Loulou; or, The Domestic Life of the Language

so here i am, back to this old song and dance.

i guess i should conjure up something to say, since i know that manderz is checkin this shiz out now.

speaking of which, the same manderz panders that i successfully accosted immediately after getting kicked in the shin. by a girl. who felt certain that the couch was big enough for three, and two was not yet enough.

my brain tells me i like learning things the harder, more roundabout way. i am emma from atwood's walking on water...

i refuse to die in such a stupid way....she didnt want to offend, but to merely disengage...in deference to the local horror of legs....usually married and awful as well..rational men she can look up to, and so she adores, one after another, men who have excelled in their fields, frequently with ruthless egoism, when the chips are down they have no real time for anyone else...the rest of us have more self-protection...she was a one way specialist, she disliked going backwards...rapidly falls into stock postures in times of stress...


alas, i am sleepy and rushed

make good choices.

born to morning frost

as long as quasi-strangers continue to approach me in the streets, in stores, in various types of terminals, in restaurants, in bathrooms, while volunteering, ad continuum, and tell me about -

their crappy day at work, how i but slightly resemble sarah mclaughlan, how i must obviously not be a montealer (x3), their HPV, their dog, their love for russian hip hop, their love for the martial arts, their love for leonard cohen, the intensity of the weather on various scales, why some black men are drawn to white women, the ethics of sex between an older man and younger woman, henry miller, and if i will go to florida with them..

i will never be alone.

1935:
The idea of lag is invented. People rush home for a cup of tea, possibly a biscuit of some variety and to ponder the purpose of lag.

i'm missin' on that which was once, not too far back, vast, open, space. space in general is a niceity im fond of. today i saw so many faces, so many bodies preoccupying precious space, and messing with my sense of reality.

please everybody go home, or else we'll have to begin colonizing new lands and appropriating new space so i can hack it all better. im filled with mostly bittersweetness.

rain in the winter seemed far less daunting on the island. i remember the mass preparations for the perma-wet, the soaking shoes, the unusually strong wind, and taking it all in stride. "hi dad, its raining today (again), but that's okay. i dont mind. its alright"

yeah, yeah.

living amoungst the greeks who lurve their suburbs. tunnel communication, (welcome back), learning to be still, forgetting where my thoughts went, wishing i was you, et finally understanding the grandeur of company and living unalone.

storytime is dead these days, kids.

allt i lagi. as smari would remind me.

etet ettt, SKAL / bonne fete mr.Bowie.  let's dance.

home-isms

the shadiest of characters come out in the night. and so we frolick.




in my most brutal honesty, i have nothing spicy in the least to report, other than that I will admit that Smitty does in fact have some wintery nightime appeal about it. everything's better when you can go away and come back.


shane had a birthday, which he was obviously pretty pumped about.

we seem to operate best in doubles in my family.
Smiths Falls is the closest i'll be getting to Finland anytime soon.
so embrace!
someone thought we needed alot of snow.
steamy shiz. do not mistake for geothermal activity of any kind.
ghosts, chocolate, and water tower

from my room : : : : :

meanwhile, I'm trying to think of bouts of literary madness for Jesus Christ, I'm Crazy Again. the problem is, im feeling less crazy and extrodinarily complacent. fear not. i have faith that Christmas day will indubitedly provide many examples of the contrary.

zzz

life has been seriously simple as of late. what do you mean i dont have to cart around this backpack? what if i want to? a bed? my bed? nonesense.
one week since my quasi nomadisms have ceased and i am very, very .. static?
dessert-like reading saves the day (hornby to the rescue)
my time has run out as being something of a commodity at home.
you're still around?
okay i joke a wee bit.
in other unsightly news:
heated debates over Oprah and Obama. (sometimes, i care just enough). why CNN can kiss me ass. and general angsty matters.
during my recent retirement from life, (which i can't seem to just soak up),... /// (amongst the mounds of snow), i have come to two important conclusions. 1. i want to rid myself of medicalized femininity in order to free myself of all which is evil. imagine! i'm all over it.
but really. take it all.

