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SWEATY HERMIT BY DAY, DAYGLO LUSH BY NIGHT
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| i horde myself. |
[Oct. 18th, 2006|12:13 am] |
| [ | Current Location |
| | toronto | ] |
| [ | Current Music |
| | elastica | ] |
ha. when i look at this there is post after post after post. when you look at this there is not. i didn't realize how comforted i am by privacy. |
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| and someone else just stepped in dog shit. |
[Sep. 30th, 2006|11:38 pm] |
this post is dedicated to the magnificent feline fudge and i - and at one time mr pazzolrama too - are so lucky to bask in the glory of, mr. GDub aka Georgie, aka lots of other names. right now he is with fudge in LA admiring his brand spankin new Ibanez (fudge's that is, not george's, though george does sorta do this irritating yodelling thing at night. it's not very pleasant. in fact, it's rather horrendous.)
these pics are from way long ago and were taken with a super fancy fuji finepix 2 megapixel camera so try to ignore the pixelation stretch marks. thank you.
these pics are also for the pants because when the pants visited LA she loved the george and his wampa paws pretty fucking good and the love was extremely mutual.
he is the finest cat i have ever met and, believe me, i've had more than my fair share of fine pussy. heh. that's for you screetus. holy shout out post. and here is some pug:
and some me:
see that red on my hand. that's one of the marks of my multiple diseases. thank god it only affects the hands. i had SHIT TO DO today and instead it was dark and grey and painful. i've changed my heroin patch, i've been gobbling oxys like mad, i've been laying low and watching bad television and i don't think i'll ever get over not being "normal" (which, in this case, means born relatively healthy and able to enjoy the benefits and opportunities a healthful youth makes possible) and i keep trying, but fuck, on days like this i'm disappointed to find i'm right back at square one. thank something not all days are like this. sure it's not fatal. yes it's chronic. sure there are a lot of things that could be soooooooo much worse and yes i'm extremely lucky in other infinite ways. certainly there are too many things that ARE a lot worse, but i still have every right to feel frustrated and mourn my losses and bitch about my pain.
did that sound defensive?
often when upset friends confide in me at some point in the conversation they abruptly stop and look at me apologetically and say something like "oh i'm so sorry for bitching about my problems... i can't even imagine what you go through everyday" - aka you have it so much worse and here i am whining about the stress of being able to go to school/work/make my art whenever i want, etc., when you can't, what a selfish twat i am - and every time i am struck by how intensely absurd this comparison is - this measuring up of one pain against another, validating one and discrediting another. i feel a rant coming on. i think it's already been coming.
everything is relative to its context. of course living with cancer is worse than having your dog hit by a car, but that doesn't make having your dog hit by a car any less painful or living with cancer any easier. they are non-relative. i wish more people would understand this distinction.
and like DUH just to be super clear, i am not claiming all negatives equal. it's our fate and responsibility to understand ourselves and each other and therefore our duty to be especially aware of the most glaring disparities in how people of this world live. right now people everywhere are lacking the coping resources to effectively deal with physical and emotional pain, whether it be the functioning depressive contemplating suicide in the richest country in the world or someone who has just witnessed the execution of their family members in the poorest part of the most war-torn city in the world.
enough ranting. think about ass now. yummy juicy sexy-ass ass ass. yeah, ass.
"Exposure to in-the-flesh nudity causes no harm. Therefore, images of nudity cannot cause harm either, except in rare circumstances such as an explicit billboard that might attract the attention of drivers near a dangerous intersection. But very little of the negativity aimed at nudity images involves exceptional circumstances.
The vast majority of nudity images not only do not cause harm, they have social benefits. Nudity depictions in the mass media help expose the diversity of different body types, and especially genital types. By desensitizing us to the exposure of genitals, nudity images also reduce the potency of visual genital aversions. If such pictures were more prevalent in our homes, workplaces, art galleries, or streets, unhealthy genital aversion would be less common."
- John Ince's "The Politics of Lust"
i can't seem to trace where that cassette link came from, but i think it was through true or highjacked. make your own tape here.
kbye.
woah i don't even know what to make of that ben johnson cheetah ad.
visit the elsewhere me |
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| made it |
[Sep. 3rd, 2006|07:28 pm] |
| [ | Current Location |
| | Tuhronnnnna | ] |
| [ | Current Mood |
| |  irate | ] |
| [ | Current Music |
| | little italy street festival (live) | ] |
Toronto you're cold and grey and rainy and the italian street festival is LOUD and wet but i like accordions. still need to learn how to really play mine rather than just fucking with it. here it is ('cept mine is cherry red ida pictured it but it's currently in LA watching fudge play video games):
flying fucked me. i'm popping oxy's like jubejubes. i changed my fentanyl patch but i don't feel the juice working. the tempur pedic is too hard so i'm sleeping on sheepskin. pug is snoring. he smells really bad. so do i. i haven't brushed my teeth today. ow FUCK I HATE YOU PAIN. i downed a bunch of 10 mg valium hoping to get knocked out but i know this pain will keep me up all night and i'll have to take so much synthetic heroin that i'll be barfing in no time.
