Friday, December 18, 2009


The water is grey this early, a calm unbroken expanse of shades. Breath puffing white on the cool air, she huddled deeper into the wool blanket wrapped around her shoulders, the red of her car the only color in a monotone world. In the poor light she can almost imagine monsters swirling in the deep, peering out where sea met sky and smiling, harmless with sharp teeth and gaping mouths. Were they there to swallow her dreams?

But maybe it’s just the alcohol still humming in her veins, warming her blood and dulling the chill seeping through wool socks and worn jeans. Another year gone. A good year. A fantastic year. And yet the melancholy slips in regardless, like the devil with his pretty lies, whispering half truths and twisted reality. Not good enough, didn’t try hard enough.

They were oddly easy to believe in under the half light where night meets dawn meets day. She’s there alone, has been all night, with only a thermos of coffee spiced with alcohol to keep her company. No one else wanted to venture out to meet the New Year with runny noses and dreams of deserving. She smiles wryly at the thought, running fingers through chilled hair, slicking it back, giant worries and scintillating dreams lumbering through her skull, loud like elephants in her ears, stomping and trumpeting everything she hadn't completed to the world.

Ridiculous thoughts in a tired addled mind.

Crunch, tires on gravel distract her from lonely gloom, so unlike her usual chipper self, before the slam of doors, one two, reach her ears and voices drift through the inky sky. “How do you even know she's going to be here?” she knows the voice and hearing it is enough to make lips twitch.

“Its New Year's morning, where the he else would she be,” She knows that voice too, this one even better. After all, she is intimately knowledgeable about the curve of pierced flesh the words tumble out of. Sitting still, she feels the sorrow tugging on her heart slowly start to slip. Either she was that predictable or just known that well, either way its comforting to hear.

Seconds tick-tock, matching heavy steps on stone and sand until the voices drift closer and he can hear the words, smug and haughty, “See, I told you.”


“Shove over punk,” a hand presses against her thigh, ringed and warm and she obediently shifts to the side, making room for her two guests on the hood of her car. “We’ve come to ruin the pity party,” Warm lips meet her cold ones in a kiss, tracings of a tongue, and the rest of the heaviness in her bones seems to float away.

A snort of semi-disgust reaches his ear and she grins, “I don’t think we have approval.”

“He,” the lips mumble against hers, “is just jealous.”

“I’m right here, and you never mentioned trading spit in your list of things to do when we found her,” the words were dry with only a hint of chastisement coloring the consonants and vowels.

Laughing, the other pulled away and made himself comfortable, just as the first streaks of gold tipped over the horizon. “What are you so afraid of? You won’t get cooties and whatever happened to ‘Whatever I want’?”

“It’s whatever I want, not you,” the retort was made through chapped lips and the car dipped even lower with added weight. “It’s bloody freezing out here.”

With a smile, tugging at her mouth and worming its way into her heart, she handed her thermos over. “Drink this,” she urged as an arm snuck around her waist and she let her head fall against a soft shoulder. Her regrets were sifting from her skull to tumble with the rocks on the shore, getting washed away in the light of friendship, lovers, and dawn.

Suddenly it didn’t feel so dark, the past so dreary. The year ahead was bright gold and the elephants, loud and obnoxious in her ears, could shut up.

A/N: Anyone have any regrets from the old year as we approach the new one?

Thursday, December 10, 2009


I've come to realize Starbucks is one of the best places to write for me. Lack of distractions, yummy drinks and music through my headphones. I haven't been feeling too well lately (I had strep throat and all the goodness and fever that comes with it) so some nights, instead of going to jiu jitsu with Mike, he would drop me off at the Starbucks near the Studio and I would simply write write write.

Then there comes the realization that a lot of the things I write are dark. Dark themes that most people would rather shy away from, but for some reason they like to stick in my head and upset me until I get them down on paper. But then they sit there, and sometimes I like how they are written, despite the content, and I want to share them, and get opinions, but I am too afraid of people's reactions.

That said I am going to post a piece of something that I wrote over the last week. It contains some rather disturbing imagery so if there are those of you out there who don't want to read what your daughter/sister/friend has going on in her mind some days and be disturbed... stop reading now :)

Inspired by the lyrics of this song.

Cold. It was cold, breath whispering fog in the early mornings before light hit broken glass, bouncing red, blue and gold through steam, a miasma of beauty. It reminded her of butterflies, flitting carelessly through the air, stamped on skin and shimmering with sweat.

Shivering, she pulls naked knees closer, scraped and bruised with misuse, and tries to focus past the cool bars of the cage pressing into her shoulders. She has a name, she knows she does; or she had, before everything was stripped away and the needles made the world blur. Antibiotics, medication, words so often whispered in her ear as countless syringes perforate her veins, the air growing hot, thick and laboured, skin shrinking and so sensitive to the touches sliding along thighs. It’s not medicine, she knows that much, even as her spine contorts and heat wracks her frame, arching for more.

Once, when she was less caught in the never ending circle of pain punctuated cruelly with pleasure, she tried to escape. Now, whispered praises are like the poison inserted into her arms, noxious and oh so addicting. She learned her lesson well, the bite of a whip curling and snapping against her spine teaching her the consequences of her actions. She listens.

There are no more questions. There were at one point, and she remembers them mattering, recalled that sealing her lips was important. She doesn’t know why anymore but it doesn’t matter, she can’t dredge up the answers anyway. But she misses the queries, they kept her more alert, gave her a semblance of schedule. Now it was just dawn, coloured grime and black iron walls, midnights where scars flashed moonlight jewelry and a studded tongue flicks the white contours in memory. Everything else is just in between, hot or cold, misty.

Footsteps, hollow and loud, trudge closer and through bleary eyes she sees him. She can always evoke his name, it's burned into her flesh, imprinted on her mind. It’s the one she calls out, twisted nightmares and scintillating dreams mingling with reality as the world comes unhinged.

Afterward she's left alone. Always alone. Curling in on herself she stares as the shafts of light, no longer colors. Instead they fall unheeded through the cracks, sparkling on dust. She wants to touch them, but every time she’s tried they simply swirl away, dancing on bright feet, hiding a lingering warmth.

I guess the title only makes sense if you read the song title and the lyrics. There is a lot more to this, and I swear it ends on a hopeful good note... but I needed to get it off my chest and write it. Which is probably evidenced in the way its nearly 6000 worlds long in its entirety and I wrote it in less than 48 hours.

Anyway, try not to judge me too harshly. I am trying to be brave here and show some of my work that I know not everyone will look at with approval.

And that is all...

Monday, November 30, 2009

Nanowrimo 2009

Well I finished on time! I got my pretty little winner banners and certificate.

Now what to do with the story. It needs to be edited badly. I think I will con my friend Mylan into doing it for me since she is the one I rambled to throughout this whole process of writing.

Monday, November 16, 2009

Untitled Vandal(ism) Secret Live Sessions.

I wish I could explain my reaction to this video and the two others from Alice Nine's Untitled Vandal(ism) Secret live sessions. The way it is filmed, the sound.... it gives me the shivers and I wish I could have been in that room lying in the middle of the floor, invisible and just feeling the vibrations wash over me. There is something so incredibly beautiful to me about the whole thing. Its not the people in it, its the audio and visiual stimuli together.

Something inside me just clicks.

I love music. I love how a song can make me cry far easier than a movie. I love musicians for writing and playing music that I can listen to over and over and over and over.

I wish the DVD wasn't so damn expensive so I could own it and play it on my tv with headphones on and just let myself get immersed in the  music.

Saturday, October 24, 2009

Autumn: A Novel about Imagination

It was mid September and I was late for school. Running down the street, heavy knapsack thumping against my back, I decided to take a short cut through the over grown park that no one used, a choice that I now realize changed both who I was and what I would become. Sneakers trampling through the long grass, I’d only made it a few feet when I tripped over something solid and sprawled to the ground. That day, sitting amidst the dead grass, nursing my dirty palms and scraped knee, was the day I met Autumn.

