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Feb 2011 transcription   
07:04pm 06/09/2012
    Clara Bow's gift-bow lips.
  Oyster Boy.
  Goose skin and clam hands, but it's too nice outside to shut the windows.
  Amongst the nicer days of late. There's a concordance, settling out (and sorted out) - anxiety weaned.
  Got two A minuses under my belt so far this term. I [feel] I did well for K___'s first test, though I should have brushed up on boundaries and ethical values.
  Tingling tips of the digits - no tactile tension. No sir-ee BOB! [BINGE OUR BRAINS! BOMBS OVER BAGHDAD!]
  There is light and cognitive contortionism that gives the arches cramps. Where pointe gives way to blight. [Dr. Blight and general anesthesia; tight and white]
  Confines and the apparatus of liberation. Mindfulness and knowledge, making Pisa parallelograms of paradigms. There are ways (out, around, toward) - they are fine.
  Cost, worth, and value. Lettuce ration a sandwich, with three parts to cut and evaluate which: nourishes, satisfies, and crumbles best. ratiol rationalize rationalize rationalize rationalize tantalize
  Proud twerps. Twits!

  Milipedes in mustard jars.
  A trophy and the living room floor.
                           For you, anything. Or a little less.
  A trophy!

  What would I have me do? It don't always be really gorgeous [outside].

  Sounds good, don't it? malingering
                                   (headlining, mainlining)
                                   Loose Associations and the Flight of Ideas!
                                   Not lucky, has merit. Tokenism. Tolkein's epics. A storyboard spanning a shitty apartment's walls. Rapture. Getyourself together. SHAKESHAKESHAKESHAKESHAKESHAKESHAKE Oh, auld doll, hemmin' and hawing.

Blaaaaaaack orrrrrr white?!
Blaaaaack orrrr white?!
blaaaaaaaack ouuuu blanc?!

  Queasy, panic-sticken. Ill at ease. No more escapism as a part-timer in two worlds, no sir-eeee BOB. MED conjectured "Too much headspace?"
  I had to agree. Reasoned I'd much more rather understanding perceived predicaments rather than have them haunting me with elusive coattails whipping around sharp corners.
  And then - that dogmatic warning - don't go seeking higher ground. You'll climb, and it'll crumble.
  What about 7:7?! Is that only applicable to people, places, and things?

  PEOPLE: Bettina, Kyle, Mama
  PLACES: school, C4, "home"
  THINGS: the phone, paper, pens

  Thought: Struggle, peace, struggle
  Feeling: Shitty, okay, shitty
  Action: whine, write, face-pinch

  These here are shitty triangles. They are rounded. As in, sans points. As in, tangential without end. Labyrinthine.
  No hair no where no care no where fo' dat hairbrush!
  Man, I really dislike who(/what) I think I've become. Paranoid and wanton. A thing that settles. Heavy debris in bouyant goings-on.
  Really? Dregs rolling around the bottom.
  What was that other time I got to believing I'd sold myself short? Some man I went and walked away from. And that was it, I think.
  And now. What's the fucking difference? My name's on the lease and he budgets poorly? I don't wanna go back on the bus?
  'Cause I'd rather move and generate some exogenous heat than wait.
  And here I am. Waiting for things to differ.
  Silly rabbit! Get doing, get going, gogogo, pleasepleaseplease

(Allo? )

06:26pm 03/10/2011

     How would you advise me right now?
                                                                        Learn how to blow your nose.
                                                                        Do your laundry.
                                                                        Save your money. Travel.
                                                                        Buy local.
                                                                        Endorse art.
                                                                        Talk to Brian. Listen, even.
                                                                        Fuck bad bitches.
     You'd have been older. Changed, probably. Maybe you'd have been nicer to your brother and he'd have no reason to badger me.
     Zine, I miss me. You'd probably call me on it and demand to know, "Why in the fuck?" or an answer, period.
     Tell me I'll be okay, that
     I'll be fine. In the right.
     That walking like a cat proves feline prowess and cunning and

(Allo? )

11:47am 26/07/2011
  My livejournal's turned into blood drip tracking and secret whining. Perhaps it's time for a touch of transcription.  

