Banana smoothie

Who needs a recipe for a banana smoothie, anyway?

You’d have to be a freakin idiot

akdsf

Installment one

there was I Think

a quiet suggestion from the office of brane

going, write a memo

write it in a letter,

Therefor,

you Are.

I yam.

The brane muscled its way in quicker than speed;

it was a big brawny bully.

It ticked n wriggled impatiently

when can we go on a journey, muuum; take me on a journey

wont you take me on a journey

please we take a journey.

Ok, royally

importantly

we indulged it

we wondered where rasputin’s penis was, looked it up on the wiki

What? There was a jar with something in it

but dick it was not

It was

a sea cucumber!

How could there be

a greater marvel?

Rasputin’s penis was

notorious in Petrograd

however it was

of ordinary size and character.

Vagina dentata,

it had a certain ring to it

dentata

teeth

it flowered with power

and swallowed the slippery salamander

Such a bully, who’d a thought

By gum – those fangs!

Oh she doesnt care udderwise,

She aint a nihilist for nothin, sir!

Why you surprise? Just a rainbow after all

They fade away quick as they come

and rain, and rain, and wind, and sun

She scowl at you with the style of her smile

Ooooh lookout, its a wittgenstein revival

light the wicks, flick on the floyd,

forget about the Dick for a sec

ohyehalreadydid

Oh fuck oh oh oh

quivering stipule of

oh fuck oh

tasting little bee legs are

tickling the stamens

Oh Shit! God! It was brilliant

It shot through me like a bullet

straight out the other side

leaving cartoon rainbows behind

silk threads of spider spectrum

beaming through the wall

Oh fuck,

My heart can’t beat to take it all

I will surely ’splode, the sunlight

lapping on my sand

and gentle crawlers nestle

in my hands

that open like a dead man’s grab

The release is complete, you cheeky sprite

god filling cups with ecstacy!

No wonder i need to wrestle you down

and roll in you

O world,

You are too bright a place,

I needn’t bring my coat.

more oBservations, mostly of the narcissistic variety

1. If i wear sunscreen, it might give me cancer. But if i don’t wear sunscreen, I might get cancer. Even if i don’t get cancer, i will certainly die.

2. Many of us are preoccupied with this weird thing called sex, that is akin to doing a really satisfying shit.

3. I wish i had a rainbow suit. Jumpsuit, leotard, tuxedo, whatever. Also, an old fashioned swim suit. I mean the real old fashioned ones. With the red and white stripes and all. Fuck yeah. Old timeyriffic.

4. I get a little sparkle of glee when someone uses a jaunty, unexpected, perfectly fitted word.

5. I spent $30 on a blond wig, just to see what it was like to be blonde. I think people treated me more suspiciously. But, it is impossible to tell if the cause for this was my blondness, or the fact that i was wearing a wig.

6. I am trying to de-stigmatise talk about menstruation by talking about periods a lot.

7. The berries of the totara tree are edible. However, i heard they taste like turpentine. Coprosma berries though, are also edible. and delicious.

8. Here is a song that my friends and me composed when we were 9:

“Why is the sky so blue / like a velvet cushion so bright/ why do the stars shine brightly / in the middle of the night?

Why do i ask myself these questions? Whywhywhywhywhywhywhywhy? There are some things that you just don’t really know….”

If you want to know the tune, i will sing it for you in the best soprano nine year old voice i can muster.

As much as i feel like a showoff/lameass every time i write a blog post (how presumptuous of me to imagine that somebody might like to hear about my mundane little life) i am going to do it anyway. Cos yup, i feeeeel like it and i want to write things, cos writing things amuses me.

I work in the botanic gardens now. They let me become an apprentice there, probably cos i was so gee golly whiz enthusASstic about the idea of watching/helping things grow. It. is. fantastic. I suck at it, but that’s okay because i have only worked there for nine days so far and it is good to do things that you are not that good at. Like sawing baby trees and stuff. I have decided that to succeed in this vocation it is necessary for me to become a BEEEFCAKE so i am using this as an excuse to eat lots and lots of food. Food is yum and i love it.