And this is his story....

When Deklin was ten he stumbled, quite litterally, across Autumn, a small boy who challenges every idea Deklin has about the world and its rules, all with a little imagination. The only problem is, the further Deklin is drawn into the world of pretend, the more he realizes that Autumn doesnt see it as simply playing. To Autumn, fiction is reality.

You can find me here:

Friday, October 9, 2009

Breath of Adventure

Clickety-clack, clickety-clack, the sound managed to permeate her headphones, intermingling with her music and lulling her into a hazy half-world of dreams and reality. Curling deeper into her seat she curled her fingers around her plastic mug, warming fingers as steam fogged the window. Clickety-clack, clickety-clack.

If she wanted, she could rub a circle in the iced mist, peer out into the white and black world flying by with every turn of the wheels grating and clicking against the train tracks. The stars were bright, the type of clear that you could only see in the country in winter, without city lights to mar their shine. But instead she simply rested her face against the chilly pane and let the contrasting temperature cool cheeks previous hot from lonely tears.

Curling her feet underneath her she drew patterns in the frost, designs that disappeared with every puffed breath. There were her friends, waving from the platform, hugging her goodbye, sketched out in vapor, melting and freezing with each hot gust. Or was it her that vanished?

Every clickety-clack, clickety-clack, brought her further from her past. Every turning of iron wheels closer to her future. The dreams she envisioned, every mish mashed muddled one, they were in front, they were the destination. The departure however, held all her fears, her comforts, the things she understood.

Could a train carriage, noisy and swaying, bring the answers she wanted? Would her stop, far down the line, be the right one? The right decision, the right city? Was the faith she had in herself enough to push her through tomorrow?

Sighing once, erasing her sketches in an exhalation, she wondered. Life was a journey, long, arduous. It had safe moments, bundled up and sipping tea in an empty train car. And it had dangerous moments, stepping out into a new world, where the streets were strange and the people strangers.

She was young. But she was brave. Ignoring her tears she let her eyes slip shut and gave a half smile to the white window. She was coming, and the world would just have to accept her
For all my friends starting out on a new adventure, alone and scared in the big bad world. Most especially Christabel

Wednesday, September 30, 2009


On our Vacation my husband and I went to the Vancouver Aquarium and it was a GREAT chance to practice my photography.

Here are a couple of my favorite shots


Creating New out of the Old

Last week I spent some time in Victoria with my friend Steff. After sitting around and watching youtube videos on making shirts we decided to head down to the Salvation Army and buy some cheap old t-shirts and see what we could make out of them.

I bought three (but only remembered to take pictures of one). Here is a photojournal of the process.

Original plain grey t-shirt

front before painting
After chopping up the neck and adding some slices here and there

The painting process (just silver fabric paint, a paintbrush and my imagination

The Final Product (back)

finished front
The Final Product (Front)

I am actually really happy with how it turned out~ And to think the whole thing only cost about $3 to make. Now that I am home I plan out getting out some of my old t-shirts I never wear any more and seeing what sorts of fun things I can do with them to make them fun again!

Before that we decided to take a pair of old jeans of mine that were already falling apart and distress them. They aren't quite finished (I need to go at them with an exacto knife and wash them yet) but here is what I have done so far.

jeans before

jeans after

Thursday, September 24, 2009

British Columbia

Well this past week I have been in the Lower Mainland of British Columbia so I havent gotten a lot creative done other than meeting new people, visiting with old, exploring and listening to good music.

Here are a couple amazing videos that were shown to me of some incredibly talented people.


Tonight Steff and I are planning on being creative and making some creations in her room and playing with the new MAC eyeshadows we just bought.

Maybe once I get back I will actually find the time to post about my Hap Ki Do Retreat and this trip (which has been amazing fun). I also somehow need to find my camera cord so I can upload my photos!

Friday, September 18, 2009

Ramblings of an Insomniac

I haven't really posted any writing in a while have I? I have been writing... just somehow I have a hard time posting some of it here... because of content and language. Maybe I am just afraid I will be judged or disapoint certain people.

As I sit here half staring at the computer screen, half frantically checking my body for bug bites for the tenth time this morning... I have come to the conclusion that insomnia fails at life... or at least it makes thought process a rather tricky thing to complete.

I am sure there are some of you out there that understand the sheer FRUSTRATION of being so exhausted you can no longer think straight and then going to bed and finding yourself spending yet another night staring helplesly at the ceiling, praying with all your heart that your mind will just shut off for once and let you sleep.

Of course paranoia that you still have bed bugs (minus the fact you threw away your bed, had the exterminators come, have your NEW pillows still in their plasticy wrap, there is double sided tape on the legs of your metal futon and all the holes on your futon you could find are taped up) doesnt help either.

Nor does the list of things I need to get done tonight. Somehow finish packing and get my shit together while going to HKD and to Jiu Jitsu (yeah I know I said I was going to give that up but it turns out I just COULDN'T do it) and...And somehow figure out what I am going to do with Chloe while I'm gone.... the girl I normally leave her with is in Ontario right now.

Tonight I might just take a picture and post it of how much of a disaster my basement is and what I have to go through to find my clothes to pack. I don't even know where my suitcase is exactly...

Right. BUT. After tonight I am on Vacation! YAY! Vacations are supposed to be relaxing right? Well I hope mine is. I am going to Vancouver with Mike for a couple days then heading on by myself to Victoria to hang out with my lovely Steff <3 She came to visit me this spring and we had a fantastic time so I am quite excited to see her. Plus she has this arial obstacle course thing that she is taking me to in Nanaimo... I am not so sure about that since... arial means off the ground... heighs... Oh well. I am going to be brave and try it out anyway because it sounds like fun and life is about experiences and trying new things! I am excited!

I'll go look through my files and see if I have any stories to post. Or pictures! I miss photoshoots with Sil... actually I just miss Sil in general. I need to go visit her in Edmonton when I get back. I am rambling now aren't I?

Sorry... things don't make sense these days and I space out a lot. Oops.

I am going to go daydream about sleep now ^^

And thats all.

Sunday, September 13, 2009

Bed Bugs

I was changing my sheets this morning and discovered a huge disgusting infestation of bed buds.

I cried a lot. and hyperventilated/panicked while mike vacuumed up all the ones he could find. Then we threw out our mattress, and bed... and are now in the process of washing everything I own that can be washed. Will be going to the laundromat tonight.

If there is one this I CANNOT handle... it is the thought of bugs crawling all over me. Just the thought sends me into hysterics... now knowing they actually HAVE been. You can only imagine what I was like when I found them.

Friday, September 11, 2009

Always Midnight

Seconds grate into minutes, numbers glowing red in the black room. The colour reminds her of blood and she can almost smell the coppery scent, but it’s just the ghostly splatters that she’s remembering. Droplets of crimson mixed with shattered glass glimmering on the bathroom floor, a broken mirror the evidence of their last fight.

The clock slips into 12:03, hours after she has swept up the fragments and washed away his blood and bandaged his fist only to have him walk out the door, eyes dark and empty.

The last train left at midnight, three minutes and she knows she should have been on it, should have left and gone home where it was safe. It was pointless to stay here; she was more alone in his empty bedroom than she would have been cocooned in her own sheets. Not that it mattered; both places smelled of the other, had the other’s imprint stamped upon it in the form of scent, touch, taste.

Her lower lip was swollen, worried between teeth as she huddled upright, knees hugged to her chest as she wondered when it all started to go wrong. When had pain medication been replaced with substances far more dangerous? When had she grown afraid of letting him leave on his own, when had she known that it was past simply trying to forget the pain and morphing into trying to forget feeling at all?

Sooner or later he would stumble into his apartment, eyes blurry with alcohol and things she didn’t dare ask. She’d be pressed into the mattress; skin abused with nips and a grip stronger than the he remembered having. And through it all she would cling to pale shoulders, close her eyes and try to find the love that had once filled her heart.

