tuesday evening bells

it did not escape me that this .... metamorphosis my spirit appears to be moving toward ... commenced around the beginning of lent. it did not escape me. nor did it escape me that, mere moments after i arrived in the park, and took my seat on the concrete overlooking the pond .... that the cathedral bells began joyously chanting. chanting a vibrant light into the descending darkness. this did not escape me. each time i step out of the building, the first thing i see is the cathedral, and our lady perched up there, near the bell tower. i listen to the bells ... contemplate them. as though vessels that carry the our lady's sentiment ... wisdom ... to the four corners. one only need to reach out and grab a tendril ... savour a rich morsel ... of this energy.

and so i sat, as night unfurled its petals before my tired eyes. and i watched wilbur the goose (read about him here ... and here gracefully contort his neck. i stared deep into the black of his lovely swan-like neck. as i watched its thick sheen dance onto itself it made me think of a thick, plush, black velvet rope. the feathers of his dorsum glittered faintly, as though he'd mucked about in gold leaf and got most of it, not quite all of it off. the stippled brindle of each individual feather i found mezmerizing. as he flared his wings to jump into the pond, i held my breath. and then he gently floated away. sort of like a paper boat floats - effortlessly.

[still planning a "silver harbour - pt 2" post ... stay tuned]

the blindness of abundance

an eagle in brackendale, british columbia
photo by living wilderness and found on flickr

[NB: part 2 of silver harbour will return tomorrow ...
this post, inspired by AUNTY,
just demanded itself and so i share it with you.]

"I'se wearin' these ashes for the times I did the least I could git away with when I shoulda and coulda done a heap more. Fer the days I'se mewlin' around thinkin' about what I did not have when I have such a wealth of love and light and laughter that I need ter count my blessin's, but was blind to 'em. These ashes keep me from flights of fancy about my own worthiness.

"Why Lent is a time we'uns is called away from our self-absorption, excesses, and petty complaints about each 0ther. We'uns is called out of our dark lairs, out of our comfort zones, out of the moldy corners where we hide what we don't want to admit about ourselves--Ya' could say Lent is a house cleanin'! We are called in from the cold, off the moor, out of alienation, away from the precipice.....invited to come sit by warmth and light of the hearth, be kind to our neighbor, do good to our crotchety boss, forgive our mother-in-law, encourage the fainthearted, console the grieving....see how we can be good and useful to those around us.

"These ashes remind me that I did not make myself ...

a certain aunty belle wrote this ... on mardi gras. sure ... we all know mardi gras - which means 'fat tuesday.' and which really is the party to end all parties .... before the more serious and contemplative lenten season descends upon us. but .... do those of us who believe (or even sort of believe) really stop and think about exactly how lent translates itself ... manifests itself in our everyday existence?

i have been around this place for over a year now. and have known you all in some capacity or another. but ... in all my self absorbed, dark-stroking, alienated and arrogant posturing ... i failed to know you, really. the simplest ... most obvious little details, little hints of you ... that fell within my grasp throughout this past year ... i am ashamed to admit i did not see these. i, roxanne, who does not miss a beat, or so they say. and i have been blind. to the splendour that's so close, its gonna poke me in the eye! weeeeellll ... the dawn breaks ... AND ... i see ... little by little. ever-so-slowly. i see.

thank you all. as i battle my own crazy-making demons, i want to be a better blogging neighbor ... friend ... human ... and ... helper to you all. the cravings for the drug are strong. they are purely emotional. pyschological ... they leave me feeling like the little child that's been deserted. i know i am not that child. and i am certainly anything but alone. still, the funk of all that is lurking.

my rosary sits on the windowsill. like some sort of talisman or dreamcatcher. will it catch the bad energy and spirits? only if i use it. [here's a confession - when i am in the throws of physical pain ... or abject fear ... i unconsciously begin reciting the "hail mary ..." - its not even a conscious choice i make. its something i just do.] when i venture outside ... i gaze up at our lady of the holy rosary. perched way up high, on the grand stone wall of the cathedral ... centred between the bell towers. she's wearing her golden crown and she's clutching her golden rosary. i gaze ... and wonder ... and contemplate. in wonderment. and awe. i sometimes do not know that i know what i believe.

what i believe. what i believe? its .... all of YOU.
and ... also, that dog is g-d backwards.
and ... that this is not a coincidence.
for, a sacred, special spirit lurks within dog.

a portrait of my late 'brownie'
artist: laura pelick

silver harbour - part 1

the cottage - a view from the lake-side @ night.