It is very selfish of me to write a blog of this nature (ie. yum, i love food; isn’t stuff weird/charming; how about that universe) when there are people fighting and dying and starving and all that. I do feel very sad about this, also about the worlds lakes drying up and forests disappearing (well “disappearing” is a bit of a euphemism). That is when i am not thinking about my own neurotic little problems: wisdom teeth, boys, fungal infections, how long after its ‘best before’ date is it okay to eat tofu… Should I be writing a blog called “condundrums and disagreements over who gets to hang out on the gaza strip; the perplexing politics of it all” instead? Well, probably not. You would be disgusted by my lack of education about things of this nature. I’m like Socrates or whoever it was, i know enough to know that i don’t know shit. What a croc of shit, i should just go eat some hemlock; and stop name-dropping philosophers to make myself sound like less of the dumbass that i actually am.

Woooah, self deprecation anyone? I’m good at that, it is part of my self-centredness. YAAAAAWN. What about you then, eh? The unfortunate thing about a blog (particularly one that nobody reads) is that it is selfish by its very nature. There is little to no back n’ forth interaction and it is quite pointless to say “How’s your land, how’s your herd, hows your family, how are you?” when there is no reply. What if there was an interactive online community of geeks, but not just cyber geeks, but peeple you would be and are friends with in actual life, and you could share photos and thoughts and ideas and stuff?!  There is such a thing, a repugnant little meta-friend that most of us visit on a pretty freakin regular basis………………………Yawn, don’t you just hate people like me that rag on facebook and then go home and stalk their quasi-friends and exes on the newsfeed?

Enough! Next time i will talk about something less digital, and more fidgetable.

flushed faces and eyes that are alive

Hollaaah! Fuck i am blissed out these days – guess that’s what fresh air and exercise does for you eh, it’s as simple as that. Today i chopped a bunch of gorse with a frikken spade – not the greatest tool for the job, but character-building, eh? Gorse is one tree that i’m NOt so into humping.

I saw lots of baby seals today. I just about cried with happiness, the little guys were so freakin cute. Those big doey eyes. I sure do rate my seadog brothers. I also saw a few hoiho, just waddlin their way out of the ocean, and a bunch of regal, wacky looking cormorants with mohawks. Their faces were made of feathers of this electric blue colour which has been featuring a lot in my mind lately. I don’t know where this colour came from, but it seems to have some significance at the moment.

I have slept outside for the last couple of nights. i think that’s what i do now, sleep outside. it’s quite great.

THat is all.

tree porn?

Thats it. i officially have a sexual attraction to trees. Is that fucked? i simultaneously want to hug, kiss, eat, climb, enter and become the trees. I want to put my forehead on them and feel their sexy tree power. i want to speak to them in the language of tree. i want to chill with these slow slow fractalating peices of amazing thingstuff in the forest, until the moss and the fungus grow on and through me, burrow myself into the ground, sleep in it and hum away among the birdees for all of eternity…..

Wowzas! A blog entry!

Good golly, it has been a while, hasn’t it?  i went away from internet world for a couple of months and haven’t had quite the same zest for bloghood since. Since my last post lots has happened. Jordan and i left victoria and spent a sweet couple of months on hornby island, off the coast of vancouver island. Twas a blissful time of wwoofing, living in our own little cottage, reading, lounging around in the sun, and throwing the frisbee.

There’s plenty to say about that, but back to the here and nizow instead – i find myself to be back in otepoti town in my homeland of the long white cloud. Goodbye canadian summer living on the hippy island, and the beautiful boyfriend (the tears they flowed) and hello aoteoroa in all your winteryness. There were a few cold days, some ups and downs, but life is fantastic now and i am so in love with the earth that i could hump it. Furthermore, i spend my days in the best possible way, cruising around in a van and doing missions with the beautiful peeps that are my fellow members of the CONSERVATION CORPs – a five month course with the department of conservation. It has been going for five weeks so far, and the adventures have been a fun time indeed. Aah my soul, it bursts an’ is swept up in joy!

hot wax accident

I feel this is an incident worth commiting to bloghood, for ever and ever, for all of interneternity.

The incident occurred more than one week ago. It was a Friday night. The posse, along with Mr Grant Nicurity (Jordan’s dad, in town for the week) had gone down the street to enjoy some pub food and jugs of Winchester at the Tudor house.

Me, being the social recluse and vegetarian that I am, decided to skip this particular jaunt down to the Tudes, and stay at home, where I would eat an apple, hang out with buddy, and what the hell, get out a tub of the old leg wax and rip some of them long suckers out of their nice, natural, comfortable bed in the follicles of my ski

n.

