fuck.
took a broodington time out.
soho soda strawberry.
guess how many times i went to reach for my pencil only to grab the teeny raw paper pinner. then i was like why am i not smoking this that’ll clear the confusion up straight away. wish i brought my fake-out definition paper to blog.
my mom leaves her spectacles everywhere.
tim burton breakfastesque.
thanks mom!
Hey Raymi, my name is Nicole, I have been reading your blog for about five years now (I can’t believe it’s been that long, and you don’t know me WTF). I don’t know how you put up with the shit you do on the blog, nevermind your own criticisms of self and such, you gotta deal with preachers and idiots and people who are not living but think they know how you should live so they speel all this shit which is laughable for a time but would begin to actually make me crazy if I were in your shoes. I have so much respect for you just being able to come back to the site, let alone still show your edited life. You must get this all the time, however I truly relate to you and can see the shits even when you don’t say it. I gots the depression, had it since I was fourteen without even really realising it. All depressed people seem to think, at first, that it’s just how life is, a vast, silent shadow over everything, having to carry a corpse around with you everywhere, eventually you just stop going places because it’s too much weight to carry (this is where Sam comes in to carry Frodo). It led me headlong into alcoholism, anorexia and bulimia, anything to make noise, to distract me from the deathly quiet and despair. I know you talked quite a bit before on your blog about sadness, mental illness, such and such addictions, etc. But you are fairly quiet about it now, and I just want to ask if you are okay, I mean, really. You don’t know me, but do we ever really know anybody? You have been such a massive inspiration to me, someone I look to when I’m feeling anything (happy, sad, frustrated, bored), you’re almost like a drug, a good one, which I can’t get enough of, haha creepy. But I can see that lately your humor has seemed somewhat forced, you seem exhausted and ghostly, not in your appearance but just the feeling I get from the writing. I hope this hasn’t come out in any sense to offend you, my intent was to just let you know that I love you even though I don’t know you and even though the internet can be so superficial and fake, you are one of the few who are real, and always will be, and my heart goes out to your courage and beauty and honesty. It would be something to see you in love with life. With a handshake, have a damn alright afternoon.
in a huge way, depression is a wonderful thing. if you didn’t have that sadness at your heels what on earth else could possibly motivate you to do life-enriching things to be content? yes it gets exhausting but it’s a challenge, it keeps it interesting. i feel like if i were to ever approach a point where-in i had everything i could ever possibly want, desire, i’d still be sad. unfulfilled. unhappy. so just go with it. learn to love it. don’t let it consume you cos that’s just lazy and unacceptable. if i can power through it anyone can. white people problems as they so politically-incorrectly say. sad is a luxury.
i have a soft pink hard on. oh man haha i mean, soft baby pink is something i can really get behind as it’s the opposite of what i was all about as a teenage dirtbag. now, bring it on. i feel like i can stop time if i keep it feminine.
my darling melodie meticulously hot glued blue sequin pasties for me while i did my age of aquarius wardrobe. burning yourself with hot glue suuucks. it sticks and just keeps burning you. i have a bad blister on a finger i picked at (of course).
sometimes my room feels like under the umbrella tree. do you know this piece of canadiana television nostalgia reference? jacob gloria iggy hahaha.
my old h&m nude bathing suit bottoms. wearing that on the beach faking people out like i’m all nakes. olga saw me at a garage sale once and exclaimed I THOUGHT RAYMI WAS NAKED. now it’s all anne geddes‘d out. ew. no offense but babies are kind of disgusting especially dozing all enchanted-like on flowers, in flowers, flowerpots… 1990 is over in case you forgot. talk to me when you’re two. nah nah, just chubby babies. lazy slobs.
this got left behind at revival.
i don’t know about this forced humour our friend nicole is getting at. this is how i talk. yeah i throw a stupid rasta spin on shit to be a bit of an obnoxious cock here and there but really, i’ve got nothing left to give. i’m living my life in the real world. doing more, showing less. make assumptions, guestimations, anything you like. i’m spent. i have zero time to myself i have been running on empty for months. i am miserable and i am happy and i am stressed. i feel like i am doing all of the wrong things. i just wanted to peace out of blogging for a bit. if i’m not here i’m out living and tweeting out of boredom. i’m hunting but i don’t know what for. so many things have occurred over the past whatever and i don’t know where to begin.