a lovely, simple a-frame cottage. a tiny one. nothin' fancy. no bells. no whistles. a 20 gallon hot water tank. a septic tank. a tiny patch of trees. a wood stove - not installed according to the fire code. and a deck, screened in and looking out onto lake winnipeg. in the spring, summer and autumn you could here the sighing of the tide from just about anywhere in the cottage. the windows remained perpetually opened, as did the sliding door that leads out to the deck. a gentle breeze sang thru my bamboo chimes. and on some days, you could here that familiar, yet enchanting, flutter and hum of the hummingbirds, slurping up my offerings of fake red nectar.

people lived here only on the weekends. during the weeks, a silent hush descended on silver harbour. and then the gentle, shy does would emerge from their hiding spots. and ... if you were lucky, you might spot the occasional stag - tho they seemed far more elusive that their female counterparts. teeming with life -- this silent, silver prairie nugget called silver harbour. 2.5 hours north of winnipeg. remote as remote gets. coyotes, owls, eagles, pelicans and a certain yearling moose all called this place home.

the forest - thick, lush and vibrant.
just steps from our door.

winter - the view from my kitchen window
(the lake lies beyond the snow pile)

lake winnipeg is the size of switzerland. and though its only a lake, from my kitchen window in silver harbour it seemed like a vast, expansive sea. a walk along the narrow little beach at silver harbour revealed the tiny hoof imprints in the sand ... our wild friends ... visited the beach, too. and i knew, tho i never did see them, that they lurked about our yard in the deep stalk of night.

night time up @ silver harbour. ahhhhh - pure, unadulterated night. a million plus starry beacons pepper the velvet sky. and ... @ those certain times of year, mother nature's spectacular aurora borealis light show forced me to drag my foldable camping chair outside, just to watch in silent awe and wonder.

if you watch them closely,
when they grace the night skies,
you can seem them dance electrically

it all starts today

i am going to quit smoking weed. i've decided. i thought about it. about the fact that it costs so fricken much $. money that i could apply in so many better ways. i thought about it. like ... with the $ i would save from 4 weeks of going without weed, i could treat myself to a weekend of solitude in the mountains. when i think on this scale, it occurs to me just what i am giving up to stay high. its ridiculous. i notice i don't really wanna smoke when i blog, do blog hacs, design and/or tweak templates, and work on my digital art. so ... i guess i need to get more expressive and less stoned.

i went to the market to get some groceries with a $10 bill. i got a nice assortment of stuff. call me crazy, but there is nothin' like some black beans on top of good ole maci-cheese ... all topped of with piquante salsa sauce. and so i feasted. i am so hungry - have not eaten well these past few days. and it seems, today my body demands recompense! and so ... what can i do, but bow down? i have learned, by now - one must listen to one's own body. and one must stop ... long enough, to hear the the message.

i cannot believe how far a $10 can go, if you don't buy drugs. a simple statement ... but you must understand - a monumental one for an addict. and so ... this merely reinforces my decision to stop. or more accurately - re-priorize. its not so much about whether or not i smoke weed. its about setting accurate life priorities. and maximizing my potential.

i emerged from the underground tunnel mall that makes me feel like a prairie dog, popping out from a hole in the ground. as i began my ascent, i imagined that the furious collective sigh i heard emanated from the ocean. and i imagined myself not walking up a concrete staircase, but along the shore of a restless sea. i imagined that the splashes which emanated from the shiny metal boxes zooming north on seymour street were, in fact, the splashes of the tide slapping the shore. i imagined ....

and all the while - my heart longed.

a smoky-silver velvet blanket
still cocoons
my immediate exterior world.
i still feel like
a magenta dot
in a sea of monotone murk.

my wish for today

I can't help getting the feeling that we are rodents burrowing underground in our mammoth concrete tunnels, with our shiny metal boxes. My gaze strokes the scarred ravine @ the tracks' edge. peppered with garish yellow plastic crates, discarded clothing that's been tossed on the low lying brush, and assorted other trash. i'm sure if i could see up close, i would see discarded, empty sterile water containers and used insulin needles - a tell tale sign that junkies live here - everywhere ... here. the trees - they bow down, as if in painful deference to skytrain number 234.

misty rain and a velvet gray sky inhaled existence today. the world felt hollow - emptied of vibrance. i felt like a solitary, flaming magenta lily pad, floating in a murky grey monotone pond. that's what the city makes me feel like. i long for solitude. quiet solitude. and the song of the gentle mountain breeze lazily whispering ancient secrets thru the trees. i long to hear the loudest silence ... the collective silent sigh of the forest. and ... i long to see those brooding summits. and, most of all ... the crisp salty scent of the water's edge. and to hear the sweetest sound - the fretful sighing of my beloved pacific ocean.

