cat at my window.



I'm going to bed. Essay be damned.

This has been a long day. And I think that I'm going to try to sleep for six or seven hours. My computer is playing a godspeed song on repeat. I'll stare at the ceiling and eventually sleep.
I've memorized my cieling.

I'll see all of you tomorrow, much brighter and earlier than usual.

look. please. i never. i

My friend Brian just came over and hung out for awhile. We sat on my bed. I drank chocolate soymilk and he smoked cigarettes. We talked and listened to the radio like cool kids would.

I am spitting out a short paper before I sleep. Tomorrow will be spent locked in the Trent library battling it out with half-crazed, underslept undergrads for politics books. Around March they all start to look like the mad scientists of silent films. Wild eyes, hair flying everywhere, hunched protectively over their books. Throwing crazed suspicious glances over their shoulders. Lunging at anyone who comes too close... stabbing at you with mechanical pencils...

Not a good scene, really.

So. I'm drinking one of Mike's cokes to stay awake long enough to finish this one. I'll finish it before I sleep. Tomorrow night may very well bring an all nighter caused by a politics essay.

goodnight readers. God with you. goodnight.

When you get the art in your blood:

bleed it.

Here's the deal guys. I love poetry fervently. Tonight I love it even more than usual.
It was a good show. Canada has poetry worth reading. Worth listening to. Well worth getting wounded by. Download the show here.

In addition to that, I think you all need to check out Christian Bok some more. The way he shackles language and still manages to create from the strangled remnant he leaves himself with is amazing.
I found a set of readings of Eunoia, where the poems I read tonight are from. Please download all of them. Lie on your back on your bed and stare at your cieling. Listen.

In addition to that I found an online copy of the book. Read it.

That's it. I'm going to listen to Chapter A.
A good place to start if there ever was one.

the advent of the radio.

It's Saturday... and that means it's radio day!
Listen at six pm at 92.7 fm.
or listen to the streaming.

Tonight's show is called 'small print' I'll be reading from a bunch of contemporary Canadian poets that are showcased in a compilation called 'Open Field' which I have been loving of late.
Listen tonight for some poems from Christian Bok, which I've been practicing. He has an obsession with vowels.

He created these poems called 'Chapter A', Chapter O', 'Chapter E' etc. where the poems are made using ONLY the vowel of the 'chapter'. There are other rules within the poems, words can only be repeated so many times. The texts must exaust the lexicon of words for each vowel. 98% of the available repertoire for each vowel is used. Each poem must at some point describe a feast. Each poem must speak about the craft of writing and describe a prurient debauch, a nautical voyage and apastoral tableau. It's brilliant guys. Absolutely brilliant.

As with most contemporary nights... listener discretion is advised. I always lean toward education rather than censorship though, so I encourage you to be brave. Words have a lot of power, let us be open to them.

Tonight then!

from the glow of my computer screen.
Well, for all of you who were just sitting on the edge of your seats, the essay is done. It is also in the Cultural studies dropbox. Thank you roommate.
... I have learned my lesson... I swear I have.

I didn't end up going to Toronto. I called Andrew at nine or so to say that I'd missed the 7:30 bus, and I'd be taking the 10:30 if I wanted to get down there. Unfortunately shaving three hours off a day-trip makes a difference, and I was pretty groggy from a lack of sleep. We opted to reschedule our visit to some point next week. Next week... after my politics paper is in.

Goodnight friends, whom I love so dear. I'll post something of substance tomorrow.

five minutes later update.

Okay screw it. I'm missing my bus and taking a later one.
Four weeks later, I guess this paper is finally a priority.

On with it then.

update.

the essay is not done. Given another half hour, it would be done. But I don't have a half hour. I will finish it when I get home tonight.

I am going to jump in the shower and then jump on a bus. Thanks for the all-nighter Topher. Thanks also go to coffee, slurpees, redbull, coca-cola and cocoa-soynut-butter-on-toast.

happy friday,

.qui se battent

Tonight brings with it the all-nighter for the rewrite of a severely procrastinated essay. Tomorrow brings the terribly early morning the comes with an early trip to Oakville to see my friend Andrew for a day.

