Author Archives: raymi

in a forest pitch dark

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Glad to know that you’re OKish.

It’s funny, I was thinking about how this Tao Lin guy; as far as my limited understanding of who he is and what he does, he reminded me of you. Except he has some published stuff in magazines (i have published stuff in magazines too), and lives in New York, and I think it’s mostly publications in New York that give a shit about his writing.

I remember reading about his books, never his blog(s?) and maybe an excerpt from the Shoplifting from American Apparel one and thinking…I wonder if Lauren knows this guy, and how I knew about you before I knew about him.

Seems like you’re both coming from the same family of writing (whatever that means). Also, I believe you guys are the same age.

Anyway, come and visit soon. Also if you know of anyone looking for a short term furnished room, let us know. $530+ hydro/free internets. Parkdale.

Regarding haters, Toronto eats its young. I’ve been here ten years (holy shit) now Lauren, and other than ****** it’s not working for me. You’re lucky though. You’re good at what you do and people flock, whereas, I’m good at what I do and people sporadically appear.

We’ve never really been able to create that sustained growing crowd (want to be our publicist? ). Still hit and miss, and quite frustrating. My favourite thing is, “Oh, I’ve heard of you guys”. Anyway, fuck it. Insert cliched Toronto not appreciating rant here.

There’s a high possibility of moving back to Vancouver. Help my mom out with my sister, healthier lifestyle, more time to write, etc. It’s crazy to think how young we were when we met.

Take care

zulieka got it right yesterday.

What you are reading when you read a diary is the author’s love letters to herself. Page after page, fifteen entries a day? That is some heavy wooing.

Ryan Says:

I’ll echo those sentiments, minus the gratuitous self-deprecation.

I don’t know how you do what you do. Which makes it interesting.

raymi Says:

a hope, a belief system that is beginning to make less and less sense to me.

any blog post ideas/suggestions/requests put ‘em in the comments. xo.

ps. go send jamie a hug please. second motorcycle spill in too short a time.

living your life

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wait’ll you see these babes in full-on action (pissed i didn’t take a decent picture of them last nite). so comfers cozy (appys!) they’re like pajamas. stoners are smart they’re like all i need to do today is put on pajamas oh bonus i slept in them, there, done. day complete. almost bought one of those hippie yarn beach shirt things, used to have one as a teenager. it’s all coming back in guys. sorry to break it to ya.

which one did i pick? (they coil to your wrist, so elfin forest princess lord of the rings live action role play awesome).

now i miss woodstock. go visit grasshopper imports and buy your dad a tie-dye shirt. or a pan flute. 1134 Hwy. #6 North, RR#2 Hamilton, Ontario – Phone: 905-689-4079 they’re so nice there too. i’ll be going back in the summer to play some hack, maybe some devil sticks who knows, eat a soy burg. whatevs. there’s a HUGE property out back, markets, hippies for acres. go have a nice weekend drive. worth it alone to take photos in front of the wall.

i’ll put up the rest of my pics later though if you want a sneak-peak now here‘s the set.

evry’tin be irie alicia.

GET OUT! PATCHOULI! SUCH A STRETCH!

beautiful whimsical summer dresses, painful to look at.

sold out of this sticker sorry dad.

hot pink headband. pre-emptive roots dazzle camouflage.

remember through towns

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had a meeting yesterday at the hyatt with a book agent. yeah that’s right muhfuckers. dressed like a pilgrim with wild animal hair for it, why front right? maybe i will start dressing like flava flav. felt good about the meeting.

i realised i had missed the city maybe a little when i got up to leave. i think it’s an advantage being away from it though, in terms of writing. why do people living in the city want to read about other people living in the city? their lives are pretty much exactly like everybody else’s. why do i care about you bettering your urbaneness over there when i’m trying to do the exact same over here? i will go back to being angry and one-upping you now.

guy is good shit. funny. gets it.

looooove people watching at the hyatt.

love people watching period. but especially up there.