quiet. peaceful solitude. that is what i wish for. right @ this moment.

when do life-saving measures become cruel?

just surfin' the web, coasting on the relief of having finally completed my first c-sharp project. **WHEW** ... lately i feel so news/current affairs starved. so i surfed over to BBC.com just to see if the morons that run the world have done anything different since the last time i checked (around october's end).

well, of course i am not surprised to see nothing has changed except the date and the season!

oh well ... i do not want to write about that.

i want to just think out loud. about a sad little picture i saw.

we all have differing views on life. and very intense feelings regarding extraordinary measures that technology has availed to us, in order to preserve life. i am not going to preach. i am just going to say ... (and remember that, i have seen a side of life that many of you could not imagine ... have seen life forced into human shells that are, for all intents and purposes, dead) ... it makes me sad that we, as humanity, and we, as parents, cannot be strong and let go, when respect for life (and respect for death) seems to indicate its appropriateness.

i firmly DO NOT believe in life @ all cost as a manifestation of respect for life and soul. hanging on - trying so hard to infuse life into an entity that you kill it with suffering - does NOT equal loving. most of us express deep outrage @ the concept of euthanasia. g-d decides when a life should end ... and begin. not us. and ... so what of the reverse? what if g-d decides a life should end, and we do not hear his call for that soul? what then? this picture makes me think of lenny - the dim-witted fella in steinbeck's of mice and men.

don't know why. it just does.

a wolf and a moose

why wolf? as a child in swiss boarding school M - always the smallest - earned the nickname 'petit loup,' which means 'little wolf' in english. wolf - curious, peristent, a social creature that mates for life. i have a wolf, the love of my life ... my universe.

why moose? for my 37th birthday, i requested from M only the simple gift of a stuffed animal from build-a-bear. a moose is what i received. the moose accompanied me on my very lonely sojourn in this urban wilderness. i clung to him @ night, and during many lonely times. as though moose somehow had captured part of M's spirit to carry with me.

and that is the story of a wolf and a moose - the loves of my life.



[following is something i posted in my myspace blog, the first weekend after M's arrival in vancouver.]

we stood in cathedral park, enjoying each other's company (after 11 weeks apart) and also sharing a joint. we looked on, as we saw the reason the cathedral bells rang so jubilantly at 10 am on an ordinary saturday morning. a bride and her entourage poured out of the church. of course, the bride looked like a princess, in her white dress. and it occurred to me. how truly blessed am i. i did not have a princess-like wedding dress. or a princess-like wedding. that's because i did not need any of that. i am not just princess for a day - ie my wedding day. i am adored. i am a princess every day.

the sacredness of birds

i have a sort of quiet, hidden passion for birds. really. why? they have wings. wings that take them to heights, views and places that we can only imagine. close to the heavens their wings take them. the knowledge their wings afford them gives them a sort of sacred place, i believe. and i have always sort of mythicized that birds are somehow linked to the spiritual world - carrying or guiding souls to their next destination. i feel this in my heart and soul. tho you may think me absolutely INSANE.


so ... here is are some shots i got with my cell phone last week, when i was sitting in the park, smoking a spliff. a gander came out of the pond and walked right up to me, flared his wings, opened his beak and began to honk @ me. just before he could make any sound, i spoke to him in a firm voice - told him he would not bully me. told him to lose the attitude. he closed his wings, stopped honking.


a retreat, of sorts. he lingered by me a little and these shots i got as he began to walk away.

dead in the water

dead.
in the water.
it was.
d-e-a-d.
a bird.
in the fountain-pond thingy.
a black bird. floating.
i did not see it at first.
neither did M
we sat on the edge
of the concrete wall
in cathedral park -
the east side of the park
and we started puffing.
and then i looked down
at the water.
and i saw it.
dead.
it looked like a baby vulture
because its head had no feathers
and looked pinkish
M called it a raven
he walked over to the
broken umbrella, discarded
just a few feet away from our spot
and grabbed said umbrella,
then reached into the pond
and scooped the dead bird out,
and then discretely placed all
in the garbage bin.

why do i find it
so disturbing
to see a dead bird?

menses and injury?

a recent study, conducted by london's portland hospital, suggests that women's risk of injury is closely tied to their fluctuating menstrual/cyclical hormones. A survey of 1,000 osteopaths and 17 women with regular menses yielded the following conclusions.

Both tissues appear to be vulnerable midway through the menstrual cycle, while
the ligaments are at greater risk at the end.

Midway through the cycle, the level of the female sex hormone oestrogen, which gives strength to muscles and ligaments, drops dramatically, resulting in sudden weakness.