(Allo? )

Imam Ali's Peak of Eloquence (1984)   
04:45pm 16/03/2011
  Know with certainty that you cannot achieve your desire and you cannot exceed your destined life. You are on the track of those before you. Therefore be humble in seeking and moderate in earning because seeking often leads to deprivation. Every seeker of livelihood does not get it, nor is everyone who is moderate in seeking deprived. Keep yourself away from every low thing even though they may take you to your desired aims, because you will not get any return from the respect which you spend. Do not be the slave of others for Allah has made you free. There is no good in good achieved through evil and no good in comfort achieved through hardship... If you cry for what has gone out of your hands then also cry for what has not at all come to you.  

(Allo? )

Failed wishlist for Kim   
05:02pm 16/12/2010
  "Really? I don't want anything, really. Some peace, maybe."
"Think something up. Write it down. It doesn't mean you'll get it, but it'll give us an idea! Write it down!"

- black ballpoint pens
- baby memo pad-type notebook
- cigarettes (Export A green, kings)
- beer (Fort Garry Dark)
- 1 needle and thread (dark. Black, brown, prune, whatever.)
- Oh, a small-ish traveling mug!
- socks
- Man, all I want is things past so's I could act more accordingly.
- And good health for Ellaina (and Betty and Patrick. And David, at that. And for my ma and pa, too. And their peace.).

(Allo? )

To do:   
12:27pm 08/12/2010
  i) Fuck bad bitches (all them nights when I never had bitches - now I'm all up in that ass, bitches!).
ii) Master MSPaint. Really make it do what I want it doing. Also, dividing decimals on paper. Master that.
iii) Keep December from withering into rousing, reading, working, chatting, napping, drinking, fucking, showering, reading, sleeping, and repeating. Variations don't count. 
iv) Finish a piece. Maybe submit.  
v) Quit being a baby.
vi) Be a bad mamma jamma.

You know, rather than ,

. N'aw mean?

(3 say... | Allo? )

01:17pm 29/11/2010
Fuck my motherfucking

There it went. I'd gone and performed at what I thought was my best. Diligently, mind you. Didn't partake in extracurricular nor social activity outside the triangulation of home base, school, and work. Stayed up late, got up early. Didn't accept dates. Didn't show up with free entry or promised bevvies. Stayed away from family and friends. Really adjusted them normal variables, because I hadn't in the past and it got me shitty grades that made me ache (a certain mental dysentery).

Instead of thinking hard and wishfully, this time around I went and executed them hard wishfuls! Cried every other time I spoke on the phone with my ma and sister 'cause my heart hurt for 'em so!

Went at it hard, man. Did the right thing, man.

Ate dirt, man.

Motherfuck. Four years have done been stretched to five. I'm young, and the three months feel a waste. The rest of it will be time to hone, though, right? This is God-given, a blessing, because what I spat out upon testing wasn't remote memory, but recent, right?

Time to make recent memory remote. Right.

(Allo? )

ELEMBIOSTATSI c. Spring 2010   
01:38pm 28/10/2010
She used to work in a diner
Never saw a woman finer
Grew up in a small town
Never put her roots down

Lets just pretend I did poorly because I had 2 pints and was working on rusty gears, okay?
Soon to be revisited once we get to the next floor.
(You shouldn't have that answer key so close at hand).
                                                                               Get it away.

To do:
-bike home
-jerk off
-jerk off in shower?

Where x = 7, P(x = 7) = 0.02, which is 28% more than the proposed percentage. The implication: that shit's flawed, man. Don't play tricky with your problems, Khan, 'cause I'll solve 'em, mo'fuckuh, UNGH! IMPALA!
c) P (4 ≤ x ≤ 10) = Far too large a number for my liking at this moment in time.
I wanna go home and look at the TV.
Neck massage:
"Perhaps you need one more than I do."
"Maybe. I just wanna touch you."
Where time is widely considered money, it's safe to assume time spent on nothing a gift to be accepted freely (sans strings. No strings allowed!)
_____ vs. _____
_____ versus _____
_____ as _____
Double double this this, double double that - double this, double that: double double this-that!