It was fading. With every midnight spent aching, inside and out. With every train that left and she stayed, praying that things would change. That when she hugged him, his heart beat thudding in her ear, he would hug him back instead of just letting his arms lie limply at his sides.

But she stayed, looking for something in those dark eyes, some semblance of the man she fell in love with… for the future they once dreamed of. She stayed because of the moments he was sober, in the mornings when he would curl up on the floor of the shower, his shoulders shaking with sobs as the pain returned to his neck and the drugs left his system and he remembered what he’d done. It was those times, as he’d look at her, eyes filled with all the emotion he tried to forget, and whispered, “Why, Why do you stay, you must be crazy,” that made her pause.

Maybe she was crazy. It was insanity to be sitting here; waiting to find something she wasn’t sure still existed. He didn’t see her; he was oblivious to everything but the needles of pain shooting through his spine, and the steps he took to alleviate it. But she’d rather be crazy than admit to herself the truth.

12:12am the clock shifted again and the creak of a door was heard. He was home. Closing her eyes she lay down and pressed her cheek into the mattress, willing away the tears that burned behind her eyelids as clumsy fingers tugged away the covers and rolled him over.

It was Midnight and in the harsh caresses that followed, the fevered words mumbling past dried lips, she’d never felt so alone.

And afterwards, when the other collapsed on top of her and she had to roll him off, when she had to ignoring the hurt and she would place him on his side, she would press her tear damp cheek to his and whisper in ears dead to the world, “Why? Why don’t you see me anymore? Are you blind?”

And he would sleep.

Because it was always Midnight and there was never any daylight…

A/N: This is based off the following song;

Friday, September 4, 2009

Too Much

Sometimes I think I do too much....

Like I KNOW I should quit jiu jitsu because its hard on my body and I dont always have the energy to go... but everytime I do go I love it so much that I dont WANT to give it up.

Anyway, thats not the point of this post. The point is to try and clear my mind a little bit and figure out how I am going to attend Jiu Jitsu, Hap Ki Do and go out to congratulate Adam tonight... plus find some time in there to pack my stuff for the Hap Ki Do retreat which is tomorrow morning until monday afternoon. And still make it to bed at a semi-decent time so I am not exahausted.

... there are not enough hours in a day.

I think I will go attempt to write something now in an effort to not fall asleep, I am the only one at work and there is nothing to do.

In the mean time... this is a really pretty song sung by a Korean Artist.

That is all...

Monday, August 31, 2009


I am so exhausted I kinda want to cry....

But for the most part it was a good weekend, albeit insanely busy and at times stressful and emotional. Here goes...


okay starting friday afternoon after work I went straight to Hap Ki Do sparring class... in which Mike accidentally kicked me in the ribs hard enough to just drop me. I was mad though with enough adrealine in me to get back up and keep on sparring.. ahha.. oops. Then After Hap Ki Do I went and did two hours of Jiu Jitsu which was probably stupid since my insides were all jarred and I was having trouble breathing since I couldnt take deep breaths. But I am fine now so no permanent damage.

I finally made it home at around 9pm, leaving me an hour to shower, do my makeup, hair and get out the door to go to Nanta's (Karaoke Bar in town) for my bestfriend Sil's goodbye party (she left Sunday to go back to school! *sobs) and stayed out until about 3am singing crazy songs and drinking lots of water while ignoring my sore back and ribs.


I met my friend at 1pm at her house, decided to leave the car there and go wander around down through Prince's Park, downtown, then through Kensigton and back to her house (We walked for probably around 4 hours and I got a cute pair of shorts and we waded through all the kiddie water parks in town eating icecream and holding our shoes. It was fantastic....

After we walked back to her house to let her dogs out, we went grocery shopping and cooked dinner at my house for Mike and Rodiel (Who just came over at Mike's invitation for dinner).

After dinner things started to get a bit bad... My friend called her 'boyfriend' (they were kinda together, kinda on a break because she found a text that he sent to a girl that was rather suggestive) and even though he told her earlier that day he wanted her to hang out with him and his band that night.. when she called him to go there with my phone and he called back... he told her he didn't want her there and she asked why and he just made up excuses... told her he was sorry he called her back and hung up on her.

So she was trying not to cry, even though this guy is an alcoholic pot head that has hit her before, but she was trying to make it work out. So I am sitting there telling her she HAS to leave him (I've actually been telling her that all day and she knew she had to) so... eventually she decides she is going to move out the next day. (Thankfully she already knew that she had to and it didnt take much convincing) I brought her back to her house to let the dogs out again and she smoked about Five cigarettes and had three beer... then we went to her brothers house and he said she could move in with him... she said she would sleep over at my house incase her boyfriend came home... and made it back to my house at like 11pm (After picking up icecream and a movie LOL)

Well at like midnight we ran out into the football field by my house to SCREAM our lungs out... ahahahha then we were sitting on the grass watching the stars and talking while she smoked more and tried not to cry, and some like sixteen year old punks came up to us and asked us if we had weed, which we didnt. So they asked us why we were out there.

Kid: "Why are you two young ladies out here along at midnight?"

Me: "To scream"

Kid: "that is the weirest answer I have ever gotten"

Then they ran away.... and we eventually wandered back inside.. then at like 2am she decided she didnt want to be away from her dogs and ferrets and she was going to walk home which I wasnt going to allow so I told her I would bring her home on the condition that if her boyfriend was home I wasnt leaving her there and if he came home she had to call me right away so I would pick her up. Thankfully he wasnt home.

Meanwhile I didnt get any sleep because I kept on waking up thinking she called.


Mike and I had a wedding to go to which was actually really cool because it was at the Greek Orthodox church and all ceremonial and everything, definately different than any other wedding I've been to.

Then... I went and helped my friend move out of her boyfriends and into her brother's...

Then we had the reception at 7pm which we finally left at 11pm...

and got home at almost midnight.. then couldn't sleep until probably around 4am...

Although I am pretty sure I turned my alarm off in my sleep this morning but I still woke up with just barely enough time to shower and run out the door.

I would just like to say I'd like a nap and some alone time in which I have NOTHING to do....

but I have hap ki do and jiu jitsu tonight... and may have to help shauna move another load right after work and again tomorrow if she doesnt finish today... but we will see.

Sunday, August 23, 2009

Promise is a Word

Promise is a word that you broke. Pretty little letters that looked so neat as a whole now in jagged little pieces, bloody shrapnel of a bombed heart.

I'm waiting for your phone call. The one that says you are on your way here to beg for forgiveness I won't give. Thats not my place... instead I will return the pain you handed out, inflict your soul until it is the one left battered and bruised and you've lost your faith in love.

But my guess is...

You'll break that promise too.

Don't worry people... this isnt about me.

Monday, August 17, 2009

Weekend Adventures

*Yawn* I am just going to start this post off stating that insomnia seriously FAILS. One hour of sleep is not enough.

Although the weekend didn't start off in the best light (apparently california sushi rolls and I don't get along so well), by saturday I was feeling fine and after cleaning the house and going shopping with my mom I was ready to go out to my friend Rodiel's birthday party.

We went to a bar/pub called Aussie Rules, complete with duelling piano's that take requests and encourage you to be as loud as you want and to stand on your chairs, it was a good night!

(clicky to make bigger)

Sunday was nice and lazy, my only task to fold about 5 loads of laundry but I did that while watching a movie so it was all good. Then that night my parents took Mike and I out for dinner at one of our favorite pubs, it was delicious and the company was even better.

Now time to buckle down and get some writing done this morning!

Ganbare! (Do your best!)

Friday, August 14, 2009


Beauty is most often seen in clean lines and aesthetically painted scenes - pleasing pictures, words, sounds. But what about the hope shining in a dirty, scuffed face? The life struggling to survive in a desolate city, craggy buildings tumbled and war torn. The wrinkles on a worn face, aged and well lived. I think beauty is a word best used to describe the ugly things.

