***RUT***

I am standing in front of this blue pulsating penis of a CN Tower. Waiting for the hot dog man to cook my hot dog in the cold, when all of a sudden I realize this man is burning my hot dog on purpose, as he is enjoying watching me shiver in the cold, as he pocks and prods my poor hot dog, with his toothless smile. “You have Facebook>?” ...The hot dog man...did not just ask me for my Facebook...” No...I don’t use, unfortunately..” “ Ahh, okay, where you from?” He continues.....I really want snatch my hot dog and leave. “Far away i reply.” Where you from, I am from Trakajakistan! I come here 12 years ago!” And really, still half a word of english, I think to myself. ”I live right here”...he point to some distant point beyond a garbage can. I loose the desire to look further. “Oh wow....it’s getting quite Krisspy!” I say. He finally picks the poor meat up, and hands it to me, smoldered in a nice thick layer of greasy ash. Faaaaa....

Okay. I am starving after my tango class, and eat in anyway. My subway is jammed for like 15 minutes. As if finally roles around, a heavenly light erupts from the tunnel. The doors open, I walk in to find some of the strangest assortment of people i have seen in my life. A group of black girls, who claimed they were from Eglington, where rapping into their “Kamera Fonees Biatch!” video recording Everyone, including my pretty pissed off face, and their poor friend who seemed confused by her friends, cuddled up in the corner beside me. When i got off at St. George to switch lines, the next group of enjoyable voyagers I got stuck with was 4 fresh off the boat, Spanish women....and this is when i thought...there are really some matters, that are not so important becoming upset about, when speeding through underground in a subway cart....like weather Robert should marry Maria, or let Lucita’s “hijo” Pedrito...do the job! Grrr...... They got off an Lansdowne, and the rest of the ride was quite enjoyable....it truly was a beautiful night. Climbing the last stairs out of the subway, i see a man standing with a notebook up to his face, bags fallen at his feet, possibly scribbling down the greatest epiphany of his life, with such vigor. What a turn on!

Pushing my way through the metallic exit. I see 2 prostitutes squeeze in with one coin...successfully. Ass to ass, fishnet tights....that was quite entertaining.... and the last but not least event i experienced of course my fathers first question when I walked in that car....” Where were you all this time? You don’t tell me where you go! ” First of all- False! Tango Tuesdays! Second of all.....you really have No Idea!”

For Ali- a 45 minute snippet of my day.

Dripping *Black *Toenails

"Black toe nails and tarot cards, cigars, cigarettes and water. And that clock hanging upside down on your bathroom wall, stuck forever at half past nine. Scribbled design ideas, paintings of woman with werewolf heads, special edition collected books, large keys and white lace curtains.... i look around and think- my room would be trying to be like your’s, if it could start all over. “I’ve never said that out loud, that she’s actually my muse, a woman who had an unfortunate life”- the glass doll. The gladstone- red glass- double shot of Anejo on the rocks and Purple Cranberry Juice , with havana memories under the title A Painting Unfinished- and spooky adventures- this song is freedom- Celia Cruz- You’re The Cosmic Dancer!!! I used to have this blue wave in my hair. You did it yourself? Yea. Paint me nude, with that Blue. Life is wonderful, I totally catch that in you sometimes! See i love that! lets peel some beets, I watch her smoke her pot, I drink her wine, then we get to the onions. Cooking a black meal, us 4 artist. do more tarot, 3 woman raising cups in celebration around us. we’re in your cards! Mine was sudden strike of insight, the high priestess- and the blond blue eye woman in my life, who knows more about me, then she will tell. i didn't realize i shot a man walking into lake ontario until he disappeared underneath the surface, water engulfed him. The sun didn't blink. sun spots and cups, nets, fading into vertical rectangles of graduating darkness. Darkness that graduates, until we sink beneath the sheets in skin, that harbour our mind, with silly dripping ideas. Kind of like hard rock concerts, and ice cubes. The jagger keep on flowing from our mouths, as the waitress, keeps on pressing her lips against me ear, ordering me things, that were never on the menu, speaking of songs that i was never meant to hear. Endless series, of forbidden disasters. In me, a home, they always safely find.

Triple Thread.

- Days under the sun. avec. Psychic Monkey.

Mishkutenok & Dmitriev (RUS) - 1994 Goodwill Games, Figure Skating, Pair...

September

I cannot not write about this day. From the beginning of september, the blue shirts upon tan skin in white sand, cupping lake water with beer on my lips and satisfaction at life's clips I had it all. i really did.

And now, Past new chapters novels of lessons gaining clarity of mind september needs to be written about it was a lovely petal that peeled and cupped me, where it fell

all season like leaves bring new warmth to the songs of listeners that spring, and raise you a little higher through your legs in your body

I gave you all the love i had what a beautiful song that drifts you back towards something soft and sensual about time that brings you forward towards a new awakening a reason you, yes you dreamed it. what i had hoped in you all along.