And with this comes the inevitable confession, that I am procrastinating now, even as I write this.

I am guilty of not trying.

I guess sliding by is a sin of sorts. I have all this potential, and I choose to get by on the good opinions of my instructors instead of latching on to the opportunities I have. This is true of a lot of areas in my life.
And at this moment, for whatever reason, I'm as sorry as I've ever been.

mea culpa
mea culpa
mea maxima culpa

je me rends.

Fresh ink on my arm... it's bloody, it's beautiful.
A white flag on my left arm with 'je me rends.' written in my handwriting beneath.
I surrender.

Today my mission was to find my very own copy of Jonathan Livingston Seagull. I did.
Then I sat in a cafe downtown and read it cover to cover and cried. Today is a special day.

lynched.

I watched Blue Velvet last night. I can't stop thinking about it. I hate it when I can't just turn off my thoughts like some sort of faucet.

Yesterday I got three poetry books, with some long forgotten gift certificates from Chapters. Three for my further education and edification...

Sylvia Plath - Collected Poems
Leonard Cohen - Beautiful Losers
The Art of Reading Poetry - Harold Bloom

Plath and Cohen were chosen because I only have fragments of their work in the compilations that form the better part of my poetry shelf. The latter book is a slim critique that addresses my main problem with poetry these days; that I don't know how to read it.
I read poetry rather childishly. I know what I like, and have no idea why. Bloom addresses what poetry is and what makes it good. If I disagree with him from here on out, at least I'll know why.

Today brings with it a mission, which will involve browsing the dusty piles in the used bookstores on water street, and if that part is successful, I will be occupied for the rest of the day. Wish me luck.

on taking offense.
Today I was reading about a favourite art piece of mine called 'Piss Christ'. The piece is pretty simple, it's a photo of crucifix in a bottle of the artists' urine. It caused a major controversy in 1989 when it was first exhibited. It got me thinking...

It's a joke hobby of many of my friends to try to offend me. Particularly concerning the fact that I believe in Jesus, and by and large they don't. So, much laughter is had over the fact that I don't have sex, and that I read the bible, pray, and believe in impossible things.
Jesus can be the butt-end of a lot of jokes around me. All of it I think, to feel out whether I am going to be offended. To see where the elusive last straw is where I'm just going to lose it and start chucking bibles at people.

I have news! It's not going to happen.

I think Christians waste a lot of precious energy being offended. Forgive me, I'm sure that I'll get disagreement from this, but I don't think Christ needs me to rush to his side to defend him from having his feelings hurt.

Once in a long while, my feelings get hurt. This is because at the end of the day, I really do love Jesus and I livefor him. It gets lonely, being constantly misunderstood in something so central to who I am. I get my heart broke sometimes because I love my friends, and sometimes I feel helpless to truly make them understand what they're missing out on.

Do I get worked up over a rendition of Jesus in a bottle of piss? Not really, no.

Do I wish that the artist really knew the guy he was pissing on? Yeah, more than anything.

tophertophertopher.

Topher is back in town... ushering in the celebration that is reading week!
For all the non locals... Topher is my friend!

Well, now with that outburst out... burst. I am fully caught up on sleep now, and it is beautiful, let me tell you. I am full of energy, boundless, vegetable based energy.

Speaking of vegetables. Yesterday our interview with Jennifer Shmoo went fantastic. Dahn and Jennifer and I talked about the joys of being vegan, and she answered all of our questions. She was absolutely wonderful guys, just wonderful. I gushed all day. You can listen to the interview here.

Okay. On to breakfast. I am going out for breakfast. At the twofiftycafe.... I think I might only get toast. Toast is usually vegan. Sigh.

the drink of the day

It is eleven in the morning, and that essay I was complaining about last week? It is finished, as a result of an all nighter pulled last night.

So today brings with it the inevitable fuzziness caused by sleep deprivation. But I wanted to let you guys in on a secret. It's my magic wake up beverage which I only break out for such occasions as these.