one funny thing though or rather, just an observation. an anecdote. i feel a bit of a disconnect from blogging, i’ve been phoning it in for a little bit now but anyway i’m out at work or with friends, strangers, then some insidious horrible comment will come through or an email and it’s like what the fuck, really? you’re still on me? i’m of the mindset that if i’m busy, so should be everyone else. if i’m idle then i create more, write more, blog, more and assume everyone’s the same. not so. you go get a life and it pisses lots of people off. they want more. fine.
a lot of people disappointed me for not turning up to the show i feel as though you don’t really deserve to see footage of it in a way. my blog is a luxury to our one-sided relationship. all relationships should be reciprocal. ours isn’t so, fuck you.
it’s really strange having multiple of thousands reading you daily, watching, waiting, some of those people being your good pals. you go support their shit, or whatever, you blog, they read it, and then assume we’re all squared away, caught up when really i don’t know shit about their lives, they make no effort with me. each post is like a hey what’s up please leave a message at the tone voicemail. i am here with open arms, welcoming. always for the most part so when you hammer away at people hey this shit is going on please come, they make ten thousand excuses, warranted or not, it’s still shitty. i mean don’t get me wrong, the house was packed, every seat was spoken for and there was a lot of people standing room only but it woulda been nice to see some more familiar faces scattered in there. part of it is post-show blues and part of it is i am taking a motherfucking time out. i put a lot of time money and effort and work into it, is all i’m saying so don’t ask me about it right now thank you. ok i’ll stop whining now.
sometimes i’ll be alone on my bike with jeff buckley in the sun and just feel so amazing. so amazing. or i’ll just be alone and feel like i have the entire world. i’ll have a nice smoothie and amble around and smile at as many people as possible. singing too, still singing. biking and singing hipster trap tunes and that’s how you get your rubberneckers.
speaking of i need to not wear pants around burlington more often. ego stroke city. i don’t care how fucking arrogant this sounds, i make an effort to look nice it’s nice to see it appreciated not like here where you get checked out in secret which is why i’m going to cruise a dating site with a private account. i can’t keep picking up people on the street, or bars. so much effort expended and then things are going smoothly until they blow it then you have to start all over again and it makes you feel insane.
someone wants a guide to picking up dudes. here it is: talk to them. give them your number. ask if they are single. you can tell pretty much straight away if they are feeling you. how do you tell this? if they look at you and let you bust them checking you out: green light. if you see the same cat around a few bars and he’s checking you out, go up to him. guys will hang themselves pretty quick, the first red flag sign you get means you should back off but of course no one ever does. usually it’s 5 more red flags and you’re still drinking through it. be bold and brazen but not too “yourself” not too free-spirited i dunno, don’t act but don’t reveal it all. like i have amazing tan lines which is always a bonus once and if we hit some closed quarters. do i tell the broseph about them? no, hmm, but i should. maybe i’ll put that in my dating profile. moving on.
i’m looking for more essentially, but not totally looking, it kind of just happens. i can’t remember a life before not engaging with strangers. i kept my eyes on the pavement walking from A to B and let the shyness take me and what an awful waste of time that was. as a loyal girlfriend and fiance i didn’t even want the temptation or to entertain anything at all when ultimately flirting is a massive means to save your relationship. i was such a fool. i can’t see being the person i was before ever again. i don’t even know how that life was even possible. i am astounded. everything was so mapped out and now everyday is a brand new adventure who the fuck knows what’s next. i live like i am going to die tomorrow. if i’m not blogging i’m skipping around town. good weather makes blog hits go down anyway so why bust my ass?
oh and here’s an announcement i’ll type in caps lock:
I HAVE TEN PAIRS OF TICKETS FOR FYFE TO GIVE AWAY FOR HIS MAY 23 SHOW AT THE EL MO email me if you want a hook-up. if you pass my coolness test i may get you a drink too. this song has me sold.
check yous later. as for me, i’ll be l i v i n’.
oh and ps. here’s another thing that just occurred to me, the more i blog, the less i eat, the skinnier i am. the less i blog, the more i eat, the flabbier i am. blogging = skinny. fact.
