my family, older and bigger children, and more substances than ever before no doubt. I've never visited home before...I'm looking forward to being a tourist in my own town. I've been through a lot since I moved to Victoria. I am not the same person who left

margaretnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3913448.post-1071854835777938972003-12-19T09:27:00.000-08:002003-12-19T09:28:31.700-08:00

Hi Meg! Shout Out to cuzin' megan. hehehe. I will see YOU in three days. oh, by the way...dreamt last night of rape, murder and fire. Woke up with a big grin on my face...disturbing? noo!

margaretnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3913448.post-1071704095306300182003-12-17T15:34:00.000-08:002003-12-17T16:01:55.640-08:00

My dreams are often incredibly violent and disturbing. I frequently dream of the apcolypse, or at least my own personal apocolypse. Hardly a night goes by when I don't escape very near death. Last night was quite interesting.... I dreamt that I was stuck in a elevator with a few people I know, inside of a school, and the building was about to blow up. Somehow I escaped. I remember standing

margaretnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3913448.post-1071526147754807492003-12-15T14:09:00.000-08:002003-12-15T14:10:18.890-08:00

why my heart’s throbs each an echo of your name why then do I see myself lying still beneath you afraid of your entry afraid of your eyes watching me for signs of what is now new to us my mind is quick, free of my control, to throw me back between what will be sweet and what will hurt why I’m afraid I can’t predict if I’ll leap up and cry or fall back and shudder in your shadow

margaretnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3913448.post-1071352550495632272003-12-13T13:55:00.000-08:002003-12-13T14:34:23.186-08:00

I am entirely too stressed out with Christmas and Exams falling at the same time. My exams go until 9 p.m. on the 20th. On the 21st I leave for the airport at 4 a.m. and spend an entire day travelling home to Nova Scotia. Then Christmas insanity begins. All of the realities of being part of divorced family (now, divorced families) are magnified during the holidays. All traditions we once had

margaretnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3913448.post-1071206367786057262003-12-11T21:19:00.000-08:002003-12-11T21:20:48.450-08:00

Say Anything is on cable tonight. Somehow this movie makes everything ok.

margaretnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3913448.post-1071197071184259722003-12-11T18:44:00.000-08:002003-12-11T18:50:31.810-08:00

I have a love-hate relationship with words. Of course, I have a love-hate relationship with just about everything that I am passionate about. I wish I could discover something wonderful that truly had no limitations...all of the good things do: love, language, and life. I suppose the imagination is the only thing...

margaretnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3913448.post-1071183405736727672003-12-11T14:56:00.000-08:002003-12-11T15:34:31.390-08:00

The Postal Service - Against the Odds Gord Downie and the Rheostatics - To Cry About Counting Crows - Colourblind Leonard Cohen - So Long, Marianne Gord Downie - More Me Less You Julie Doiron - He Will Forget The Cure - Pictures of You I don't know what to think...just hearing your voice breaks my heart. How impossible it is to forget. How much have things changed? It is so difficult to tell.

margaretnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3913448.post-1071113807644534212003-12-10T19:36:00.000-08:002003-12-10T19:39:52.013-08:00

"A man is whole only when he takes into account his shadow as well as himself." "happy are they whom privacy makes innocent." "Everything we can't bear in this world, some day we find in one person, and love it all at once." "I don't understand her at all, though I must say I understand her better than other people." "She defiled the very meaning of personality in her passion to be a person."

margaretnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3913448.post-1071101869962705352003-12-10T16:17:00.000-08:002003-12-10T16:18:54.576-08:00

Does anyone else out there talk back to television commercials as if it is perfectly sane?

margaretnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3913448.post-1070994560035894532003-12-09T10:29:00.000-08:002003-12-10T16:19:15.560-08:00

Do you know that if you say 'x' ten times it sounds like sex? A six year old said this to me this morning. I spend every tuesday morning reading one-on-one with grade one children at the elementary school down the street. I can't really write much about it because its confidential, but I can say that the kids are absolutely amazing. They are so crazy and silly and sweet. They are constantly

margaretnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3913448.post-1070950662156018652003-12-08T22:17:00.000-08:002003-12-08T22:18:44.390-08:00

alright...I admit it. The trotting, orange Telus kitten makes me a little misty. I CONFESS. At least i'm broke, so advertising can only do a number on my head, not on my wallet.

margaretnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3913448.post-1070950479653474882003-12-08T22:14:00.000-08:002003-12-08T22:21:42.623-08:00

For some reason it really bothers me when people have predictable, conventional reactions to things. My roommates squeal whenever the Telus pig is on tv-and they subscribe to Telus and squeal whenever we get mail with ducks or hogs printed on the envelopes. Damn, advertising works far too well. Conventional reactions are trademark for those who do not question things. Advertising is made for

margaretnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3913448.post-1070947276011047992003-12-08T21:21:00.000-08:002003-12-08T21:23:09.733-08:00

Today's soundtrack: Joni Mitchell - All I Want Gilbert O'Sullivan -Alone Again (Naturally) Gord Downie with the Rheostatics - To Cry About Joni Mitchell - California Buck 65 - Riverbed 2 Buck 65- Gallon Drum There is a (unintentional) theme...if you look for it. Anyone care to guess?

margaretnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3913448.post-1070929757735379022003-12-08T16:29:00.000-08:002003-12-08T16:30:19.483-08:00

does anyone read this blather? hello? anyone?

margaretnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3913448.post-1070866010928484862003-12-07T22:46:00.000-08:002003-12-07T22:48:21.246-08:00

Vancouver is dirty. I just washed six or seven layers of filth off of myself after spending a weekend in Vancouver. I don't understand how anyone could live there and remain sane. Everything you touch leaves a pungant stench on your skin and clothing, strangers (very strange strangers) either glare with looks of suspision or cackle from drug overdosing when you walk down the street and you can't

margaretnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3913448.post-1070500105740418632003-12-03T17:08:00.000-08:002003-12-03T18:40:52.590-08:00

I have days of thorough appreciation for this town that is, for now, my home. Today, after art history class and a long talk with my prof (who I humbly worship, by the way), I hopped on a double decker bus and got a lift downtown. I wasn't quite sure what I was going to do with myself when I arrived on Douglas and Yates, so I headed to one of my favourite coffee shops to have a cappucino and pour

margaretnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3913448.post-1070406870566231202003-12-02T15:14:00.000-08:002003-12-02T15:45:14.653-08:00

I am bored. I am so bored, and its my own damn fault. Exams are coming up and I should be studying, but why would I want to do that now when I can save up for some last minute stress treats? The carpet in my apartment (which makes me sneeze) is worn down along my most-often-tread path. The trail begins at my bed and goes directly to the computer, to my music collection and back to my bed in a

margaretnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3913448.post-1070248284795289282003-11-30T19:11:00.000-08:002003-11-30T19:12:16.483-08:00

What would I do without coffee shops? I don't know of a less expensive, more comforting, interesting, easily accessible retreat. Whenever I need some alone time and can't stand another second of pacing around my apartment, avoiding the people I live with, I throw some books, my discman, my journal and my camera into my backback and head out the door. I sit for hours, with a black coffee, herbal

margaretnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3913448.post-1069986304817474062003-11-27T18:25:00.000-08:002003-11-27T18:31:37.936-08:00

I just had a long phone conversation with one of my very best friends. We analysed and philosophised and made wisecrack remarks to each other while she made dinner and I soaked in a hot bath. She often stimulates me to think about everything all at once and often when I hang up the phone after talking to her I feel completely satisfied as if I had just eaten a big bowl of stew with homemade rolls

margaretnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3913448.post-1069967587858539902003-11-27T13:13:00.000-08:002003-11-27T13:13:55.233-08:00

I saw many beautiful things today. First I saw a bleach spot of a sun on a blue denim sky. It was overcast, and the sun insisted on showing itself through the grey clouds. I saw a group of children holding on to a rope, which towed them along the sidewalk. They were like colorful beads or jewels bobbing along on a string. I saw a small grey cat sitting on the shiny hood of a massive black truck.

margaretnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3913448.post-1069739871308560242003-11-24T21:57:00.000-08:002003-11-24T22:06:59.280-08:00