Monday, August 10, 2009

Better Left Unsaid

There are words never meant to be spoken aloud, words that shouldn’t even be thought. Sometimes, however, we cannot control what we think. Thoughts seep into our mind and take root, slowly poisoning our very cells until our tongues move of their own accord and words spew forth in a sickening display we can never erase - never take back.

Wide eyes stared in horror, disgust and distrust filling their pure depths, salty tears burning away their innocence.

Pain gripped him, knotting his stomach and causing him to sink to his knees, unable to bare the burden of his sins. He had sullied the immaculate, tainted the pure, all through the simple uttering of a few words that were better left unsaid.

The room was disturbingly quiet as he tore his gaze away from those accusing eyes. Inside he felt like a bomb had detonated, but outside, it was calm, too calm, too quiet, too composed. He was waiting for the explosion that would come from the other, the hatred.

It never came. Instead he watched as fingers twitched and eyes blinked before becoming blank. He squeezed his own shut at the horrific sight, bile rising in his throat because he knew he had done that, raped the other of their beautiful naivety.

Cold footsteps rang across the empty silence, a door creaked open then shut firmly and he was alone, his only company the words he could almost see hanging thickly in the pristine room, black and ugly.

Wednesday, August 5, 2009

Thank You

I have been thinking a lot about Love and Relationships lately and how blessed I am in my marriage. And because of that, I've come to realize how amazing it is that I had such a good example to follow.

So, I would just like to say thank you to my parents. Thank you mom and dad for staying together and loving each other even when you might not like each other. For taking care of us and for being good parents to us and raising us with good morals and an appreciation for commitment and how to treat others.

Thank you.

Saturday, August 1, 2009

Sketching and Cleaning

Mmm I love lazy Saturdays...

Although to be fair, I havent actually been all that lazy today. I got up to go to Hap Ki Do with Mike and then we to the store to buy some good old house hold necessities (Read: Shower curtain, laundry detergent, mop, and popsicles [in this weather the popsicles are a must]) Then got home and cleaned cleaned cleaned (Which actually reminds me to check my laundry!)

Then I sat down and decided it has been far too long since I last sketched something. So thats what I did... here you go! My Tiger!

And that is all...

Wednesday, July 29, 2009

Gives Me Hope

I urge everyone to go and read the entries on this site. I started reading them at work today and had to stop because I was starting to cry because of the sheer beauty of the entries and the things people do to help others. It gives me hope in humanity.

P.S. Since I forgot to mention, Mike and I tested for our next belt level in Hap Ki Do on Saturday and we both passed.

Monday, July 27, 2009

Scar Tissue

We all have scars
Some are shallow, mars of the flesh
Some are deeper, scratches on the soul

And some are both
An outward symbol of the pain we keep hidden

Why do you do it?
Is it an outlet?
Are you screaming for answers?
Do you want the world to see?
Or are you just trying to escape?
Can you explain it to me?

I don’t understand.
Pain to destroy pain?
Self infliction that won’t fade
It’s twisted

But sense doesn’t seem to exist at times
Not when sanity is gasping for breath
Not when depression’s hands are squeezing

I wish I understood
How blood sooths hurt
How wounds could possibly heal turmoil

But I don’t

A/N: There are people in my life who suffer a great amount, they have to deal with things I wouldn't dare dream of on a daily basis. And yet sometimes I find myself wanting to yell at them, to scream at them to see that what they are doing is only hurting themselves more. But I haven't been there, I don't understand so how can I judge? How can I tell them to stop when I don't know what it feels like? When I have never been in that place when pain is the only thing that offers relief? What am I supposed to do? To say?

I wish I understood
but I don't

Wednesday, July 22, 2009

The Porcelain Doll

I’m not what you think I am

I’m not perfect

I bleed
I hurt

I’m insecure with childish fears that haunt me like monsters deep in the dark
I can’t do the things you want, my voice won’t speak, my throat won’t scream

I’m afraid of the dark but I can’t leave the shadows
I want to be free, light and careless but my heart won’t beat, my soul is leashed

I’m not who you think I am

Makeup to hide flaws
Cracked porcelain painted white
Lips stained vermillion

Is there anything underneath?
Or is it just stuffing
Molded with years, shredded with misuse
A rotten core

I’m not

A/N: I feel funky, I think it was the sashimi I ate for lunch. Don't worry though, I'm not all emo or depressive... just amusing my muses for a while. I don't even know what this means or where it comes from or anything...

Tuesday, July 21, 2009

Bad Food and Good Music

I have to say, food poisoning is not a lot of fun. After spending most of the day in the bathroom yesterday, curled up on the bottom of the tub or bent over the porcelain idol, I am quite happy I have managed to keep my few crackers and cream of wheat down today. (And no, for all those wishful mothers and siblings out there, I am not pregnant, keep on wishing. It's not happening for a while).

In other news, I really hope I start to feel 100% again soon since I have my next belt test for Hap Ki Do on saturday and am rather nervous. I have a lot of practicing to do before then! But this time I will at least get to practice with Mike again which makes me happy.

At least my favorite band came out with a new PV (promotional video) today so that cheered me up quite a bit.

And that is all...

Sunday, July 19, 2009

Disjointed Thought

I can’t catch a thought

Words spinning and whirling through my brain

Dancing a tuneless jig on my sanity

There are sentences to be written

Words meant to be strung together

Letters joined until they give birth to a world unknown

But I can’t catch a thought

And all that comes out is this

Its meaningless

A Good Day

Starting off early I 'Pigged' with Mylan (I know that won't make sense to anyone but its an online 'community' sort of thing in Japan. It really is quite adorable and we love to go online together and run around causing mischief. Here is a picture of us, apparently I had a ghost so there are two of me in the room.

Then I realized that it was already 10am and I had to shower and be at my sisters at 11am for my nephew's Birthday. We made it on time though, and had yummy food and talked for a while. I have the cutest nephews Ever.

The Birthday Boy giving me a glare

The Birthday Boy's Big Brother.

Sadly we had to leave the party before cake (though I got to take a sneak peak at it and my sister is amazing. It was a dumptruck and very well done! I wish I could have tasted it!)

Mike however had a Jiu Jitsu tournament that started at 1pm so we had to rush over to our club (Brazillian Jiu Jitsu Fight Club) so he could change and get ready. He was pretty nervous as this was his very first Jiu Jitsu tournament but it ended up going really well. He was paired up against a 4 stripe white belt the first fight, and lost. But his second fight was against a different 4 stripe white belt and he won that one to get third place. He is only a white belt, no stripes yet, so that was very impressive. I was insanely proud of him.

This was the fight that he won.

Later we went out to Coral Springs where our friend Rodiel lives and has access to the community's private lake. It was a beautiul day and we swam for over an hour.

After that we all went out for dinner (Mike, Rodiel, Sumeet, Charmane and I) and it was absolutely delicious. Then headed back to Rodiel's house for a night of candy, beer and RockBand. It was lots of fun until about 1:30am when we all crashed and went home.

It was a good day

And that is all.

Friday, July 17, 2009


I want to show you how beautiful you are.
I want to to get in your head and you in mine so you could see through my eyes and my thoughts and see what I see.

I know it doesn't change anything.
I know words are pretty and hard to believe.

But you are beautiful.
Inside, you glow.
You are strong.
You are kind.
You are hurting.

Outside you shine.
You are stunning.
You are vibrant.
Your scars are perfect flaws, signs of your life and who you are.

I wish I could make you believe but I know its not that easy.
But I promised I'd always be honest.
And I am telling the truth exactly how I see it.
No one is perfect.

Everyone has flaws.
We aren't all skinny
We aren't all curvy.
But I think that you are perfect for me.

Just being you.

Wednesday, July 15, 2009

Things I Never Told You

There are things I never told you, things I never will. They aren’t lies, merely an avoidance of the truth.

You could call me a coward, but then you’d have to call yourself one too. I am not the only one with shadowed eyes. I am not the only one tired of our games, our lives, our past, our future.