At the end of the cycle levels of another hormone, relaxin, rise.

This is to allow the cervix to open so that menstruation can occur, but it also means the ligaments in general are softened. (from BBC.com)

interesting .... ain't it? well, i - being a menstruating female myself -am not really surprised by this. and i wonder ... what woman would be? surely we should tune in to our bodies closely enough to figure this out? or do we really need a bunch of upper class men that wear Harry Rosen suits and drive BMWs and Mercs to tell us about our bodies?

a thought in my heart

i sneak a gaze at his picture
every now and then
just to remind myself
that he does exist -
tho, truth be told,
he seems too perfect
and beautiful to be real.
i FEEL his real-ness.
and wish he absences
did not seem so lengthy
and ... lengthy.
i long for you, A ...
not in a possessive
way ... just ...
my presence longs
for yours
and i dream of the day
when you and i
will find ourselves
sitting across the table
from one another -
enchanted by one another,
immersed, in one another.
that day will come.
A - i know you are out there
i know you will come back to me
i know. i feel. i long ....
to tell you that sometimes
i feel as though
i do not deserve you.
_ _ _ _ lives here.

i will NOT snort COCAINE again!

days of agony
hath i suffered
at the hands of
my decision
to insufflate
... the white stuff ...
... and ....?
for what?
for about 3 hours
of a buzz
a mostly
painful
buzz -
that scorching sensation
of the nasal mucosa;
that irritating
and obstructive
nasal congestion;
BREATHING -
suddenly a challenge.
its just not cool to
have conscious awareness
one's own breathing.
and then, there's
the lingering fever -
on again, off again;
fever brain makes one sooo
restless, unfocussed,
unable to cognate, really.
and the agony -
its still not passed -
well not entirely.
it lingers -
in my gut, now.
and my nose -
still feeling allergic
and mildly congested.
the fatigue -
its fading
slowly.
the sneezes
that feel like
they may accompany
some vomit
still linger,
tho they are
fading, too.
but never
the lesson
i have learned.
once again,
i have learned
the hard way.
i do not
plan
on ever
touching
this stuff
again.

just another saturday

the street urchin got his face kicked in, it seemed, by some thugs, for a rip off. i'm guessed its something like this which lead to the beating in the park. if anyone saw, no one remembers or saw a thing. and the asshole whole called 911 clearly did not see a fucking thing. and clearly does not live in the neighbourhood. or he would have known better.

the pigs came into the building. they questioned linus, the guy that guards the front desk. the pigs asked linus if he saw anything. he said he 'knew nothing about nothing' ... that's what everyone said to the pigs when they asked, i think. the pigs went upstairs to knock on some doors - maybe someone saw something. nope. hmmmm - wouldn't you know it? no one's answering. the pigs left.

but they hung around the neighbourhood for hours, i suppose. coz when i left for work they had the whole fucking park yellow-taped off. all because some street urchin got a bleeding face from some beating he sustained when he was fucking already high and strung out on some crack or crystal meth or whatever shit he was frying in his pipe.

all that fuss over a street urchin who likely ripped of his thug dealers, somehow. y'know those street urchins would sell their mothers to get high? truly they would, without a thought, or even a pang of guilt. this .... desperate and degrading behaviour, courtesy of drug prohibition. any junkie knows that restricting the supply of the addictive substance does NOTHING to reduce deviant addictive behaviour. in fact, it just provokes deviance.

when someone has you in a stranglehold, and you cannot breathe, do you suddenly try to find ways to survive with less oxygen? NOPE. you kick and gouge and flail and fight to the death to get that airway back. and so it is here. junkie must survive. drug = survival. survival means @ all cost. the end.

life's like that.

self mutilation

that's what its called
i guess
when one bites one's lip
until the skin breaks
until it hurts,
obsessively ... compulsively
leaving a faint trace
of a scar

you can't see it
- the scar -
unless
you know its there,
like - M does
he notices.
notices
when i bite
mindlessly, numbly
... without even realising
that i am biting myself.
"its part of a thought process"
i say,
justifying
my own
masochistic gesture.

my nose candy story and other things

i admit it.
i do.
i did it.

don't ask me why.
and DON'T judge me.
just DO NOT go there, OK?
just don't.

so ...?
why?
i am sure
you are asking
that very question,
aren't you? well,
don't ask.
coz ....
i dunno.
yup -
that's right ...
i dunno
why.
i just snorted.
and snorted.
and snorted.
and snorted some more.