Meg, myself and Martin after a day of surfing on Chesterman beach, Tofino BC. (Nov 15) Chesterman beach, Tofino BC

margaretnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3913448.post-1069646678271457152003-11-23T20:04:00.000-08:002003-11-23T20:05:31.263-08:00

Another Martyr Dies Tufts of tightly woven tresses Stand vigilant. The quiet quills possess sought secrets That cruel captors covet. The captor comes To the silent, silvery space. Prisoner, plunged into pigment, Spits and spatters while Captor tortures tongue for truth. A magnificent mess! Stray strands and scarlet hue Stain the silver, sacred shrine. Submerged, victim bleeds a crimson cloud

margaretnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3913448.post-1069311804489873472003-11-19T23:03:00.000-08:002003-11-19T23:04:00.950-08:00

She waits by the road For the man who delivers the news; He is always much too late. She draws circles in the dust, Scuffs her shoes against the concrete, Waves absently at her neighbour. When he comes she asks Does he have anything for her today? He shakes his head, Says he can give her nothing, And walks away.

margaretnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3913448.post-1069284356563758242003-11-19T15:25:00.000-08:002003-11-19T15:26:32.403-08:00

I have found a word for how I'm feeling: Sehnsucht. It describes a feeling of nostalgia, longing, melancholy, wonder and an underlying sense of displacement or alienation from what is desired that cannot be found in any English word... I would also like to add that if one more person says any of the following I am going to freak out: "it's all in your mind," "You have it so good, why aren't you

margaretnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3913448.post-1069281755194596862003-11-19T14:42:00.000-08:002003-11-19T14:48:16.153-08:00

In response to what Ned posted today: I think I know how you feel. I feel so much numbness, indifference, dispassion, uninspiration, deadening of the senses, "peculiar longing for nonbeing." I haven't been writing much either. I feel as if my senses are temporarly paralysed. Part of this feeling, I think, comes from the amount of drugs I smoke; too much. I also attribute it to the lack of

margaretnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3913448.post-1069269305160425142003-11-19T11:15:00.000-08:002003-11-19T11:15:40.856-08:00

I am having a mid pre-quarter life crisis...I just wish I could get a real live hug from someone I know and love...but it is too much to ask right now... Is it possible to break your own heart?

margaretnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3913448.post-1069181460321355782003-11-18T10:51:00.000-08:002003-11-18T11:00:13.263-08:00

This is where I went for the weekend: Tofino, Vancouver Island BC. The beach is Chesterman Beach. I went surfing on Saturday for three hours, and it was the most incredible experience.

margaretnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3913448.post-1069137913254331382003-11-17T22:45:00.000-08:002003-11-17T22:45:46.530-08:00

Bon soir, ma cherie. You are the peppy, benevolentAmelie! Your appreciation for life and livingcreatures mixed with your cleverness, sense ofhumour, and overall charisma make for an almostsickeningly adorable bundle of French joy! Which Odd-Yet-Strangely-Humourous Movie Character are You? brought to you by Quizilla

margaretnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3913448.post-1068843209633288452003-11-14T12:53:00.000-08:002003-11-14T12:53:58.326-08:00

My roommate, her boyfriend and I have rented a car and we're heading up island to the surfing village of Tofino, Van Island. It is going to rain all weekend, so we'll likely sit either in our tent or in our hostel, drink beer and play cards most of the weekend...but it will be in TOFINO. Tofino is beautiful, paradise I've been told...

margaretnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3913448.post-1068594682814247092003-11-11T15:51:00.000-08:002003-11-11T15:54:40.043-08:00

I picked up smoking on my train ride across Canada, on my way to my new life into which i casually incorporated the habit. The habit grew like an infectous mould in this brand new, often lonely and unfamiliar environment. Funny enough, the West Coast doesn't breed even close to as many smokers as the East-perhaps I was just being difficult. I saw the movie Sylvia on Sunday afternoon. In one of

margaretnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3913448.post-1068574887198015162003-11-11T10:21:00.000-08:002003-11-11T10:22:18.670-08:00

margaretnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3913448.post-1068573959862038682003-11-11T10:05:00.000-08:002003-11-11T10:12:35.140-08:00