(1 say... | Allo? )

the 5th of July transcribed:   
04:04pm 10/10/2010
  A done-nothing of nineteen years has washed her hair once in the last fortnight. She'd been on a haitus from societal obligation, watching and reading text and images for its duration. Something was in danger of atrophy, so she contacted her boss and asked, "Can I come in tomorrow?"
The response was, "kk@ 12."
She vowed to wash her horse tail before she turned herself in to the night, and maybe shave two limbs.
Even with a hat on, it wouldn't do to make and serve food with debris nestling among the reeds. Her conscience would ride guilt trains every time she dispensed asiago or icing sugar.
Her mother would concur. Her sister would proclaim, "That ain't right." Jiminy Cricket gave some kudos, letting her know she had decided upon the conscientious path.
"But what about Robert Frost?" her cat hissed, wrestling with a hairbrush.
"Forget Frost," she told him. "What d'you know about that canon, anyway? You're into contemporary schmoets."
To mellow herself down for good, restful stupor, she researched dissertations on the poem. Once sated, she agreed. "You're doing the right thing, Harriet."
She balled up with an old paperback, the spine of which hadn't been creased. While she had read it a few times, her intrinsic eye ate up the paragraphs as if the count wasn't at eleven.
Harriet let it sit once she reached her favourite chapter and stretched. Thinking she would hang out the window for a cigarette, she gasped.
Rather than pumpkins' flickering interiors, the world beyond her third-storey awning was blue (like pants for babies, or the walls of their rooms).
"Shit," she exhaled. A clock told her quarter after four; she knew it was five-fifteen.
Knowing she wanted to be sharp and on balls (the ones of her feet, like a laser beam) for her quasi-debut into the world, she decided to save the chapter for the commute to work. It would distract her from dreading the shift's potential for awkward encounters and anxiety seeds' growth.
She balled up again for a power nap.

She woke to Larry knocking over the reading lamp on the stool that served as bedside table to the couch she slept on, so perhaps it was merely an end table.
A clock told her six and her phone blinked, squinting a missed call through its eye.
Knowing the nap wouldn't serve the laser beam dream its full realization, she decided to lengthen it.
Noon was five hours away. Justice would be wrought.

She woke to Larry pulling on her locks.
He had beaten the hairbrush and pretended to penalize it with an attempt at straightening out Harriet's nest.
She was sure it was a filthy fight, that the match's probability of fairness was low (and ridden with low blows).
Larry's chest jutted, a la trumpeters, as he observed the brush's defeat. She thought his posturing a robust estimator.
Her phone bellowed and she reached for it. Through poorly muted snideness, she asked, "Yes?"
"Hey, Harry, can you come in for quarter to ten?"
"Oh, good morning, sunshine! What time is it?"
"Quarter to eight."
"Yeah, probably - oh! D'you think I should take care of my hair?"
"I don't know. Are you gonna brush it?"
Harriet tugged at the brush. She swiveled its handle to and fro as she pulled. Then, she yanked.
The thing remained, a joyless loser.
"Um. I think I... should."
"Nah, better leave it, then. No time."
"What?! I've got an hour, man."
The phone cackled. "Wake up, chump! Quit dreamin'."
"Fine. See you in an hour."
"'Kay. Quarter to ten, okay?
"'Kay. Make sure you're not late."
"I'm never late. If anything, I'll be a quarter early."
"Yeah, okay."
"I am an honourable individual!"
"'Kay, Harry."
"See you in forty, then, motherfucker!"
More cackling. Then, a wheeze. "Wake up!"
"I love you, man. See you in an hour."
"'Kay. Bye."

And with that, the righteous path was quashed, leaving steamrolled asphalt to lead the laser beam dream.

(Allo? )

the 8th of October transcribed:   
02:47pm 10/10/2010
  Dearest Papi,

Stomping around in a punctual hustle.
Hustling for a dollar.
Hustling for someone else’s dollar (gainful employment).
Every day I’m husslin’, or dealing with somebody else’s means!
And mine? Fo’ real, what do they entail? A list: show up for work, show up for class, do well upon examination for either, prevail, and laugh a lot before, during, and after.
These is my means. They end, I’ll have to wonder about.
Rather, I’ll be left to wonder about ‘em. Security? Confidence in investment? Getting paid for [hopefully] benefitting the community as a health care provider?
Look into the cred needed to act as "guidance counsellour," ‘cause that’s the main.
I’m just getting anxious at doing well with lab exams. I haven’t practiced. I haven’t had time to show up for open labs.
I’m absent-minded, easily distracted. I’d make an incompetent medical practitioner.
The fool left with me would be intrigued by the way I appear, get a giggle out of the way I interact, and would stand around holding they dick.
I’m inept at the practice. I am not skilled. And it’s all because I don’t wanna live without money while I’m in school, so I’m working whenever I’m not in class.
And with that comes exhaustion, a need for glugging, and a lack of time to sit around with the Internet. Unless I pull together soon, I’m halfway fucked.
Wish I hadn’t made record. Like complaining of fatigue or sleepiness in the morning, there’s only room for the dark and ominous.
And heavy-footed.
How I wish for a wish to be readily granted! It’d f'sho be a grand on my balance, to be replenished weekly, but -
But only for self-sufficiency and comfort!
For a pack of cigarettes, a few coffees, and a good few beers a day, to sustain my activities of daily living!
Should a reader snort in derision, it’d be unfounded. It’d be for their reading, "Aha, pathology!" and familiarity with normative consumption.
Read: Normal?
Read: None.
McFuck y’all! If y’all must and wanna grade me on a curve, understand I’m an outlying deviant, and that norms are relative to the population.
Perform fellatio!