apparently i look to be ten years older than the age i “claim” to be.

a HUGE chunk of red chicken fell out of my mouth nearing the end of this thing, they took it off the bill. that wasn’t my intention at all i just wanted them (experts) in the kitchen to look at it and tell me if it was raw or not. in case i barfed the world last nite they decided to cover their ass.

huge beer stein much? 32 oz. a fuck rush hour prancing pony pint.

thinking about h&m.

went to the red rooster on a whim and look who should be there, holly and gang hey dewds what’s up? sorry had to bail the guy right before you needed to be set on fire. eyebrows waxed, MAKEUP, he looked like jonathan taylor thomas plus corey haim and he kept hornily shaking his guitar and singing songs about banging his girl and being in love and so on. wife beater, fake ‘n bake tan, spiked up hair that looked painted on. the comedy just wrote itself. oh yeah FREEDOM SCARF in the original colour style, black/white. i didn’t take a photo why?

Hey raymi,

I read the Gossip Folks thing and all the comments. Unfortunately I lack just enough motivation to sign up to comment, but I wanted to point out (since it’s completely irrelevant now) that JK has a problem distinguishing between those he likes and those who have talent. He says you don’t have talent, that you post under pseudonyms or whatever that was, blah blah blah, and then finally he says well the bottom line is I met her and I don’t like her. I think all the flames made that quite clear. But he conflates hatred for you and non-recognition of your talent.

Everyone should try your life for a little while. Try to write a significant post every single day, with as much style as you do. Try to spell everything correctly and understand English grammar enough to play around with it. People like to overlook that you post something original every single day. Or you link to a video, you know, whatev. I think this point is not emphasised enough, and you should make it known when people say you don’t have talent: hey assholes, try it yourself. And don’t make spelling and grammar mistakes like 99% of the population. You will understand quickly enough the talent I have that you don’t.

Finally, your write-up seems very cathartic. As with everything you write, it was fun to read, and it’s nice to have your blog-life story in a nutshell.

I was going to put this in your comments, but then it seemed too long, so you’re getting this email.

Allison

love kills a blog?

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not sold yet, why?

Gossip Folks (not my title) don’t forget to “like” it (star it?)

a little blurb:

I was never allowed to say, “Guess what, I’M HUUGE!” (whether fact or fiction), you just don’t do that in Canadiana, and you don’t dare ever whisper of any intent of becoming so either. Then, if and when it happens, you still shut up about it lest you jinx it. When shit is flung, you have to pretend you don’t care. You must return from whence you came, no big deal zone. It’s so easy in Toronto to just dismiss everything and everyone. People fiercely love or hate something in Toronto. I am one of those somethings.

turbo smrt

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so after japanese it was time for a tan. the salon i favour had this really young un-smart chick working the front counter. once we were done making fun of the chav-looking dude in the front we go in. sidenote: aren’t tanning salons like the weirdest atmospheres ever? just a hallway of rooms with naked people in them desperately wanting to enhance the appearance of their bodies and everything is decorated like hawaii plus the most cheesed-out posters of tanned bronzed saved by the bell styled beach people grinning down at you. basically LOVE the shit. this is pretty much how the convo with tan girl goes, like two brick walls talking it was, on account of her low-iq and my being gunned.

me: hi is a super bed available? (assumed general standard known industry term for HIGHEST WATTAGE BULB bed. shorter time required for a darker tan i mean, DUH).

her: i don’t know what that bed is.

me: (totally confused) silent staring. uhm. ok.

her: silent staring

dave: SILENT

me: ok so whatever you call ‘em, turbo beds?

her: i don’t know what that is

me: (holy shit is this happening i am too baked for this non-conversation right now desperately hoping, waiting to bump into a smart person) uh ok so like the strongest bed you know? turning to dave for help…

dave: (is a statue)

me: (wild eyed, look to girl as well as chalkboard behind her head scanning for what i am trying to express what i want)

her: (BALL FINALLY DROPS) royal bed?