Now I know why many men have stopped and wept Half-way between the loves they leave and seek And wondered if travel leads them anywhere -- Horizons keep the soft line of your cheek, The windy sky's a locket for your hair. Leonard Cohen, "Travel"

margaretnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3913448.post-1068573799882433302003-11-11T10:03:00.000-08:002003-11-11T10:13:47.326-08:00

I have some newer poetry up on my main site heart of a broken story I in the poems section. These are just scribbles, not revised poems, just snippets from my journals. I haven't been up to much poetry lately, but that is going to change very soon. Expect some better, revised poems within the next few months.

margaretnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3913448.post-1068410441868680692003-11-09T12:40:00.000-08:002003-11-09T12:41:51.356-08:00

I would give a lot today to be sitting across from you in a booth at the Ardmore tea room or by the street-facing windows of Perks, newspaper scattered across the table, me with the Review and Books sections, you with the Canada and World sections; half-filled coffee cups, yours with cream and mine with milk and honey; a half-finished crossword between us and your warm hand finding mine, a

margaretnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3913448.post-1068094506655488672003-11-05T20:55:00.000-08:002003-11-05T20:57:13.576-08:00

"I make stories. I twist up toys out of anything. A girl sits at a cottage door; she is waiting; for whom? Seduced, or not seduced? The headmaster sees the hole in the carpet. He sighs. His wife, drawing her fingers through the waves of her still abundant hair, reflects - et cetera. Waves of hands, hesitations at street corners, someone dropping a cigarette into the gutter - all are stories. But

margaretnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3913448.post-1067833046224911742003-11-02T20:17:00.000-08:002003-11-02T20:18:54.513-08:00

I sit on the stone steps, a blanket wrapped around me, with a mug of Soy milk and a cigarette. The air is crisp and cold. It finally feels like autumn. I am beginning to feel like a monk, of sorts, save the copious amounts of nicotine, cannibis and caffeine I ingest. I spend a lot of time meditating on my solitude. I've started talking to myself, narrating with bits of poetry mostly. The sound of

margaretnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3913448.post-1067724383077766002003-11-01T14:06:00.000-08:002003-11-01T16:25:30.390-08:00

in this world we have become at odds with everything. we are separated from (N)ature, separated from each other. No one can agree on anything except that we are lost. We have lost our way; on our way to greatness we have lost everything. We live in a world of ideas and no concrete faith or spirituality. If everyone dances to the beat of their own drum, are we not all dancing alone? My own ideas

margaretnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3913448.post-1067469006525223232003-10-29T15:10:00.000-08:002003-10-29T15:10:25.856-08:00

The pathway is still and quiet. I find a spot in the sun and toss my shoes and things aside. I sneak through the gardens, flowers and tree-leaves crisp and chill in the late october wind. There is sun, in patches, but it moves through the garden like a flashlight beam as it falls in its mid afternoon way. There are advantages to being lonely. No one bothers you, and if they do they are a

margaretnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3913448.post-1067449354237995452003-10-29T09:42:00.000-08:002003-10-29T09:46:13.996-08:00

a sinking feeing...as if the world is collapsing and I am left standing, without protection alienation... I lay on our giant driftwood bed. I am devestated, but no one knows. No one can know. The jet flying over our heads...she calls it progress. I am terrified. My insides are bleeding, yet I am as dry as a stone. What I had said...in the darkness. "We are walking on jewels." In the dark, I

margaretnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3913448.post-1067358611690992712003-10-28T08:30:00.000-08:002003-10-29T09:44:30.593-08:00

We walked through an old growth forest and climbed gullys and rivers, watched dragonflies dance on the surface of small pools..smoked joints...we found a field of apple trees and daisies and we spun in the dandelion fluff and blue sky, lay down in the daisies..then we climbed a mountain and watched the sun fall towards the city. We saw the mountains out over the ocean... We went to Saltspring

margaretnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3913448.post-1066697849678429552003-10-20T17:57:00.000-07:002003-10-20T17:59:25.723-07:00

damn. i mean HOT-damnity-damn. I have never before known a person who exceeds, let alone meets, my expectations. I've never known someone who is able to catch me off guard, surprise me over and over, hold my interest, make me so proud...make me so happy. It's wonderful. I could not give this up no matter how little sense it makes. I'm gushing (i could easily go on, but i will spare you), but I

margaretnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3913448.post-1066583665261969272003-10-19T10:14:00.000-07:002003-10-19T10:14:25.170-07:00