May I introduce, the Depth Charge.


The Depth Charge is an espresso drink that goes by a bunch of different names. Such as... ::
The Red Eye, Black Eye, the Dead Eye, Shot in the Dark, Slingblade, All-Nighter, AA Boilermaker, Hammerhead, The Lazarus, The Train Wreck... and my favourite, the KickintheAsspresso.

It is a pretty straightforward drink... easy to make in a state of semi-consciousness.
Brew yourself a large cup of strong coffee, and then brew and pour a double shot of espresso into it.
What you get is something akin to the biggest headrush you can get legally.

And with my paper in my right hand heading up the hill, you can make a good guess at what's going to be in my left. That's right. A depth charge in an extra large travel mug. Good morning folks.

Vegans on Radio!

Guys, I am ever so excited. Tomorrow during 'interviews alive' on Trent Radio, Dahn and I are interviewing the one and only Jennifer of Vegan Lunchbox fame. Insert my excited squeal here.

So... learn about the fabulous vegans and hear all of our sexy radio voices tomorrow at 1:00 pm. As always, you can download the stream, or listen at 92.7 fm.

I am so stoked. I could do a flip into a pile of lentils.

a whole beer coupon?

Last night marks the first time I have ever played in a real gig. I've performed a lot. Just mostly coffeehouses and open mics and such. I had a twenty minute set, and I even got to play third (!) Even though I was the rookie on board.

The lineup was Jill Stavely, Jordan Mack (who slurred during my introduction that he didn't know who I was, and that my name sounded like cocaine. I didn't mind), me, James Kent and the Clarks, The Sweet Homewreckers and the Unionist Ministers. Heck yes.
I stuck to more raucous sorts of tunes because I refused to be THAT girl singing sad songs with a guitar in a bar on Valentines day. Here's my setlist:

-Just a regular guy - affectionately referred to as 'the soy chai latte song'. I wrote it this summer to tell the story of a regular at the cafe... he was a Hells Angels biker... and he ordered soy chai lattes with extra foam and sprinkles.

- Adam - a french song, about how when I was four I thought my dad knew everything. The chorus includes a threat to anyone in the bar who might have disputed the fact with my four year old self... that I'd break their noses ;)

- It's Hard to be a Vegan... - I wrote this song yesterday. Rick played guitar like a rockstar, because a) he's better and b) because I needed to focus solely on proclaiming the revolution. The song describes all the places where it's... hard to be a vegan. It sounds like a drinking song. A vegan drinking song.

- I have a theory - a jazz jam that I modified yesterday to talk about how love involves going to family reunions and washing socks and talking politics with great grand relatives. I have a theory that there's more to this love thing than roses...

That's it. That was my set. I belted it out and pretended that I was a rockstar. The Red Dog was packed out, lots of my friends were there (and my parents even!) and it was a good show all night long. For this adventure I have recieved fifteen bucks payment. I'm not sure whether to frame it or spend it.
;)

Red Dog.

Hey guys. If you're local, and feel like some insane local talent tonight. Come to Red Dog at nine... it's five bucks and I'm playing. My name is on the poster and everything. Misspelled of course, but all the same.

So yeah. Come... I even wrote a new song for it today.

Five books that changed me.
I was walking down the bike path with Rick about an hour ago, and we got to talking about the books that have shaped us as individuals. I will post five of mine, as near to a 'top five' as I can. And here's the deal, you list your five (or three, or one) that changed you, in the comment section. Here we go, in chronological order.


Matilda, by Roald Dahl. (seven.)
When I read this, it not only opened my eyes to the joys of Roald Dahls books, it also revealed to me that there was something beyond what I was experiencing in my second grade classroom. Matilda is a young genius, who is stunted in an oppressive environment, both at home and at school. I loved Matilda for turning things upside down. I loved that she liked to learn.
I will always hope to be a Matilda.


The Little Prince, by Antoine de St. Exupery. (ten)
I have read and re-read this book since I was ten. I never move anywhere without a copy. The Little Prince taught me about taming people, and what is is to allow yourself to be tamed. I base how I love people around some things I have learned from the Little Prince and his Fox.