me: YES

the rest of the conversation is pointless. i just felt like a prisoner trapped in a stupid vortex. time stood still like that cop who called 911 when he and his wife ate weed brownies except i didn’t think i was dying, time just went by really really slow.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V1kTZRcKZ6Y

i want your ugly i want your disease

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scott i have your tie (still). guy comes over last summer to hang but also to specifically collect this jesus tie to wear onstage while performing in his screamo whatever the fuck band (what are you guys called again?) anyway, it fell off him on the way out the door. scott rules. i dare you to try and decipher his blog. we went to high school together and i used to refer to him as the jesus cos he had the grossest beard ever and long hippie hair and dressed like a total skid. he’s fucking hysterical too. he’s a streetsville legend which is also hysterical. when he goes back to town (from montreal) he has to go in all stealth lest a bunch of wieners show up on his lawn demanding another house party. one of these epic shit shows i went to was the last time i saw louis, who died of meningitis in a spanish hostel. in his sleep. fucked no. anyway, i like to get drunk and cry about it sometimes. louis was in a bunch of my classes and he was a genuinely nice guy, cute, quiet. laughed at my shit which is numero uno in getting on my good side town. i bring it up every time i see scott wow so sharey right now. i also punched a girl at that party, who asked me to. several times in the jaw. she gave me her kurt sweater that i still wear, said she’d like to visit it sometime maybe. her hair was wild. the cops came to that party but didn’t go inside, just parked out front drinking coffees. all the kids stuffed their drugs into backpacks in a frenzy. bands were playing in the basement and scott’s parents were away. so funny. we stayed up drinking til the sun came up, then went swimming, then to golden griddle. it was an amazing time. i saw all my old friends from high school after a year of being away in brooklyn and LA and crazy. omg next picture sorry.

this sweater.

i also hid in the trunk of sobia’s car to surprise sandra picking her up from the go station. i was wearing this bright fluorescent orange kaftan from the gap and came out like a big bright flash and sandra almost had a heart attack. no one knew i’d be in town.

scott got punched by a gino waiting for this chick he was interested in coming to one of his parties and when she finally got there the cops had scott handcuffed (maybe?) totally bloody on the front lawn and his reaction was just like, whatsup? scott you are going to get so much poon-tang now you fucking owe me.

favourite japanese place yet in burlington. sakai. go to it.

they have WASH ROOMS.

fish tempura dish sent over on the house. it was amazing. i left my card. i think the waitress was confused. so were we.

never order two, it’s so much food.

spicy lobster roll. wicked. before this we had the sashimi appetizer.

wow fascinating cool. just finished writing article, post, what do you call it? so that’s all for now, party time! it’ll go up this afternoon or tomorrow.

Hey Raymi,

So, I’ve been reading your blog for years now, sometimes with absolute attention, sometimes with fleeting interest, always with a smile. I’ve written a couple of daft poems. Made the occasional dafter comment.

I hadn’t been on the site for a couple of months, for reasons that are too dreary to even begin to go into, before checking in today. Now, I don’t know you in any real sense and yet, like it or not, you’ve become like a friend. The intimacy of the story we see, the detail, the everyday energy, it’s all become a suprsingly potent proxy for actual closeness.

This in mind, I just wanted to send the tiniest bit of feeling to you, as much as seems appropriate, or makes any sense given that we’ve never spoken, over your split with Phil. I hope you are not feeling utterly, unbearably bad. I hope it’s not insanely painful.

That’ll do, I suppose. Stupid empty words really. You get the point. Which I’ll spell out anyway. It’s fucking bizarre, but I care about your life and want it to be good and so I write this email as a suttering expression of just that feeling.

Best wishes,

RMC

one thing i forgot to mention yesterday but had on my mind all day. my grandfather was in intelligence in WWII, vision too poor to be a pilot so he briefed those bomb droppers on their way out. big ups to the veterans.