And yet, it never changes. We are stuck in a limbo because it’s safe and it’s comforting even if it aches. You still call when you are in town, still show up at my tiny little apartment and make yourself at home. Sometimes we sit on the floor, backs pressed against the paint chipped walls, the only sounds our breathing and the rustle of clothes as we shift at random intervals. Words never seemed all that necessary between us.

I don’t know what I am to you. I don’t know what you are to me; a shoulder to lean on perhaps, someone who I’ve never had to spill words to, ungainly sentences to fill empty space, simply because you always understood the unspoken.

Then there are the times where sitting isn’t what you need, and stillness seems to suffocate me. I can hear those moments in your clipped words over a short phone call, see it in your eyes the moment you shut the battered door behind you. Those are the moments I rise from my chair or uncurl from the bed in the corner, book left open, tea left cooling.

You’ve been rough and you’ve been gentle. Sometimes you leave, kissing my bruises in a silent apology as you go. Other times I am the one pressing chapped lips to your bloody scratches.

Why don’t we speak? Is it because you don’t want to know about the mundane moments of my insignificant life? Would the ins and outs of the average person, working in an office cubicle, staring at a screen that shows your face more often than not, depress you? Or is it me that doesn’t want to know? Would you tell me about your life, the one that looks shiny and sparkly from the outside, and make me see how dark it really is underneath?

I see enough in the smudges beneath your eyes, the darkness that seeps into your veins after a long absence and the weariness that weakens your bones and makes you slouch in pain. Those are your secrets, the ones I try to heal without my tongue trying to twist the emotion I’d like to convey.

You see enough in the faded colors on the wall, the chipped floor and worn tablecloth that supports cheap beer. You don’t need to ask and you never will and I don’t want you to. I have my pride just as you have yours. And you still come to me and offer me your warmth.

There are things I’ll never say to you. I’ll never pull at your hand and beg you to stay, I won’t tell you I love you, I won’t ask your reasons for picking me… a simple nobody to all your somebody. I won’t give you a reason to feel guilty or hold you back because you are meant to be free.

There are things you’ll never say to me. You’ll never ask me home, you’ve only ever come to me. You’ll never introduce me to your friends or parents, or offer to give me more than just you. I don’t want it because however convoluted and twisted this is, whatever we are, you let me be me, and I let you be you.

In here you aren’t who the world sees. In here I’m not just another ordinary. In here we are together, hidden hearts in a room of flaking drywall. Promises hidden down so deep they will never find the courage to climb free.

We are cowards.

But when we lie on the floor, smoke curling from forgotten cigarettes and dancing in the light from cracked curtains, we are brave because we don’t need words to see the truth. Naked and bare our souls know each other through all the traps and defenses we’ve put around us to shut out the world. In those moments, I am strong because you are and you are strong because I am.

This is why I’ll never tell you the things my head doesn’t want to admit, and why you’ll never ask. Why complicate something so simple with words that are so meaningless to others?

I don’t want your promises.

I don’t want your lies.

I don’t want your secrets.

I just want the silent moments frozen in time, locked in memories to keep my veins warm on cold evenings. That’s all you have to give. And it aches. And it comforts.


Read into this as you wish.

Monday, July 13, 2009

Nights, Fights and Photoshoots

Another busy busy weekend, I seem to experience those a lot.

Friday afternoon my co-worker Kerri and I went for a couple beers at the end of work to celebrate the almost end of the Stampede. There she convinced me that I should go out that night with her because I never have. All in all it ended up being a bit of a disaster complete with spending two hours in the cold trying to hail down a cab so I could get to my car and drive home (I don't drink when I am out with friends).

Woke up saturday morning to go to jiu jitsu, but then I ate breakfast and realized the flu decided to visit me again in full force. Ended up sleeping most of the day until about 5pm when I had to get up so we could go to the grocery store and get steak for the UFC party at Jay and Kelly's house.

That was actually a really fun time and I started to feel better after I got some food in me. The fights were really good and everyone who I wanted to win actually won. Except for Frank Miur who lost to Brock Lesnar which really made me sad because I find Lesnar to be a very disrespectful fighter with no discipline. He just throws his weight around and is rude and uncouth.

Sunday afternoon I gave Sil a call and asked her randomly if she wanted to have a photoshoot. She agreed and was over within about an hour. Mike was kind enough to come with us to Nose Hill Park to take pictures (albeit I had to bribe him with a dinner at the Cactus Club to do so).

And thats all...

Thursday, July 9, 2009

Moods & Music

Ignore the ramblings of an overtly happy girl. I don't know what I had today to put me in such a good mood this afternoon but I am at the stage where everything is ridiculously funny, even things that shouldn't be.

I am actually going to put the blame for this on the band Alice Nine. I wish I could explain to all of you who don't understand my fetish for japanese rock music how great they really are. But I don't think I can. I really do wish that American artists had the same outlook on music that they did though, they are warm hearted, dorky, talented and just open with who they are and how they look at music.

I was reading an translated interview today and one of the guitarist of the band said the following:

"I compose songs with earnesty. I don't want to lie to myself. I definitely wouldn't be able to compose songs for the sake of becoming famous. Well, although I think that everyone who does music has the same feelings in that they wouldn't be doing music if they could lie to themselves, but it's really because we don't want to lie. Because I entrust Shou-kun with the lyrics, I won't interfere. It's because I want to concentrate on the sounds. I entrust to the sounds what I want to communicate. I think that music can't lie. Can't you lie with words? But music definitely cannot lie...

What I think about when I compose music is just the moment when you listen to the music, but usually things will happen, so I would like the music to be something that helps you escape and pass the times when there are bad or painful things. I think that is something that I pursue in music. The songs that I want to compose are the kinds of songs I want to listen to during such times, so I think that if people are close to such times and they choose to listen to my music then it would be the best. Aren't there songs that you want to listen to when you're troubled. I think it would be great if I could compose such songs. What I think is amazing is within that, I want to believe in the things that originally motivated me. I never want to forget the reasons that made me join a band or the reasons why I started composing music. In the Visual Kei scene there are lots of female fans, and it is thought that that is our aim, to have lots of business, but I don't want it to be like that. It doesn't mean that we don't want fans, though people might not understand our make-up, our outfits, our entertainment, ours lives or our music, it's not a question of whether which is the most relevant, it's a combination of those, I want to be in a band that creates new things and keeps challenging themselves, I want to be a guitarist. This might be probing too much or turn into a discussion about the meaning of my life, but I don't want to have the same "If we do it, it should be alright" sense that is floating around. I think that because we can be here, and because of all the people that listen to our music are here, the five of us have this daredevil spirit. Therefore I really don't want to forget everything from now on too.

For some reason I really respect his honesty there and his outlook on music in general and that is just a short bit of one interview. I could quote them all many times over because I appreciate so much how they look at life and their desire to better themselves. That and they never fail to cheer me up or make me laugh. Call me weird for liking a band that speaks another language, or wear make-up as part of their stage costumes... guys that most people say look like girls. But its a different culture and its not up to me to judge, I will just enjoy the music they release.

And that is all....

Wednesday, July 8, 2009

On inspiration and muses

I wish I could explain the things I write or where my muses come from but most of the time they don’t make sense to even me. I’ve written stories novel length that have stemmed from hearing a single word, seen a simple object and suddenly my heart will ache because in my mind there is an entire story connected to something as simple as a swing set or a half-eaten apple core. Those clouds you just saw and thought of as boring old clouds with maybe a duck thrown in? I saw a complete new world with mystical creatures made of mist and light that no one has ever heard of. That’s just how my brain works.

There are things I have written that I would never dare show anyone in my family or the people I have grown up with. Things that go against the morals I have been taught and what the world deems right and wrong. There is light and dark in the world, morbidity and mystery and both intrigue me in ways I can’t explain. Sometimes there are scenes in my mind that cause me to shiver in disgust and frighten me but regardless of where they come from, and I usually don’t know, they are still there and the only way to get them out of my head is to put them down on paper. I have a hard time thinking that it is wrong to write such things then, I didn’t ask for them to visit me, those scenes, but they did anyway and I need to get them out in some way.