I take back that comment about being anti-social now. It's just that I was hypersocial in Halifax and I'm not used to this.....

margaretnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3913448.post-1066532045287349742003-10-18T19:54:00.000-07:002003-10-19T10:12:05.310-07:00

why won't my characters behave as they are supposed to?! I sit here, on a Saturday night, struggling with people who only exist in my mind. (really, I'm not crazy). This takes so much work..so much discipline. All I want to do is smoke a huge joint and stand outside inhaling wood smoke and damp leaves. I am so anti-social now, but content with that. I haven't been really drunk in a while...not

margaretnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3913448.post-1066441424672803612003-10-17T18:43:00.000-07:002003-10-17T18:46:50.420-07:00

As the mist leaves no scar On the dark green hill, So my body leaves no scar On you, nor ever will. When wind and hawk encounter, What remains to keep? So you and I encounter Then turn, then fall to sleep. As many nights endure Without a moon or star So will we endure When one is gone and far. From The Spice-Box of Earth by Leonard Cohen

margaretnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3913448.post-1066363434817886742003-10-16T21:03:00.000-07:002003-10-16T21:09:44.303-07:00

I prop open the screen door with a piece of scrap wood, turn over a milk crate and sit. I light a smoke. The rain pelts on the roof of the greenhouse, it clatters and echoes in the small room. I sit in the doorframe and take long drags. The red tip burns slowly down the straight white smoke. This moment offers a bit of perspective. I think about my story. I think about calling Jeff. I want to go

margaretnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3913448.post-1066346849087406222003-10-16T16:27:00.000-07:002003-10-16T16:27:29.480-07:00

it is raining...and I mean really raining. Water has been falling from the sky all night long and all day. I was awake half the night, listening to the rain fall on the fiberglass roof of our greenhouse. It falls in sheets; steady, beating. I love being awake in the night when it is raining. I am the only one awake in the world, it is such a private moment. It is beautiful. I am tired, but poetry

margaretnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3913448.post-1066343291919856992003-10-16T15:28:00.000-07:002003-10-16T15:32:04.193-07:00

It strikes me how the narrative structure mirrors such a natural pattern...rising action, climax, falling action. There are so many examples of this in nauture:::rainstorms, sex, a wave... This is probably why the structure works so well, come so naturally, and is so appealing. When it is done well I am left with a feeling of such deep satisfaction, of euphoria. Reading a perfectly executed short

margaretnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3913448.post-1066288116078534432003-10-16T00:08:00.000-07:002003-10-16T00:08:36.146-07:00

I love my friends because they will call me up, from across the country, drunk at a bar at 1 a.m., to ask me if I can remember Leonard Cohen lyrics....also because they will say (although they won't remember the next day) that I made their night...it also makes me miss them. I can't read the things you spell in peanuts from here...I miss you...

margaretnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3913448.post-106627348740809512003-10-15T20:04:00.000-07:002003-10-15T20:04:47.563-07:00

I love my roomate Meg. We're both having a below average week, and we've been moping around our apartment all evening. So, I suggest we light some candles, play some cards and get blitzed on a bottle of red wine. "Meg, let's get drunk" She doesn't even look at me to see ifi'm serious. "Sure!". What could be more appropriate on a rainy wednesday evening when I have an 8:30 class the next day? I

margaretnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3913448.post-1066005588298823602003-10-12T17:39:00.000-07:002003-10-12T17:42:49.623-07:00

here I am dipping my toes in the Pacific Ocean for the first time....at Willows Beach, Victoria BC.

margaretnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3913448.post-1066003992872231452003-10-12T17:13:00.000-07:002003-10-12T18:51:48.103-07:00

This has to be the longest weekend of my life...The most exciting event of my day has been watching the tall wooden stake in the garden blow over, taking a large bean plant down with it. I haven't been motivated enough to go out to the garden and prop it up...I actually haven't set foot outside once today. I sat in the doorway of the greenhouse to have a smoke, and the rain blew in...that is the

margaretnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3913448.post-1065546005021083682003-10-07T10:00:00.000-07:002003-10-07T10:00:05.216-07:00