Sarah Pogson

Post script:

Just kidding. Perhaps acid reflux is easily resolved with frequent burping. If that’s the case with babies, it may very well be the case with me, seeing as how I’m a big baby, and that’s it. It very well may be.
So my ma says to me, she says, "You can’t be a millionaire one day and a beggar the next, okay?"
I says to her, I says, "Ma! I ain’t neither either day, okay?"
"Okay. Bye!"
"Bye, then. Love you tons!"
"Okay, bye!"
My mother gets agitated when she’s not allowed the time she feels she needs to speak.
She won’t hold her breath and passively await conversational pause whilst making note of new points you may make, man - she’ll stop you. And yell.
She’ll stop and yell for your shutting up and allowing her room for special dialogue space.
My goodness, was it ever eerie, just now, as I requested her advice as a newb to the tenant game.
Her impatience ain’t situational, it’s dispositional! The great reveal, unveiled!

Post-post script:

I was only joking, this here is all mere formatting, okay.
Can feel myself growing drunk. What I should do is desist with the indulgence, however, I paid for the beer before me and could not make its volume displace its ownself without emptying it into my GI.
I bought dat shit, mang.

Addictively yours, perhaps, Papi. Forever and ever,

Sarah Pee

(Allo? )

Sarah Pogschon as Jack Nicholschon   
01:23am 08/07/2010
  Maison Martin Margiela makes me want to be a better man.  

(Allo? )

Within the calculus of conscious thought!   
06:53pm 08/04/2010
  There's another thing comin', and its onset'll be catalyzed by observation sans acknowledgment.

I see it there with its long blonde hair! Its eyes just stare!

My rust, my rust, my rust. My character. My story and my multiple climaxes and their associated manic nadirs. My rhythm, my poor ol' ebb and flow. My dripping onto the hardwood floor.

(Allo? )

Rekindling old romance   
04:41pm 12/01/2010
  Yesterday there was a discussion of the dusty gift; talent left to idle. It included reluctance and difficulty recognizing what one's best suited for, and how one could exercise their gait donning one of them suits in given contexts.

It's the same with any other learning process, man. A standard is introduced - a general sequence that yields results for any who try their hand. There may be apprehension in utilizing something everyone's used, doing things all have done, but that's the curve, man. One must get over it. One works with it and, once familiarized, adjusts variables to better serve their ability.

Eventually, creativity strikes! Out of the paradigm and into one's own box, righted out of their own dexterity!

Almost always, a desire for an audience follows. Or a yearning to share, or bestow some light on surrounding fellows.

Struggle, peace, struggle.

Fight with viscous phlegm, then orate in a sultrily husky manner!

Sketch context and marry metaphors!

Exclaim always! Doughnut adopt dulcet tones, and fuck non-committal language!

(5 say... | Allo? )

Pretty girls and bad BO   
12:30am 27/09/2009


(1 say... | Allo? )

l'Ode à l'été.   
05:44am 05/07/2009
Knock knock knockin' on the bathroom's door.

Ouias, I am nearly certain not much can go wrong when Senor Soliel's shining. Fortune has shone its face upon me by allowing the observance of seven consecutive sunrises. How blessed are we, mang?

Superbly so.

(Allo? )

Chugga chugga chugga chugga   
12:12am 19/04/2009
  Those last lines were written amidst hours of exam prep grippe. The next and last will be on Tuesday. I cannot be through with high school any sooner. I'm pretty sure it couldn't be done with me any more readily, too.

On the horizon are days throughout which the only obligation-obligation will be cafe work, debutante days spent in Montreal, and days centered around Ellaina Arielle (her shower, her birth, her phalanges and digits being counted and enumerated and dubbed porcine).