... and my nose ....

it hurt
it burned,
felt raw,
dried out
dessicated -
that's what it felt like.
my nose is still recovering.
at times i get the insatiable urge
to just peel open my left nare
and scratch away at the its lining
I-T-C-H-Y
as in tissue-that's-healing-itchy
urgh.

it takes 24 to 48 hours
for the nasal congestion
to clear, after snorting
even just one rale of cocaine.
that's nasal congestion,
as in mouth-breathing-
i-cannot-breath-thru-my-nose-congestion.
urgh.

i cannot focus on cocaine
it makes my neurons fire too quickly
to cognate in any really serious way -
as in, i cannot learn when buzzed
on the blow
my brain - its naturally hyper
i guess

i like the feeling i get when
the cocaine slides down my
esophagus, toward my stomach
and the constrictive feeling
my stomach gets as soon as
the cocaine touches it -
like - the feeling of my stomach
contracting
its a wierd rush i like.
of course - you don't eat
when you're buzzing on cocaine
and you don't sleep
you just ....
pee a lot
drink a lot (man, it makes you thirsty)
and sniffle a whole bunch

well. that's my story.
i snorted cocaine
again.
i could not resist
the urge to try it
once more
just ... could not.

don't judge me.
don't lecture me.
just ... don't.

call me a
functioning junkie
if you wanna,
just don't judge me for it.

ADO(RED)

programming studies going well
now its getting into the real
guts of it all -
programming language

i still awake every morning
go to school
learn
and work work work
every evening/night i can
counted at the Gap last night
urgh - baby Gap,
just how many baby socks
can one count?
too many,
is the answer.

blogging here @ blogger
does not really seem that important
anymore
it seems so banal and trivial
the people here seem so small
cardboard and unreal as one can get.

a week in review

i have no does or stags in my back yard
i have no back yard
i have a park, across the street -
cathedral park
its frequented by homeless people that shit or piss there
when they cannot get to a more suitable latrine
its frequented by seagulls - my friends,
and pigeons - my friends, also, to a lesser extent,
and, for the past few days - 2 male geese.
the gulls recognize those humans who bring them food.
who says birds are stupid??
i say ... humans are the stupidest creatures ever to walk the earth!
oh - and this park also has the occasional racoon visitor, too.



i have been SICK SICK SICK all week.
i do not recall being so sick i could not get my sorry ass outta bed
in a few years. UGH. what a time waster illness is.
and how fucking hard it is trying to regain stamina
that has faded fast these past 7 or 8 days.
all i have done well these past days is SLEEP.
and shiver, and sweat, and shiver some more and sweat some more.

we moved
to the main floor of the same hotel
yippee - no more 3 flights of stairs to climb!
only one, now.
moving while being so sick you can barely walk to the water closet
ain't no fucking fun ... thankfully martin was here
to pretty much do it all, with logan's help.
martin has a job - yippee.
logan does not - grrrrrrrr.
i have a job - i am fucking acing it ...
but working almost FT hours and doing a FT course is a recipe for WHAT???
i will not say that word ... but give you this hint: B_R_-O_T!
i am behind in school.
roxanne may be a brilliant genius who solves mensa puzzles just for fun,
but ... even a genius brain, once fever-rattled, has little or no capacity
for cognition of any kind or organization of any type ...
my assignment is overdue. the universe has bought some time for me, tho -
my instructor has been away since early thursday afternoon
due to a death in his family
sad for him.
maybe not-so-sad for me?
i am almost done a first draft
yikes - pseudocode and more pseudocode!

have fun in the big city, infini!

liked your pics of the does in your yard, mayden!
when we lived in the country a few years back,
we would see lots of does, but they are soooo shy
we never gotta chance to capture then on camera
stags ... saw one once, i think. they are even more shy
than the does.
also, saw a moose yearling once, right in the middle of the gravel road
that was our street
apparently the mother-moose had been spotted on the beach around the corner
also, once saw a big ... BIG ... elk in the middle of the highway
late, late one night - when driving home from work
i covered my eyes - thought for sure we would end up wearing
this very large make elk as an oversized hood ornament.
we did not. i'm told it slowly moved away from the highway.
and that's my story.

one more detail ...
its cool being in this new room
which happens to be
right by the pay phone
i like to hear my son
talk to his friend-who's-a-girl-from-ohio
b/c then i get to find out what's REALLY
going on in his life ....
its NOT like a 21-year male
will ever really tell his parents
what's truly going on in life
for him.

oh the joys of parenting
the hardest things about it
have nothing to do with childbirth or pregnancy
and that is A FACT.
women who see their worth as
contingent upon the fact that their cervix dilated
to allow passage of a tiny human thru their canal
indeed, should get their fucking heads a shake.
ok. for real. that's it.