I’m no expert on yanking out pieces of hair, but I have given myself the home treatment quite a number of times, ever since I discovered that shaving sucks and is for suckers and bitches. When I lived in a little room in the middle of Abel Tasman national park for a few months, with my patriarchal crusader of the logos/phallus boyfriend (just kidding jord, only just) on the other side of the globe, I developed this fascination with observing just how long my leg (and armpit) hairs would grow, if left to their own devices. This was an enlighten

ing experiment, as I hadn’t really done this properly since around standard four, when Cheyne Johnson, on the school bus one day, casually remarked to me that I had really hairy legs. That’s when I came to the conclusion that my natural body had some sort of disease or fungus that grew in the form of soft little pieces of fur sporadically sprouting from tiny orafaces in my skin. Like most other girls, I found it was compulsory to get out the razor every couple of days and push it up and down my legs like a little lawn mower.

Aaaanyway. So my hairs grew quite long out there in the Abel Tasman. I was good and feral, with a feather in my hair, and hairs on my mosquito-bitten legs. I loved it. I respected those hairs, and their right to a rich and carefree life. But, I also respected my lovely boy’s love for the feel of smooth legs against his hairy ones, so when I went to Canada, I made a compromise. I started waxing my legs occassionaly, so that at least Jordan

sometimes gets to have a silky-legged girly friend. And to be fair, I do quite enjoy the velvety smooth feeling of female subjugation myself.

That all

is some history of how I ended up on the floor of my kitchen on this particular occasion, this Friday night before last. I had just finished off the end of the tub of wax I used the last time (thrifty woman that I am), on my right leg. So the other leg was still all lustrous, about to join its smooth friend, as soon as I put this new tub of Nair Tahitian Gardenia into the microwave for two minutes. The booklet was all “HEAT THE WAX FOR TWO MINUTE

S AND THEN STIR IT WITH THE SPECIAL PLASTIC TESTING THERMOMETER AND IF THE SPECIAL PLASIC TESTING THERMOMENTER DOES NOT GO HIGHLIGHTER PINK THEN MAYBE YOU CAN PUT IT IN FOR A TINY BIT LONGER UNTIL THE WAX MELTS PROPERLY BUT ONLY PUT IT IN FOR THIRTY SECONDS AT A TIME AND KEEP CHECKING O

N ITS PROGRESS ALL THE TIME TO AVOID HEATING IT UP TOO DISASTEROUSLY HOT WHICH MAY CAUSE SERIOUS INJURY.”

Accounting for our ghetto microwave, which took like five minutes to heat up the previous quarter of a tub of wax, and also accounting for my slightly impatient nature, I put this shiny new fresh tub into the microwave and pushed the start button, thinking to myself “well, if the wax is too hot, I will just wait until it cools down,

and at least it will be completely melted, cos that last tub took so frikken long and it was all goopy and this way it will be nice and smooth and I will put it on my legs and then I will rip it off and then my legs will be nice and smooth.” So that was my reasoning. I don’t know how long it went in there for – not that long. Maybe four minutes but okay, it could have been longer. I wasn’t paying much attention.

Now, an impo

rtant precursor to the accident which you know is coming, is that our microwave is located in quite an awkward position. It sits right on the summit of a very high fridge. I have to stand on my tiptoes to push its buttons. So when I reached up to grab the tub of molten wax, I didn’t have a very good grip on it. I just skinnied the flimsy little plastic tab that was attached to its rim between the thumb and forefinger of my left hand.

It is funny how time works. It is supposed to be moving along in these evenly lengthed increments, like the hands of a clock. But of course it is not like that at all. There are some things that go very slow: for example when you are working at a mussel factory, putting the mussels inside a bag which goes inside a little box, which hoons along a conveyor belt and then goes inside a big box, and you just keep doing it, all day long. Things like that go very slow, and don’t try to tell me that a certain number of hours went past or whatever because that means

nothing in the world of solipsist mussel-boxing.

Also there are some things that go very fast, like when you are chewing the fat with your best bud or your loverboy/girl on the telemaphone and you look at the clock and three hours has past even though you thought it was about twenty five minutes.

And there are some things that seem to stand outside of time altogether, like when the sun has gone down and you stare into the flames of a fire for a bit and all of a sudden the sun is coming up again. Or like what happens aft

er you drink tea made from magic mushrooms.

The microwave-wax incident was one of those outside-of-time kind of things. All of a sudden I was just dropping the tub of (bubbling, boiling) wax on the linoleum floor and I was looking at my hand where the wax was still spilt.