Baby Modification

(3 say... | Allo? )

09:10pm 13/04/2009
  Fuck automatic formatting. Fuck tasks that cannot be done with ease, and fuck lost dictionaries. Fuck pens that blot and leads that smudge. Fuck writing within prescribed time periods. Fuck cold rooms, and motherfuck chairs lacking in adequate surface area upon which to perch oneself comfortably. Fuck papers, fuck books, and fuck instructors' dirty looks. Fuck silence interrupted by falling snot, rustling paper, and dislodged phlegm. Fuck cold sweat and clammy digits that cannot grip. Fuck a balled fist. Fuck lined pages, fuck blank pages, and fuck perforated pages intended to be torn. Fuck you. Fuck your mom. Fuck the entire island territory of Guam.  

(Allo? )

a Colloquial Narrative [27 mars 2009]   
05:56pm 04/04/2009
  He emerged from a doorway as I disentangled myself from four different people’s limbs. I made it two steps before I caught sight of him and halted.
What I touched, saw, felt, and said was actually a depiction of the tangible moment as it occurred, fine-tuned by a screenwriter, cinematographer, best boy, and gaffer. What he had said and how he grinned and the long, warm squeeze we shared as a salutation was made perfect by a director perched on an elevated canvas stool.
It was weirdly cinematic. I couldn’t hack it, man.
"Look, this is fucking queer and I’ve nothing to say to you at this moment. Also, my pit hair is starting to dread. I’ll be seeing you," is what I told him as I lurched for the bathroom. And I bloody did.
His loupine silhouette lurked in my peripheral the whole evening through. Someone would try to wring some contact information out of me and I’d just look a few feet past a looming head at the wolf, with whom I shared wry smiles.
"These schmucks haven’t got a chance," we thought at each other. We raised our glasses and drank to one another’s good health and spirit from opposite ends of the room, returned to nodding at - humouring, really - whichever ninny it was we were engaged with.
Eventually, I had to remove my glasses from their residency on my nose. It was too much.

The ninnies lurked in the distance. We were the closest to one another as we’d been in months. I couldn’t stop touching him.
I gave him a sternal rub and cupped his left pectoral to see if it was still larger than the other. I gripped his quadriceps and hit the space between his patella and shin bone to see if he still kicked.
"Could you stop touching me for a second?" he asked, a look cousins with imploration on his face.
I did and counted, "One Mississippi," returning to his nooks and crannies.
"I... didn’t want to hurt somebody," he offered in explanation as I recrossed his legs, throwing the right over the left to check another reflex.
I turned to eyeball the body he was referring to and wasn’t impressed. Another ninny, an old fling of his, a friend of a friend of mine.
"I worry that you’re just some body," I murmured into the space between his eyebrows, rubbing his temples with my thumbs.
"I’m not," he told my neck. "And you aren’t, either."

The place cleared out. The DJs finally felt at liberty to display real emotion. One sprinted across the space, leaping over chairs and their occupants.
"I can’t wait for burgers!" he cried, arms raised, jubilant.
The other one, packing up turntables, threw a record at him. It grazed his arm and had him howling.
I held the elbow of the friend I came with, extricating her from the death grip of a boy too short for her. Wolfboy followed as I ushered her to a cab, ensuring she didn’t hit her drunk head or trip over her own drunk feet.
"You’re a good friend," he told me once I gave the cabbie an address and shut the door.
"Well, thanks," I said as we linked arms, shoved our hands into our pockets, and started walking to a warm place.

(2 say... | Allo? )

If it looks like Spring, and sounds like Spring...   
06:32pm 18/03/2009
  don't you dare presume it is.

-19 degrees Celsius and howling gales blowing in from the North-West at 30 clicks an hour will make your tear ducts well and have things spill out yo' eye corners. All four of them.

The resultant of a Winnipeg winter:

Temperatures dipping to unheard of shit like -50 one day and jumping to -15 the next (maybe, perhaps - mayhaps this is unrecorded and quite possibly an exaggeration) means the middle sheet of tri-pane windows crack up like yours truly after six consecutive hours of essay writing.

Good Lord, deliver me! Is it too much to believe I've the vocabulary and eloquence to spit out a fifteen-hundred-word essay in eight? God-diggity-damn!

(Allo? )

08:57pm 15/03/2009
Get Learnt


the Millennium Library

the Brodie Center

These are the areas in which my life is divvied up in the fashion of the pie chart. Excluded are: transient places, sleeping places, places to shit in, et cetera.

Thank the good Lord for the advent of Daylight Savings. I don't know what the deuce I'd be up to at seven in the evening if it didn't feel like six.

(5 say... | Allo? )