I once read the following and fell in love; “Create. Not because you want to or because the mood grabs you or just because you happen to feel like it. Create because you need to. Because it feels like if you don't, you might die."

They really hit me, not because I feel like I will die if I don’t sit down at try to organize my thoughts in the form of a story or pick up a paintbrush and capture the images on canvas… but because sometimes I am afraid that I will go insane if I don’t. It is frustrating to have a story, a world, a scene, trapped inside your skull with nowhere to go. They simply run around in circles until I take time out to sort through them and put them in some semblance of order.

In the end I guess I am what you would call the epitome of a dreamer… only unlike some I don’t dream about the future. Instead my mind is in places others could never imagine because they are my creations.

Then some days I am terrified that one day my ideas will run out and what will I be left with? An empty space for a head? Blank areas in my mind that have nothing to occupy themselves with? It is one of my greatest fears.

This is me…

Tuesday, July 7, 2009

Pictures in the Sky

The first time he saw her she was painting pictures in the sky, invisible paintbrush in hand, dripping imaginary ink. Her lips were curved into a smile and he wondered what she could possibly see that was beautiful on the dark, dank street that she stood upon.

He watched with silent fascination as she focused on her task, broad sweeping strokes and small flicks of wrists. The longer he watched the more he noticed. Small things, like the fact it was late autumn, the air crisp with the hint of snow in the night sky, and yet she only wore a thin sweater. Or that her hands were shaking slightly, the fingers turning an unhealthy looking blue the longer she held them in the air.

His bus came and went and yet he didn’t move. His feet were riveted in their footholds, his back glued firmly to where he rested against the bus stop sign. The next bus would come soon enough and he sensed that she wasn’t finished her masterpiece yet. For some odd reason it seemed imperative that he wait until it was complete.

Finally her hands stopped moving and were tucked under armpits to warm. Watching her he was shocked to find her glance over shyly and ask, “Do you like it?”

“I do,” he answered, surprised to find he meant the words that dribbled from his mouth.

She cocked her head and looked at him, her gaze surprisingly sharp and lucid. “What do you see?” she asked quietly.

He paused, trying to think of the right words to explain her phenomenon. “I see dreams,” he finally answered, “dreams and hopes and fantasy all rolled into a world so magical it can only be seen through the artist’s eye.”

Bright lights danced in her eyes as she clapped her hands, the sound hollow and muffled against the whirr of traffic and blare of horns on the street behind them. Her smile however outshone the soft glow of streetlights and the silver moon hanging low through the skyscrapers. “You must be an artist then,” she reasoned.

He nodded absentmindedly, his gaze focused on her hands. Artist fingers - calloused and stained but cracked dry from the chilly weather. A frown formed between his brows and he brought one of his own hands up to his lips, biting the fabric of his mitts as he used his teeth to tug the garment off. Once one hand was free it was easy to remove the other and grasp her hands.

Surprisingly she said not a word as he slid the warm gloves over her cold fingers then rubbed them between his palms, warming them. “Artist hands are special,” he mused softly as he let them go and took a step back. “With them we can create worlds to hide in and be free. They should never be damaged.”

“What about yours?” she asked softly, eyes bright with gratefulness as she inspected the wool covering her fingers.

He shrugged in a nonchalant manner, “I’ll find another pair. Right now I think you need them more than I do.”

His bus arrived then, the last one of the night and he knew he had to go, away from the girl with bold dreams painted in dreary alleys, the girl with the sallow cheeks and un-kept hair who was surprisingly beautiful under the skin. He nodded his head at her as the doors of his ride swished open and he put a foot onto its yellow lined steps. And as the door shut behind him, ensconcing him in warmth he heard her say, “I was painting a fire to keep me warm, but now I have dreams and mitts to curl up into.”

It was the best gift he’d ever received.

Weird muses going at it again, I think this one was born from the Sermon on Sunday. I wrote it in about 15 minutes or less so I am sorry if there are any mistakes, I feel rather sick and my brain hurts to much to try editing it.


Mike is sick, and I think I might be getting there as well. It sounds like the flu or maybe food poisoning but we ate the same thing last night so I should have gotten it around the same time as him.

I accidentally yelled at him this morning though because he was sitting on the edge of the tub with the shower on and water was pouring all over the floor. Apparently he didnt want to move because it was comfortable so I sort of lost my temper. OOPS. Sorry hun.

And that is all...

Monday, July 6, 2009

Intoxicating Sin

There wasn’t any emotionalreason in what they did or why they kept on doing it. Nothing good would come from their actions but that in itself was nothing new. Their past was littered with intentionalmistakes, a history of overdrinking and overstepping boundaries.

Wandering fingers trail over sweat damp skin, creeping under clothing and caressing in all the rightwrong places. A common transgression, one that would be deemed unforgivable come morning. But now, in the dark with alcohol to blame, it was an offense that was welcomed whole-heartedly.

This wasn’t the first time self-respect had fallen to the floor along with booze stained shirts and torn jeans. It wouldn’t be the last. Virtue wasn’t a word that belonged in this place. This room, with its red walls, was the witness to their sin. No one else knew. No other had ever bore testament the pleasurepain they derived from each others bodies.

Swollen lips open in a needy gasp as teeth sink into pliant flesh. “No marks,” the commandplead tumbles forth and the other complies. They aren’t intoxicated enough for the unspoken rules to be broken. Bruises cause questions, scratches trigger recollections.

Night was the time for remembering. Remembering the way skin was roughsoft beneath palms. It was meant for evoking pleas and whimpers and begs of stopmore. It was the time taken to recall just how one liked to be touched, how thighs screamed and hummed at the slightest brush against sensitive muscle. How a devilishlyangelic tongue could cause curses to be whispered like prayers.

Neither wanted to think about the morning. Instead they focused on the now. On the shiveringheat of a body against body. On the slickfriction they felt as they moved languidly then faster. Slowfast, inout, shallowdeep. Limbs shake and tremble from the desire to holdbackletgo. The end was near but neither wanted it to stop.

He couldn’t have said when it began. She didn’t want to reminisce. The past was dark, future shadowy. The light had no place in their lives. To the outside they were beautiful, pure, incapable of the sins they committed. Inside, togetheralone, deep down in the drunk dark of night they were perfectlyflawed under the skin.

Morning was for forgetting. Forgetting the way he felt straining awaycloser. It was meant for disregarding the desire for more. It was the time they took to purposefully overlook the way their bodies moved so meticulouslycareless together like each stroke of an impressionists brush; sloppy at first but perfect in its finality. It was the time he dressed and snuck out while she put their hazy dreams into yet another jar to be left on the shelf and forgotten.

Until the next time. The next time a bottle was taken from the fridge or a drink accepted in a club.

Red lips would eventually curl around a glass with a smirk and it would start over.

This was their intoxicating sin. Them.


Umm... so I hope no one gets mad or is appalled/shocked at me for this... its a little R-rated I realize... you could ask me why I wrote it or where the muses came from and I wouldn't be able to tell you. I write the words that get stuck in my head and this is how they pour out on paper. Since half the purpose of this blog is for me to share my creative side and the crazy things my brain comes up with, I thought I would post it... and maybe its pairing piece.... anyway.

Now... I am going to go run away for daring to put this here where my parents can read it and wonder just what goes through their daughter's brain.


God gave us a mouth to talk with and fingers to write with. Use them. Keeping silent when something is wrong only causes things to fester. Speak. Sometimes the truth hurts but its better to hear than to live in the dark.

Sunday, July 5, 2009


I know I am a bit odd and a grown woman probably shouldn't still like to play dress-up and do their makeup crazy and take photos. Nevertheless, I enjoy it, it is a good way to relax and use some creative energy so last night I did just that.

Here are a couple pictures.