No Logo, by Naomi Klein. (fourteen)
This book single handedly made me realize that I have a personal responsibility in the world. My eyes were opened to my role as a consumer, the world as a market, and my role as an activist. I can point to this book as the first step in a genuine interest in radical politics.

The Bible. (fifteen)
Through reading this then and now, I learned and grew in a faith that I now live by. I learned Jesus within these pages, and I am changing still.

Blue Like Jazz, by Donald Miller. (seventeen)
This is a collection of thoughts on christian spirituality, that has given words to my own thoughts. I fell in love with how Miller wrote... with beauty and vulnerability, humour and no trace of pretense. I seek to be so honest.
I changed in that I began to see my spirituality as a journey rather than something I had to get right on the first try.


That's it guys. By no means a complete list. There are more recent reads which I think are working on me as I write this, but it's too early to see the changes that are taking place in my head and heart. So, tell me what's changed yours.

Who got a visit from the pseudo-poverty fairy?
Yep. At about 9:30 tonight I was going over my personal finances in my head and realized that I am going to run out of money if I keep buying crap. I am officially not smart at all. Pow! A visit from the pseudo-poverty fairy!

I am glad that I realized my idiocy early enough to ensure that I will have food in the coming months. Shrug. Less Planet Brownies for me... presumably more rice.

In other news, the purchase I made today that brought me to this realization was my very own Polaroid Impulse. It takes beautiful pictures... which I must frame, or post. Or both.
I bought my own today at the hock shop, newer than the cam I've been using, but still old enough to take the classic 600 film.

I bought the cam with the money my parents gave me for my birthday. I bought the film with my left arm.

Now, on to not being an idiot with what I have been blessed with.

Radio. Radio.

Yes, to those of you who listened last week. Whew, that was intense wasn't it? Yes it was. Avante garde is awesome, and rather hard to read. Our eyes have been opened. On to this week.

I am pretty stoked about this week. I have been planning on reading from this book since I started the show a few months back. Tonights show is called 'slicing the sky' and the book I'm reading from tonight is called 'Smaller than God : Words of Spiritual Longing'
This book of poetry changed how I thought about God and the world. These are poems that above all else embody a fierce and haunting longing that I have felt so often, but had no words for.

The tunes will be provided by Sigur Ros. A more fitting sound I could not conceive of.

listen tonight at 92.7 fm. at six (three pm out west)
online streaming is here

Laundry Day. No really.

Want to know what I'm wearing?

I'm wearing a prom dress with lumberjack socks.


I am going to the Laundromat. Now.

no, I don't draw. but I sing, and take poloroids. I worked this morning at The Artery, modeling. I fell asleep during my last pose, but it was alright. I didn't move. I'm not sure anyone noticed.
The artists this morning were really quite good. It's great to be drawn by people who draw what they see. One guy in the corner drew my face all morning. Nothing else. In the two long poses he focused on getting my eyes right.
He did.

Another guy was experimenting with colour. Over the course of three hours I saw my image rendered in blues, greens, oranges and purples. It was unbelievable. I was staring off into space and he was capturing something in my face that I didn't know was there.

Then, when the three hours was up, they all stretched, and packed away these perfectly sketched images of me into their bags. I have no claim to these images. The artists put them up, give their sketches away, sell them even, and I will never know.



And no. I don't draw. But I do sing blues sometimes.

because I just can't do this paper.

I feel so frigging lost I can hardly stand it. I have no idea where to start on my Cultural Studies paper, and it's due tomorrow night. I have a tendency to paralyze sometimes when I'm doing stuff that I care about. I care about this paper, so I end up stuck. It's hardly fair.

So I've been puttering around. I ordered some vegan pizza, ate it (all), looked up some recipes, did an unnecessary storyboard for a future film, and now? Now I'm updating my blog.
This is starting to be a regular ritual of sorts.