I climbed into bed last night at 8pm to read Ford Madox Ford's The Good Soldier, and was sound asleep by 9:30...when my eyes began to flutter, and my mini tub of Ben & Jerry's Cherry Garcia started to melt, I had to make a decision. Should I wake myself up, put the ice-cream away, brush my teeth and make a civilized entrance into my bed? Or, should I pretend I am eight years old, curled up

margaretnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3913448.post-1065411798979878392003-10-05T20:43:00.000-07:002003-10-05T20:43:18.510-07:00

I think I am going to start updating my blog again...now that I am out West and trying to stay in touch with so many people, it makes more sense. Also, I have more free time right now than I have had in years! keep an eye out for new layout and frequent updates. Ned, I'll have to persuade you to bump me up your links list ;)

margaretnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3913448.post-913129382003-03-24T16:52:00.000-08:002003-03-24T16:58:57.000-08:00

I am craving alone time...I want to float through the world on a glass pillow, with nothing larger than a tiny mouse on my lap for company. I need to break free from the oppressive opinions of others. I'm feeling a lot of weight, a lot of pressure coming at me from all directions...I long to fly up and away, leave it all behind. I think moving to Victoria will be a very important change for me.

margaretnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3913448.post-864022262002-12-22T10:27:00.000-08:002002-12-22T10:27:21.640-08:00

Looking through song lyrics I realise that none of the old ones i was once so attatched to seem to apply anymore. I haven't felt passionately about someone in a while. I haven't had a crush. No stomach flips, no racing heartbeat, no stars in my eyes...I feel like a part of me has withered away. I used to be so passionate...and I just don't need anybody anymore. And I want you like the movies,

margaretnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3913448.post-861823522002-12-17T12:42:00.000-08:002002-12-17T12:42:22.513-08:00

i feel....worse i know i did the right thing. but the right thing is usually the most difficult thing....

margaretnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3913448.post-860455442002-12-15T14:34:00.000-08:002002-12-15T14:34:37.340-08:00

i feel....bad

margaretnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3913448.post-859514042002-12-13T08:43:00.000-08:002002-12-13T08:59:10.000-08:00

whissssk my love away..swirling into the abyss of myself, I take you in sometimes but only when i choose most times you just lie there beside me whispering things that I can't hear. I speak and you listen its a game that we play. and i let you win sometimes. i let you win sometimes. but most times i sweep the winnings into myself and I pray. I pray for my own heart. I tell it to wait..its

margaretnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3913448.post-857886372002-12-10T08:38:00.000-08:002002-12-10T08:44:25.000-08:00

thoughts settling into the spaces in my brain...it's all lining up..i'm defraging my mind..and everything really is more efficient...this process isn't crap..reaching inside my mind and rummaging around a bit..looking for the frozen bits and rubbing them between my hands to make a fire..until my mind is buzzing with warmth...initiating this change had been long overdue... your feelings and mine

margaretnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3913448.post-857512352002-12-09T15:29:00.000-08:002002-12-09T15:29:33.000-08:00

We could learn a lot from crayons: some are sharp, some are pretty, some are dull, some have weird names, and all are different colors....but they all exist very nicely in the same box. from a forward katie sent me

margaretnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3913448.post-857463692002-12-09T13:40:00.000-08:002002-12-09T13:40:51.150-08:00

And scars are souvenirs You never lose The past is never far Did you lose yourself Somewhere out there Did you get to be a star And don't it make you sad To know that life Is more than who we are We grew up way too fast And now there's Nothing to believe Reruns all become our history A tired song keeps playing On a tired radio And I won't tell No one your name -Goo Goo Dolls Name I've always

margaretnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3913448.post-856044032002-12-06T11:14:00.000-08:002002-12-08T18:24:21.000-08:00

two people falling in love under the roof of your house has got to be good karma...watching two people falling in love is incredible really. Watching people fall out of love is a bit painful..it's crazy how people can appear exactly the same on the surface when they have changed drastically on the inside..what is more amazing is being able to step outside of your self and watch yourself fall in

margaretnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3913448.post-856002652002-12-06T09:36:00.000-08:002002-12-06T09:36:25.000-08:00

