| Market Research |
[20 Jun 2009|08:14am] |
The cinematic tears of temps
crying in public, sliding their backs down
a tiled wall in pumps and polyester blends?
I was never so neat,
face fattened with snot, viscous threads
spinning to the toilet seat, the floor.
I cried quietly, counted the regular,
gentle hiss of the inconspicuous air freshener,
pumping a neutral perfume in five minute intervals.
Stood still, one hand on a pencil
or a wall, or my hip.
It was the first office bathroom I didn’t fuck in,
just held myself, let my breath go wet
in the face of what was left:
waxed data, glinting,
our little pools of hands gathered together
on single sheets of paper to parse handwriting,
ever-mining.
second draft
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[15 May 2009|11:42pm] |
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one of the most thorough, useful sexual health zines out there: hpv zine (there's a free download of the whole zine on this website!), by the down there health collective.
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| recipe weekend - week 8 |
[06 May 2009|06:55pm] |
 i copped out. this is photos from the next day, when i was taking it to work for lunch! roasted butternut squash and sage soup, with citrus, from the rebar cookbook originally, i think.
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[29 Apr 2009|11:24pm] |
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a couple of years ago, i was a research assistant for a prof at york. now, her work - on jewish socialist movements in Canada in the 1930s-50s - has been formatted into a play. doing interviews with elderly political activists, and transcribing the hours of tape she has of people talking about life on the shtetl, or of having their houses locked up under the padlock law for suspected communist activity, is something i can say that definitively changed my life. i was surprised to see an ad for this play tonight, while at work, and am now trying to pick a day and time to go...
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| 500$ - looking for a new roommate in our Roncesvalles apartment! |
[28 Apr 2009|09:53pm] |
1 bedroom available in spacious top-floor apartment of a 3-floor
building in Roncesvalles area. Close to amenities on Roncesvalles, and
24 hour streetcar access. Two clean, quiet, trans-positive queers
seeking a roommate without pets, as we share our space with a cat
already. We've got a great balcony for summer nights!
500$ all inclusive, +shared phone and internet (if you'd
like). Available June 1st.
Contact bitsofstring @ yahoo.ca
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[25 Apr 2009|09:59pm] |
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status update
i just wanted to keep slapping your face
in all those pictures on the screen
where you are loose and easy
with grace, shielding your eyes
in a mute of alcohol against camera
and camera flash,
some oracle, cloaked
in the imposed silence of the medium.
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[22 Apr 2009|06:55pm] |
Angie Zapata’s Murderer Found Guilty
"It has just been announced that a Colorado jury found Allen Andrade guilty of murdering 18-year-old Angie Zapata . He was also found guilty of the additional hate crime enhancement as well as vehicle theft and identity theft. The charges carry a mandatory life sentence without parole."
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[20 Apr 2009|09:54pm] |
firstly, via ![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif) thelalalindsay:
and secondly. a bit all over, but i still like it:
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| recipe weekend - week 6 |
[20 Apr 2009|03:07pm] |
 a bit of a cheat, as this isn't from my big orange binder, but from the how it all vegan cookbook. date squares1 cup chopped and pitted dates 1 cup water 1/2 cup sugar 1 tsp vanilla 1 tsp lemon juice 1 cup flour 1 1/2 cup rolled oat flakes 2/3 cup sugar 1/2 cup bran 1/2 tsp b powder 1/2 tsp b soda 1/2 tsp nutmeg 1/4 tsp cinnamon 1/2 cup margarine 1/2 cup applesauce preheat oven to 350 combine first five ingredients in a saucepan on the stove and simmer to thicken into a paste, stirring occasionally combine remaining ingredients and spread half the mixture into the bottom of a square cake pan. spread dates on top, then sprinkle the remaining oat mix on top bake 12-15 minutes, or until crust is browned. i cut these into giant, honking squares, usually, and it makes 9 then. but you can be more modest and probably get double that out of the recipe. ;-)
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[18 Apr 2009|10:34am] |
I got that scratch from circling the same cedar tree five times, reluctant to call myself lost somewhere like Algonquin. The path was still covered in snow, and I’d spent the whole afternoon following the soft mash of a winter of others’ footprints until they stopped and started to feather into the low growth.
You’d seized my wrist when I’d gotten home and pulled out your defensive line of questions, like there had been a woman instead of the caged and meted light of dusk, the groaning of the reed-thin birches, clustered and shrugging around me. In my scrabble through the brush, my wrist was caught and torn. I swore into the obvious atomizing of the path, then started listening for the sounds of the highway, trying to plot my course to the road I couldn’t see.
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