2. i want to curl. you know. i want badly to slide on the ice and yell at people to sweep harder. but mostly have amazing balance and dexterity! fine ass motor skills on ice. fuck hockey. and superbad. jesus!

kanada, ..... ! where did we leave off....?

all i remember of the last week is mostly that of wandering, convolution, givin'er my final 190, and my spine holding out on me (good riddance).
i think it might go something along the lines of my getting somewhat (quite a bit) lost in budapest one day, drinking alot of hot wine (these two things dont necessarily coinside), watching gypsy music, being fed, (what is it with people loving to feed me, aside from just my crazy mom?) trying to call distant planets in hopes of contacting lifeforms, (to no avail), flying WAY too much, interval sleeping, nutso people, a serious loathing of plane landing, and going from +10 to -10 too fast.
so there was this one time, from ireland to chicago (8.5 hour flight) when i was at what i felt was my most painfully unkepmt and underslept after a night of pretending to sleep in the airport terminal, with frequent rise and shine encounters of buddy cleaning pretty loudly, intercom hell, and police prodding me a broom. anyway, i felt sure i could sleep on this long flight, until a girl from alaska plops down beside me. apparently, she loves to talk. in fact, she felt so inclined to go into such great detail about this science fiction novel she read (giving me the worst breakdown ive ever heard) while i struggle to stay conscious. then we fly through a rainbow, quite literally, to my eyes anyways, and wham, freak turbulance. i blame ireland. we descend a fair chunk, wobble around, i hold back some vomit, while people frantically look to others for reassurance. all i could think of was how i would much rather not die before xmas, and, with my last thoughts being that of scifi. i complacently put the blanket over my head and didnt wake up until

USA.
get ravaged by customs.

then,
Canadian soil
Halifax, Montreal baby.
and home.
i am le toast.
see you in my dreams.

west to east

tail end of dublin. will elaborate more visually soon via pikturz site.

best dog EVER. sorry mugz.

what are you american? have you ever heard of the IRA?!?!

we're not in iceland anymore.

my eyes are in a permanent state of being only part ways open.

backtrack 3 days, give or take some. depending on what the hell day is it anyway? bear with me here, hungarian keyboards are fookin me up a bit.

the latter half of Eireann (dublin city love) tamed down a bit. but i stress the a bit part. i met some nice irish people on the plane to dublin, and the decision to meet up with them again downtown turned out to be a fabulous idea. i scrapped couch surfing host numero 2, who seemed a bit high maintenance in terms of meeting times, being a laywer and such, and opted for the city outskirts of Blanchardstown with my new friend who spent a year in iceland doing similair work as me, and his mom, who is like the rest of the breed in ireland, ...amazing verbal skills. saying that the irish are fabulous story tellers is a huge understatement.

anyways, i was spoiled to all hell here, and the poochy is theirs. i had my own room (with a BEDDDD) and got what i would like to call my best sleep in months there.

fast forward past black tea and various meat products for breakfast, irish coffee for lunch, and black beer with supper, and i end up somewhere along...

get on bright yellow ryanair plane, fight people for a seat, imagine dying on a bright yellow plane with these othe crazies, and wake up in budapest.

Orsi and her friend meet me at the gate, and swift me off into the maze of a dark and beautiful city at night. beautiful.people.everywhere. we go out, have a gas.

i am becoming exceedingly great at sharades, and guessing what people might mean, speaking slowly and clearly, using hand gestures maximally, and filling in parts of english sentences. gabby and i (orsi's friend) are able to communicate with almost no talking, incohereantly anyways. another example of this is last night when we went for dinner at orsi's parents in the country side, (who, might i add, obviously fed me to the brink of explosion, like all other hungarians i know are as successful with). anyway, amazing dinner. such an array of foodsies im certain her mom spent the entire week pre-paring and fladgulating over, and over dinner, i found myself even being able to understand parts of the non-english exchange, (which was most of it) just by the use of flailing hands and facial expressions. however, you dont want to give them the impression you actually understand what the eff is going on, because then they ask you something in hungarian. this doesnt work. direct address equals breakdown!

more exploring today.

love zee magyars.

hearts.