this is absolutely, 1000 percently, no question in mind a POOR ME POST.
excess and ohhhs for all your fingers and toes, goodnight. |
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| leaving los angeles |
[Sep. 1st, 2006|12:24 pm] |
| [ | Current Location |
| | LAX | ] |
| [ | Current Mood |
| |  frustrated | ] |
i'm at the gate exactly one hour from lift off. moments till pre-boarding.
first dreaded wheelchair trip is now out of the way. sort of. i'm still sitting in it. next to a bank of chairs. only five people asked me if i was SURE i needed it. only one was bold enough to ask why. i responded with "i can only walk short distances... i have multiple genetic illnesses..." mumble mumble trail off into lameness followed by annoyance with myself for bothering to explain this shit to some ignorant nosey stranger. "OH... for YOU" airline assister said in the most obvious "i'm not buying it" tone of shit way and gave me the big bulgy eyeballs and raised eyebrow combination that screams WHY WOULD A HEALTHY YOUNG GIRL LIKE YOU NEED SPECIAL ASSISTANCE? and i remember how shit this is.
i am not being melodramatic. she really wasn't the sympathetic type. she was the kind that seem to get personally offended by other people's misfortune. maybe because she doesn't like bad and sad unfixable things because it reminds her of her own powerlessness over her own life, i dunno, but i gave in, explaining how it ebbs and flows and that often i lead a relatively normal lifestyle and that at other times i'm bedridden. immediately crept up an all too familiar self-loathing for caving into this bitch when i have no obligation to convince or explain or justify this shit to anyone. but i continued to rattle off medical terms on brainless auto-pilot until i felt worse anyway.
it may seem odd to you that i would get defensive explaining my situation and how of course i should be all pro-ability and terry fox and rah rah rah i'm a survivor hooray for me look at me take life by the neck and strangle it but before all that kicks in it's this shit that happens to you, especially when have a long history of people not believing your trauma compounded by your own difficulty in admitting it to yourself. you feel like a fraud, a wimp, a faker because you're not and you kinda wish you were. this also happens to people who are mentally and physically abused. when you feel helpless it's sometimes more comfortable to blame yourself or at least get into an uncomfortable comfortable state of total denial rather than acknowledge the powerlessness and pain and grief you really feel. it's survival.
it wasn't until i was 16 that my joint degeneration became visible to the naked eye and i couldn't open my hands so i was finally x-rayed, tested, and diagnosed with my first autoimmune illness, rheumatoid arthritis. i was told that i would never get to university, would never be able to work, have kids, and was advised to come to terms with the idea that i had an 80% chance of being in a wheelchair within the next 4 years, but i wasn't. and i'm still not. just in airports.
in childhood playgrounds other children smiled and laughed while jumping and running and playing tag. i couldn't understand why they were happy doing all these physically active things. my own self-inflicted denial meant it hadn't occurred to me that i was ill or disabled though, at the same time, i always knew something was wrong. instead i chose to think i wasn't as brave, as good at life, that it was my character to blame, so i did gymnastics.
i have no memories of not feeling pain. i sometimes imagine that i'll wake up some morning free from pain or that they'll engineer the right drug and suddenly my body will feel numb but still retain the ability to feel things. ugh as i type each sentence of this shit that taunting poor little you voice is gnawing away at my brain. let me make this clear: i don't pity myself. of course i get pissed off and of course i grieve, but i don't pity. i do get frustrated by how my illness has impacted my lifestyle and family and friends and anyone who loves me, but i know i'm not weak, and i also know everyone has their own bag of shit to haul around, it's just that the 5, 7, 12, whatever year old in me is still alone in the pain. i'm sick of this one way conversation, blog, so now it is over.
pre-boarding has begun. people who "need assistance" or "extra time" are seated first. my pegasus awaits. bye.
9:13 pm LA, 12:13 am Toronto: we have arrived. now i am back in the room and back in the bed that WAS 'the year of the bed.' to be accurate it wasn't twelve months, it was almost nine. i could have spawned some similarily genetically twisted mishap in that amount of time. here are some more goodbye for now see you soon i love you LA pics:
i'm exhausted. toodles. |
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| cadillac of cardboard boxes |
[Aug. 22nd, 2006|11:36 pm] |
this woman's home on wheels was so expertly made that peeping through the crack of the padded padlocked door revealed an interior of walls lined with various sizes of cubby holes made from layers of paper, plastic, and tape, displaying an astounding amount of carefully organized personal items among which included a small radio and a deck of playing cards. she pointed out the small ventilation spaces protected by chicken wire that weren't big enough to be called "windows" but were numerous enough to allow air to circulate and provide sight from the inside out, but cleverly still small enough to make it very difficult to see from the outside in.
i wish i'd taken more photos - she was more than happy to explain its construction to me - but somehow i got too caught up in the conversation that i ended up only taking these three shots so you'll just have to use your own little brain to imagine the rest for yourself - specifically how awesome the other side was and how detailed and organized it was inside.
i also really dug her haircut and friar garb.