The twinkle in your eyes melts, upon bread like cheese or sugar in dying stars that bread elements of all we are the cleansing matter, of joy, we fall upon, and laugh we are happiness

The History Of One Tough Motherfucker by Charles Bukowski

he came to the door one night wet thin beaten and terrorized a white cross-eyed tailless cat I took him in and fed him and he stayed grew to trust me until a friend drove up the driveway and ran him over I took what was left to a vet who said,"not much chance...give him these pills...his backbone is crushed, but is was crushed before and somehow mended, if he lives he'll never walk, look at these x-rays, he's been shot, look here, the pellets are still there...also, he once had a tail, somebody cut it off..." I took the cat back, it was a hot summer, one of the hottest in decades, I put him on the bathroom floor, gave him water and pills, he wouldn't eat, he wouldn't touch the water, I dipped my finger into it and wet his mouth and I talked to him, I didn't go any- where, I put in a lot of bathroom time and talked to him and gently touched him and he looked back at me with those pale blue crossed eyes and as the days went by he made his first move dragging himself forward by his front legs (the rear ones wouldn't work) he made it to the litter box crawled over and in, it was like the trumpet of possible victory blowing in that bathroom and into the city, I related to that cat-I'd had it bad, not that bad but bad enough one morning he got up, stood up, fell back down and just looked at me. "you can make it," I said to him. he kept trying, getting up falling down, finally he walked a few steps, he was like a drunk, the rear legs just didn't want to do it and he fell again, rested, then got up. you know the rest: now he's better than ever, cross-eyed almost toothless, but the grace is back, and that look in his eyes never left... and now sometimes I'm interviewed, they want to hear about life and literature and I get drunk and hold up my cross-eyed, shot, runover de-tailed cat and I say,"look, look at this!" but they don't understand, they say something like,"you say you've been influenced by Celine?" "no," I hold the cat up,"by what happens, by things like this, by this, by this!" I shake the cat, hold him up in the smoky and drunken light, he's relaxed he knows... it's then that the interviews end although I am proud sometimes when I see the pictures later and there I am and there is the cat and we are photo- graphed together. he too knows it's bullshit but that somehow it all helps.

Loreena McKennitt Marrakesh Night Market

Sensations stem from the heart of all places, the seed, the eye, the inspiration.
To remember this day.

Something I felt long ago, became something relevant once more.

So what do I really do? I was a gymnast who stopped being a gymnast and became a full time student. But all that creativity I was generating non stop from 10 years of my life, suddenly became clogged up. The massive outlet had disappeared. I was unplugged. I lost myself.

I didn’t understand how much gymnastics had influenced me until I began looking for different forms of expression again. The obvious one was dance. I found myself a nice dance studio in Downtown and continued taking ballet classes. But that wasn’t enough. I went to the gym, that wasn’t enough. I started playing the piano, that also wasn’t enough. I read a lot, shopped a lot, partied a lot, studied different languages a lot, traveled a lot, listened to music a lot....but nothing was enough! What’s happening? I was thinking to myself. Is my life over?

That is when I discovered...a completely untouched, precious....I’m a writer and don’t have the ability to describe how quietly, how gently, and how discreetly and not invasively this creature crept upon me. This creature, this love, this gift.....was the ability to write!

I didn’t know it right away, I didn’t feel it right away. But it became the focus, the cove of my existence. The cove where I brought my daily treasures to at the end of the day. Where I collected precious memories, adventures, and gems of thoughts. Filling up notebook with poems, longer poems, longer longer poems, eventually short stories, longer stories, all kinds of dreams and fantasies that amplified the beauty of my reality. When I reached the point of craving feedback, I opened up my own Blog under the pseudonym Roxalana, called Cafe de ChiChi.

There I started recording some of my oddest works, letting my closest friends and furthest relatives read it. One thing that I found is when you start working with one talent like writing, you are creating and energy bubble of creativity and many other art forms come to your attention. Just of recently I’ve also become interested in voice recordings, and finally edited my first hypersonic video from scratch! Being a human being is all about managing conflict. External conflict starts with internal conflict not being diagnosed at the sight of it’s first symptoms. If we could all find something that heals and helps us be more happy positive knowing people, and think writing can be that one thing for everyone.

I decided to include it as part of my PCDP for managing conflict. What I didn’t know was that October was not going to be a good month for me. And the harder I tried the harder it became. So I let go, and it turns out that’s exactly what I need at the moment. Once November rolled around. My fingers were typing away again, and I felt the force of sense behind my life return to me once more.