"I got my freaks to the East I got my freaks to the West Let's get together... Let's celebrate... You know I can't say no to a good time with my friends Where would I be... without my friends..." -Luscious Jackson Friends breakfast at the Ardmore..walking in Point Pleasant..good good times. I've never felt more satisfied...

margaretnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3913448.post-855615302002-12-05T15:12:00.000-08:002002-12-05T15:33:25.000-08:00

"and i'm so sad like a good book i can't put this day back a sorta fairytale with you" -tori amos I can't put back those feelings. Those five days we spent together were worthy of good literature. You are my Holden Caufield. You are some of the best material I have come across yet. Don't be surprised if you see yourself reflected in a story someday. With you it seemed that every moment was

margaretnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3913448.post-855614052002-12-05T15:10:00.000-08:002002-12-05T15:10:17.000-08:00

"I fell in love with a balladeer. I saw your tongue, it licked my heart" -live

margaretnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3913448.post-855178272002-12-04T19:31:00.000-08:002002-12-04T19:33:38.000-08:00

ned has informed me that, no, posting pre-written workis not acceptable in blog land, unless it was written years ago and you had completely forgotten about it, and you stumble upon it-that day you may post it..(of course he was rediculously stoned when he told me this..do you how difficult [and amusing] it is to reason with a stoned person?) sorry if i have offended anyone. I will start to

margaretnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3913448.post-855150512002-12-04T18:31:00.000-08:002002-12-04T19:28:21.000-08:00

i don't know if this is proper blog decorum..I am filling this entry with things I have written months ago...just to get them out somewhere... Jan.6.02 I take you into myself I take you into my mind for a moment and I don’t release you for days you fill out my every thought I can almost taste you on my breath you consume my power to accomplish anything and I often find myself sitting doing

margaretnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3913448.post-854620202002-12-03T19:36:00.000-08:002002-12-03T20:01:06.000-08:00

i like the idea of someone's heart travelling around on a bus...like it's lost...or the person doesn't have a hold of it anymore..someone or something has taken that hold away....waving after a bus as it pulls away...chasing your own heart around..throwing down your hat as you watch it drive off...defeated...bye bye bubble gum..as if the loss is just another frustrating aspect of your day.....(

margaretnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3913448.post-854564312002-12-03T17:37:00.000-08:002002-12-03T17:38:15.000-08:00

I brushed his hand away. I looked to the other people on the bus. The women with their children, old men with their leering eyes, the driver who glances back in the rear view-none of them caught my heart in their throats. A little girl choked on it, coughed and spit it out into her hand, stuck it under the bus seat in front of her. And that is where my heart remains, cushioned in bubble gum and

margaretnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3913448.post-854561032002-12-03T17:31:00.000-08:002002-12-03T17:31:23.273-08:00

I watched a movie the other weekend (I love watching movies alone by the way, especially when i'm wearing pyjamas and sipping on a white russian) and it left a temporary impression on me. I say temporary because when it was over I knew that I had to rush to my word processor and record the impression before I lost it. Fleeting inspiration is fragile. It is quickly and easily broken by a yawn, a

margaretnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3913448.post-852227302002-11-28T12:11:00.000-08:002002-11-28T12:12:26.000-08:00

The ritual involved in writing an essay is very specific to each individual. Some people prefer to begin the night before and stay up until the early morning hours to finish it. Others begin a week before it is due and put a consistent effort into the paper until it all comes together early enough the day before its due that they can actually select someone to edit it. I fall somewhere in the

margaretnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3913448.post-851891522002-11-27T17:47:00.000-08:002002-11-27T18:54:19.000-08:00

i'm new at this blog thing...it all started with Ned. He introduced me to the blogging community about a month ago. I read his blog faithfully. One late night when Ned and I were both writing overdue essays (read: chatting about life over icq and comparing word count rather than actually doing work), he sent me the link to his friend Ben's blog: It is 2 a.m. I am sleep deprived. I have not yet

margaretnoreply@blogger.com0