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| i am raging menses whore |
[Aug. 3rd, 2006|08:21 pm] |
and it is only exacerbating my paranoia. i've recently realized that of all my neuroses, paranoia's the big fat sweaty fucker sitting right up near the front of the stage spitting spit balls at me while repeating everything i say in the most dickheaded nananabobo way.
i feel lonely and psychotic.
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| the dog has cancer. big time. fuck. |
[Jul. 25th, 2006|02:16 am] |
he's 3 almost 4. he's had a skin growth kinda like a clear whitish uniform pimple and he's had it forever. i've asaked vets about it before and they always said no worries, just bring him in if it changes. so it changed. brought him in. the surgeon said it was extensive. stage 2 cancer with a "moderate to guarded" prognosis. automatic referral to oncologist. fuck. see spending many months in bed and having numerous crippling genetic illnesses i pretty much gave up on the idea of having children as i don't want to pass this shit along and there's no way i could run after a toddler, etc, etc. so in the last few years my hormones are all horny for babies (which is fucking insanely frightening in itself - i feel possessed) so i've been forcing all my maternal instincts on to this wonderful pug being and he in turn has been loyal and caring, helping me to keep going when i hadn't been out of bed to even piss in over 8 months. i'm trying to think positive, but i'm scared as fuck.
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| lesbian goths for the weekend |
[Jul. 14th, 2006|01:50 am] |
waiting for the pills to hit. 4 pills. 2 drugs. (not counting the 15 and a half i consumed earlier today.) 5mg each. oxy and valium. changed my stupid thank god it exists patch. ow. waiting for these fuckers to kick in. fuck. i want to dissolve. i want my muscles to melt into a pool of goo.
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| my puppy's ok |
[Jun. 2nd, 2006|09:50 pm] |
| [ | Current Mood |
| |  happy | ] |
benign lump. thank you someone or something somewhere.
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| (no subject) |
[May. 28th, 2006|02:26 am] |
the dog is sick with something. he's got a big tumor thing on his foot that developed in mere days. it's now hairless and raised and i'm scared. we're going to get a biopsy done on monday to see if it's cancerous. my heart aches. he's only 3 and a half and he's been my fulltime companion throughout my illnesses and bedridden months and he's much more than that. i have had many dogs and cats but never one i was so in synch with as him. sometimes it feels like he's been the only thing that's kept me going. HIS faith, HIS happiness has reminded me of the rest of the world free of physical and mental pain and sorrow. i think he may have saved my life. he is my constant companion. he's the closest thing i'll get to having a child. i am so scared.
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| why do i hold my pee? |
[Apr. 28th, 2006|01:27 am] |
i hold my pee. i mean that i don't pee when i need to because i'm too focused or busy indulged feeling to get up and go to the bathroom. it doesn't matter how engrossing or boring whatever i'm doing is. sometimes i gotta go so bad and aren't going that i have to try some anxious kegel'ing, do a little frantic "pee dance," suddenly be forced into crouching position where you try to get your bladder to stop spasming with pee pee threat, then press down on my "area," clutching my entire vulva with one hand clamped down desperately hoping to make the pee stay in. my mother told me that holding my pee meant that i'd be incontinent when i'm old or older i guess earlier than usual since most old people wear diapers. i don't know why i do it. i don't feel lazy. i just feel annoyed and like, fuck off pee, i'm doing something. i don't have time for this, pee! why can't you just get that through your thick skull! i need to go pee so bad right now it's practically making me contort. and i'm writing about it and i really should just go pee. i've always done it. when i was younger i'd play in the garden where i had a climbing frame which is english for jungle gym and i used to climb all over that shit and everything hurt but i just had to try to ignore it and i think that's why i started ignoring the needs of other biological functions like eating, peeing, pooping, whatever. i pooped in my backyard for years. it was always fun. i peed there to. and once when my mum was gardening found the big pile of poo and remarked on how it seemed human since what critter could make a poo as big as that? i suggested raccoons. it seemed to work. there was no other evidence, just the poo. and then as i got older and i spent all my time drunk i always loved the alley squat girl pee. sometimes i'm still lucky to get to do it. when i was a teenager i just didn't give a fuck. peeing was fun. but i always wanted to pee standing up (like perhaps even girl in the universe does at some time does.) when i was like 8 or 9 i had a friend - a female friend - who could pee standing up and totally never miss the toilet. i thought that was awesome.
i was gonna publish this here, but i really like to ignore this thing and just use my other blog so i'll go post it there now. trust me, you ain't missin a thang. |
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| please click on that pile o' poop... |
[Mar. 29th, 2006|05:49 pm] |
read my other blog: "sweaty blistered sneaker toe." uhhh.... and um...
i am a devout aesthete.
i like nerds and eccentrics.
and people who giggle.
photography. beauty. strangeness. truths. carefree debauchery. music. all visual arts. los angeles. toronto. illness. innernet. nerds. love. mystery. |
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sweatyhermit's journal
worried
with raging menstrual cramps