Wednesday, July 1, 2009

Canada Day

Well I had this idea to go down to Prince's Park and join in the festivities this morning but Mike wasn't up to wandering through crowds and it not quite as fun to go alone. So instead I laid out on the patio a bit and listened to Rentrer En Soi on my ipod and stared at the sky.

Later we took a walk in the sunshine then spent the afternoon just hanging out and being lazy. The plan was to go to Jiu Jitsu then Meg's house after but Jiu Jitsu was closed apparently so we went straight to Meg and Bill's and ate a FANTASTIC dinner (Meg you are amazing).

Once we got home I went down into the basement to take a round at the punching bag and managed to skin all my knuckles on both hands because I was punching for too long and. Whoops. I need bandaids but I have none. *cries*

And that is all...

Monday, June 29, 2009

Parts Canada Superbike Championships

The Superbike Championships were lots of fun yesterday. A couple of the races were really close, especially the main event. Jordan Szoke (team Kawasaki) riding a ZX-10R lost in the last curve to Brett McCormick (team Suzuki) riding a GSX-R1000 and even though I was cheering for Szoke I have to admit that McCormick raced exceptionally well and made his pass when it counted, the last part of the last lap.

At least Szoke won the first race against McCormick in the Yoshimura Pro Sport Bike Category riding a Kawasaki ZX-6R against McCormick's
Suzuki GSX-R600. Here are a couple pictures of the races...

Photobucket Photobucket Photobucket

They also had a demo of a couple guys just doing stunts/tricks on their bikes which was seriously impressive. Those bikes get the snot beat out of them though, poor things

Photobucket Photobucket

At least the weather was gorgeous although I did manage to burn again, despite the fact that I repeatedly put on SPF 30 sunscreen.

And thats all...

Saturday, June 27, 2009

9th Revolver: Journal Entry 01

I do not know how to begin or where. There are so many changes in me and sometimes it gets hard to focus and even meditating doesn’t sooth my soul. I feel wilder than before, less like a man and far more feral, but I suppose that is to be expected. I lost a great chunk of my humanity when I died. My soul itches where it was merged with the one the Byakko gave to me. Like a wound that is still healing.

It is confusing to me, my chest aches. Are there two souls inside of me or one? Am I still who I was or am I different entirely? I have so many questions and no one will answer me. No one knows the answers. Even the priest doesn’t know. I stare at the heavens and pray to the stars shining in the vast darkness but they remain quiet. The trees are silent and the animals run at my very presence as though my very being frightens them.

The priest was the one who encouraged me to write this, that it would help me focus and come to terms with what I am. What am I? Am I human? Am I feline? I was once a warrior, a samurai. Someone used to both giving orders and taking them. I wrote poetry and studied the art of the sword. Now I have no one around me to instruct and there isn’t a single person alive that knows how to guide me. The library here is limited and there is nothing on my situation in them, no matter how much I have searched. The Byakko has not returned and I still don’t know if his gift is a blessing or a curse.

Perhaps I should start from the beginning although I don’t know where that is exactly. Should I tell of my old life so I don’t forget? Or should I begin with my new one. Or maybe I should start with my death. Was that where it began? Or was it at my first birth?

I’ll start with who I was. I used to go by the name Akita Sadao. I was born in the year Eikyō 7[1] in Edo, Japan. My father, Akita Dai, was a samurai before me and like him I became one under the service of Ōta Dōkan[2]. It was a good life, full of pride in who I was and what I did. I was a samurai. I demanded respect.

That life is gone. It is over now. How many days has it been since I died? It is mid-summer judging by the feel of the air around me but time is hard to tell at the Shrine. It was spring when I ceased to live. The samurai in me has me up each day earlier than dawn but there are no tasks for me to complete. By mid morning I have practiced all of my techniques but there is no one here to spar with. The priest will not train with me nor do I expect him to. He is a peaceful man, joyful and full of life. I feel like I am full of death. It creeps upon me as I lay down at night and yet death is now the one thing I should be the least afraid of. I am going crazy here. I need a purpose. I need answers.

Even poetry fails me. The words that one flowed through my fingertips and off my tongue now lie like rot in my mouth. I want to roar instead. I want to run free and I want to taste fresh blood on my tongue. I want to eat red meat, devour it raw and still warm. Sometimes I give in and take to the forest but I have to be conscious of what I hunt.

Humans look edible to me. I have never been afraid of something in my life. A samurai does not feel fear. Fear is a sign of weakness. But I feel it now. I am afraid of who I have become and what I am.

Enough about fear and these strange instincts running through my vein, I will return now to my life and my death.

I was twenty-seven when I died. I can remember the event clearly which is both strange and soothing. I died well. That is a peaceful thought, it is every Samurai’s dream to die well.

The event itself took place at night soon after the Edo Castle was completed. There were celebrations all around and it was the perfect time for attack. I was one of Ōta Dōkan’s personal guards and I am not ashamed to say I did my job well. While others drank Sake and joined with woman trained in the pillow arts I stayed with my Daimyo.[3]

When the assassin came I was ready. His blade was cunning but so was mine. Like sheets of ice in a melting river they slid and flashed against each other. We were well matched and I had to give credit to the grace of his footsteps as we danced throughout the room. In the end however I knew we were too well matched and so ignoring his Katana I thrust mine. Blade met flesh on both ends. His piercing my belly as mine went through his heart.

It is odd writing of your own death. I can still feel the ghost of his weapon buried inside of me. The scar is still there, a white line slicing across my stomach. I can remember the vivid red on my fingertips as I pulled the sharp edge from me. The smell of it is still strong in my nostrils as is the pain I feel just recalling it. Then there was nothing, my world faded into blackness and it was quiet.

Eventually the darkness ebbed away and I was standing in a lush green forest high in the mountains. There was a bold, regal, white tiger - The Byakko[4]. When it approached I bowed low. It spoke to me. Its voice raw and powerful as it told me he had witnessed my act of courage and as a result had a reward for me. I listened in awe as it told me I would wake up a different man. That I would have the soul of a tiger buried inside my chest. He explained to me that I had nine lives to live and that one had already been used. Eight more remained.

He reared up then and pressed his massive paws on my shoulders as he opened his mouth and breathed on my face. My vision sunk back into darkness.

I next woke here, in the heart of the Shinto Shrine, inside of the Hoden[5].

The priest was beside me along with a young man that I recognized as being a servant in the castle, hardly someone worth my time. Peasants were beneath me, beneath all Samurai.

It was then that I first felt the strangeness inside me. The burning in my soul that made me want to tear out my own heart. It spread through my limbs and curled around my spine, down my legs even into the smallest of my toes. I wanted to scream in agony but my pride would not let me. I made not a sound as my bones broke and melded, shifted and reformed. My mouth opened but nothing came out as fangs formed and my tongue lengthened. I was terrified but remained quiet as fur spread along my skin in different hues, coating my body in hair. My eyes felt like they were being injected with fluid as they swelled inside their sockets and my skull expanded to fit them. My ears buzzed as they moved and transformed. Then my fingernails grew and became claws, lengthening and growing razor sharp. Finally the pain seemed to stop as my heart gave a giant lurch then sped up in my chest. I tried to speak but all that came out was a vicious snarl.

It was then that I realized the Byakko had meant his words literally. I had become a tiger. A beast. One of courage and passion and protectiveness. A possessive creature that fed on flesh. I felt betrayed and angry, not understanding and I lashed out.

It was the priest that finally calmed me enough. He said my name. Over and over and over. It was so loud in my ears, my hearing was hyper-sensitive to sound. I tried to focus on him and suddenly he was clearer than anything I'd ever seen. The world looked entirely different; it shone brighter, clearer, like I was looking at the sky, scrubbed clean after a storm.

In awe I prowled around the small space, sniffing the air and tasting the smells. The young man was scared; I could sense it on my tongue, through my nose. Intrigued I turned my head to him and he stumbled backwards. He also smelt good, I wanted a taste.

It was the priest repeating my name again that stopped me from pouncing. "Akita Sadao," he said, "remember who you are. Remember your humanity."