I probably t

ook the amount of time it takes to say “FUCK”, and look incredulously at ones hand. I walked into the bathroom and looked at my hand which now had this weird plasticy yellow blob melted onto it. I didn’t know if I should peel it off or not but it looked so awful to me, so nauseating, just sitting there on my hand like it had decided to move in for good, that I felt I couldn’t do anything but just yank the fucker right off and hope for the

best. So I started peeling this horrifying layer of yellow Nair glue right off there, hoping to reveal my nice normal old familiar hand. But instead I met with something which was very pink and a lot more slimey.

I walked into the living room and convened with Buddy for a while* about my hand and my silliness, then I went to the bathroom and ran my hand under the tap for a long time*, also trying to stick my chin under there because it had also been splashed with the stuff in a couple of spots. By and by I realised I had begun to feel quite sh

aky and shock-like. After unsuccesfully trying to reach the roommateboys on their cellphones a few times, I stuck my hand in a bowl of cold water and bravely marched out into the night, down the street and into the swinging doors of the dirty old tudor house pub.

There I found the whole crew of housefriends and Jordan’s papa, a good guy to have around with his thirty years experience working for the Regina fire department. So Jordan drove me to the hospital and they bandaged me up and gave me a bunch of painkillers and a prescription for more. But I didn’t even fill the prescription because I

am such a hardass. Also they put my arm in a sling. That was pretty rad.

I got to play doctors and nurses for the next few days changing the dressing on my hand and watching the healing process of the wound through all its stages of juicyness. It was an interesting week of working, because in both my jobs I would meet a new person every thirty seconds who would inquire after my hand, give me their

good wishes and hand-healing advice, and tell me their own burn stories. I had a pretty nasty scab chin for a few days, but I didn’t get many comments or questions about that part of me. I suppose it is impolite to ask people about their face scabs. Especially if you are Canadians. Hear me now Canadians, you are TOO FUCKING POLITE. You should ask about people’s face scabs, so they can tell you that they do not have a particularly bad case of herpes simplex.

Also during that week, I got to bike to and from the hospital a couple of times, for post-burn nurturing. The weather was sunn

y and it was most pleasant. I do like bicycling.

The burn is not bad now. Two weeks later, it is just a red crusty blob along my finger. I can make coffees and wash my

hands and expose it to oxygen and everything. LUCKY. Let’s just all take a moment to contemplate our hands, and give them some gratitude, eh? Ready?

(No-handed people, sorry, just sit this one out. Sorry about that).

And….…

……………………………………………..

………………………

…..

………………………………….

Great.

I was about to apologise for the long-winded, self indulgent story, but then I remembered, this is a blog, and you CHOSE to re

ad it, bitch.

Poo poo wee wee

Wee wee poo,

Poo wee poo poo

Wee wee poo.

Biking; street people; flossing

Woah! A blob entry! Sorry i haven’t written for a while (i’m sure you’ve all been checking the site daily, in hope and anticipation). I guess my badass rockstar life is just tooo busy for old bloggy.

I still live in Victoria, working the two jobs, and riding around on my fucking awesome bike. See plate 1:

(Plate 1. My awesome bike)

It is rusty all over (matches its sexy copper frame) and is extremely hard to ride. i am evolving hammys of steel to help me adapt to this life of tough riding. i’m pretty tough now; i use my toughness to squash Jordan’s head on a daily basis.

i live in a tiny room in a big house with lots of people. We’re all chums. We have good times, drink beer, get high, and create mountains of dirty dishes. My roommates have their own landscaping business. Jordan has a job delivering lights. We barely manage to pay the bills but hey, mo’ money mo’ problems right? There are tons of people who call the streets and alleyways of Victoria their home, so who am I to complain? So i’m walking through the streets to my $9/hr job. Woe is me, i make nine loonies an hour. But on the way to my job, i pass five bundled-up mounds of sleeping-bagged street people, just trying to get to the land of nod, amidst the bustle of business people with takeaway coffee cups, and fellow street folk with crack habits.

Yesterday i went to the dentist and got the second root canal i have had since being in Canada. i kind of enjoy the dentist in a masochistic kind of way. Its an exercise in trying to calm down, when everything that is happening makes you want to tense up until your brain pops. This influx of canadian dental work makes me a little worried that my entire set of teeth is about to rot out of my head. Also i am feeling a bit silly for only having flossed around twelve times in my entire life.

Okay, well, bye for now.