My laundry bag is still staring me down. Full of dirty clothes still. It is winning.
I'm staring my bible down. It's winning.
My textbooks are gathering around me. My computer returns my gaze vacantly. My stomach is full of too much vegan pizza.

And so my late night begins. I'll see you tomorrow folks, armed with an essay I hope. And a clean bag of clothes.

a wishlist. and the ever-present laundry bag.

Tomorrow brings with it laundry. Early. The pilgrimage to the laundromat is a once every week and half thing that I participate in. And every laundry day is like Christmas. - ahem -

'Hey!! Hey wow! socks!'

Tomorrow morning will bring with it the gift of clean socks.



Des and I are (well, at the moment mostly Des is) hunting for a new place for us to live come May. Since I so rarely post lists I'll leave you with one, that being the things I'd love to have in my next place. Wishlist includes:

- a common room. - my place is great, but the lack of a common room not devoted to either cooking, sleeping or pooping can get a little taxing.

- a yard - I really want a big garden this year. Hopefully with a few vegetables, lots of herbs and a ton of flowers. I would love to have a yard to have backyard parties in with my friends in the summer.

- a big kitchen - this one is exceedingly important to me. I like to bake and cook and I like to be able to hang out in a kitchen. A little one simply will not do. Our current place has a good sized one, with room for a couch and a table. I'd like one about the same size in our new place.

- big windows - I love sunlight. So I like windows.

- wood floors - okay okay, it's not like I NEED wood floors. I just like them a lot. I always sort of thought that the peterborough experience would include living in an old place with hardwood floors at some point.

- good roommates - these'll make or break you. I could have a thousand square foot kitchen with floor to ceiling windows overlooking a three acre garden, and still be miserable with a rough set of roommates. I love roommates.


That's it guys. That's what I want in a place. And if I can get it in downtown peterborough, for student rent rates, I'll be a happy girl.
Goodnight friends. Apartment hunting requires a well-rested Meag.

I thought that, for two decades.
Well, My birthday was yesterday. I am twenty. As per usual, I dont feel any different. Except that I feel stuffed. I havent stopped being fed since yesterday afternoon. Thats what you get from having friends who show their love with food.

Little Dan - thank you for the brownies
Des - thank you for the cake
Thom - thank you for the insanely huge birthday dinner
Dahn - thanks for eating cake for breakfast with me this morning
Mom - holy crap. Vegan family dinner. I'm a lucky woman.
Dad - thanks for the wine you made!
Rick - thanks for the red with dinner!

Yep. I'm full. And I have good friends across the board.

So I blast into twenty-somethinghood. As lost as I've ever been.
My faith is being ripped apart and put back together. My life is being built from the ground up. And I have my own garden to plant come spring.

The obligatory radio post before the inevitable post later.

Yep, it's my radio show tonight. I had a lot of fun with last weeks show and this week promises to be rad as well.

Tonight it's Avante Garde for Thee, a journey in the Canadian avante garde. It's going to be rad, definitely more edgy than say... a ballad night. I love Canadian avante garde though guys, and I would frigging love to introduce you to it tonight if you don't love it yet.

Tonights show is not for the faint of heart, or the closed of mind. But hey, hearts can be strengthened and minds opened, so give it a shot.

So, listen tonight at six (three in B.C.) on Trent Radio 92.7 fm.
Or, alternatively listen to the internet streaming here. Also at six.


later

all day long.

see a penny pick it up and-

all day long
you sang while
you held my two fingers
in your little fist

pink rubber boot puddle stomp
you trotting to keep up with my stride

when you saw the penny
you squealed joyfully to me
to stop
while you picked
it up to ensure your good luck for the remaining hours

I had seen it long before you did
and left it

pennies don't buy anything these days.

on chickening out.

I just spent four hours writing and editing and rewriting a post. Then I deleted it all thirty seconds ago. I'm fine. I just couldn't handle it. It was the writing that was cathartic. After I read it on the site, I couldn't leave it there for just anyone to read. Such honesty escapes me. Perhaps another time.

This was the photo that accompanied the post.

And now, exausted with nothing to show for it. I collapse.