I shivered then. I was suddenly more scared then I could ever recall being. That fear was what changed me back and the reverse process was just as painful. My skin felt too tight as it shrunk and my bones tried to accommodate the smaller packaging. This time I did howl out in pain. It was eerie sounding even to my own ears. When it was finished I lay on the ground panting.


[1]Eikyō 7 - The Japanese era calendar scheme is a common calendar scheme used in Japan, which identifies a year by the combination of the Japanese era name and the year number within the era. Tora was born in 1435 which was in the Eikyō (永享) era which began in 1429.

[2] Ōta Dōkan (太田道灌) (1432-1486), also known as Ōta Sukenaga (太田資長) or Ōta Dōkan Sukenaga - A Japanese samurai warrior-poet, military tactician and Buddhist monk. Ōta Sukenaga took the tonsure as a Buddhist priest in 1478, and he also adopted the Buddhist name, Dōkan, by which is known today. Dōkan is best known as the architect and builder of Edo Castle (now the Imperial Palace) in what is today modern Tokyo; and he is considered the founder of the castle town which grew up around that Ōnin era fortress.

[3] The daimyo (大名) - Powerful territorial lords who ruled most of Japan from their vast, hereditary land holdings. They were the most powerful feudal rulers from the 10th century to the early 19th century in Japan following the Shogun.

[4] Byakko - White Tiger. The White Tiger is a supernatural figure who presides over the Western, or autumn quadrant of the sky. The spirit of the White Tiger combines the courage and fierceness of a soldier with an ethereal, magisterial dignity. Specifically in Japan the tiger is the emblem of the great aristocratic warriors famously known as the samurai. The tiger represents the virtue of courage. It also means revision, improvement, change, and the Zen good. - prowling through the trees around me but I felt not even the slightest twinge of fear.

[5] The Hoden - is the most sacred building at a Shinto shrine, intended purely for the use of the enshrined Kami, usually symbolized by a mirror or sometimes by a statue. The building is normally closed to the general public and Shinto priests enter only to perform rituals

Jewelry and Sunny Days

So it turns out that I lied in my last post. I never did go to Hap Ki Do or Jiu Jitsu this morning... I went to both last night and ended up so sore that I didnt have the energy to go today. You should see the bruises I have all over me, I am colourful! Very pretty. (Although I have a couple hickies on my neck now from practicing chokes and the like... so that looks a bit sketchy.)

However! I did get some stuff done today, like many loads of laundry as well as getting my house clean. That makes me quite happy. But since it was too nice to spend the entire day inside I had to go out for at least a little while.

Later I went back inside and decided to lug all my beads downstairs so I could make some jewelry. I made two sets of earrings, plus found the feather pairs I made.

Photobucket Photobucket Photobucket Photobucket
(Click pictures to make them bigger)

I am debating on whether I want to keep them or add them to the pile of stuff to sell at the Collective Market Fair 'Thing' with Hilda.
And thats all....

Friday, June 26, 2009


I never actually introduced myself in this blog, instead I just made a couple random writing posts and that is it. Oops. The purpose of this is to basically just keep people updated so I don't get in trouble for not telling anyone anything as well as have my own little spot to post some of my writing and other artistic endeavors.

This weekend is going to be busy. Like all my weekends this summer have been so far. I had forgotten how incredibly hectic my life gets when it starts to get nice outside. Plus, Mike and I have decided to join up at a Jiu Jitsu school as well as doing Hap Ki do. That means that we have even less free time.

Today after work I am going straight to Hap Ki Do for a sparring class. Then about an hour after that is finished I have Jiu Jitsu for another two hours. Saturday is the same thing, Hap Ki Do in the morning then Jiu Jitsu a couple hours later. Its crazy I know, but I am eating lots of protien and going to bed earlier so I don't wear myself out. Plus we both really enjoy it. And yet... 疲れて体中が痛い。(Tsukarete karadajuu ga itai.)

Sunday is the Parts Canada Superbike Championships. I am pretty excited about that, we went last year and it was a lot of fun. Plus the weather is supposed to be nice. The only bummer thing is that we were invited to at least 2 more events this weekend that we can't attend now... things like camping with Meg and Bill and going to Gwenyth's Birthday party. But we are still hanging out with our friends Allen and Sill on Sunday night which will be fun.

Sill and I have this nefarious plan. Get Mike and Allen together to play video cames and then gthey can become gaming buddies and hang out together so that we (Sill and I) can hang out more often as well (not that we don't already). We have a couple photoshoots planned as well so maybe we can get one of them done on Sunday. Although I am a couple weeks behind on Japanese lessons just because I am so busy all the time (Sill is my teacher though, so she is patient with my schedule!)

I need to study!

Plus I bought 3 new books last Sunday that I haven't even started yet.


Must Read.
Must Write.
Must Clean House.
Must Live Life.

Oh and I went to see the new Transformers last night because I had a bit of a rough day yesterday and really just wanted some mindless entertainment. Plot wise it could have been a bit better, there were some holes in my opinion... but at the end of the day... its still TRANSFORMERS... and that makes it cool on its own.

Thursday, June 25, 2009


She dug her bare feet into the gravel, scrunching the small pebbles between her toes and pushing them in little piles. Her shoes lay forgotten off to the side, abandoned on the grass in favor of feeling the earth beneath her feet.

Smiling a little to herself, she wiggled the naked appendages and then used them to push off the ground. Her hands were slender and ink stained where they curled around the cool metal chain of the swing she was on. The seat itself was wood and double wide and despite her age she looked small and almost forlorn sitting on its rough, paint chipped surface.

It had been four years since she’d been to this specific place. And as she pumped her legs and let the September breeze make streaming, satin ribbons of her hair, she wondered if she was the only one that remembered its significance.

Four years ago was the last time she’d seen him.

If someone had asked her what spurred her to come to the park she wouldn’t have been able to tell them exactly. Only that she’d finally returned to her hometown and the lure was too great to ignore. The air was cold enough that her bare feet were foolish and she would probably get sick but she’d come anyway, shedding her socks and shoes and letting go like she used to - like they used to.

He would be playing in town the next night.

Four years ago they’d both left this place promising to not look back. It was almost ironic that they both came home the same week.

She wouldn’t see him.

Part of her had been tempted to get a ticket to his show. To slip into the back and watch as his fingers danced over the wire strings, as sweat dripped from his forehead and his dreams bled through the music, catching the crowd in his excitement.

That was how she imagined it would be anyway. She’d never actually seen him play anywhere except his room and that had been enthralling enough.

But she was scared to go. Scared to see that he had changed, terrified that he would look at her and not recognize her. She was proud of him, she was even proud of herself, but her insecurities sometimes got the better of her.

Closing her eyes she let her head fall back, her arms extended in front of her, no longer curled loosely, but gripping tightly. White knuckles held firmly while her back arched and she let the motion of the swing carry her. She knew her hair was probably getting dirty, turning its black silk into dusty grey. She didn’t care.

Eventually the rocking rhythm slowed but she didn’t hoist herself up or open her eyes. It was peaceful here and she felt comfortable lost in memories and wishes that were as solid as the oak beneath her and as insubstantial as the smoke of her cigarettes, there for a moment then lost in the atmosphere.

The crunching of gravel warned her that someone was approaching and with a sigh she allowed her lids to open, revealing a pair of stylishly worn boots.

“You are going to get sick out here dressed like that,” an amused voice sounded and with a start her eyes flew upwards - over torn jeans and a warm jacket to a grinning face, older than she remembered but still young and still the same.

She gasped his name and pulled herself up, nearly tipping over backwards on the swing. Her heart did a tiny little hop-skip-stutter, like she had tripped and only just managed to catch herself.

“Shove over,” he instructed from behind her. She couldn’t see him anymore but she shifted to the side anyway and he joined her on the swing, facing the other direction. Squirming a bit he muttered something about not fitting quite as well anymore then leaned back a bit and she did the same, so they could see each other’s faces.

“Hi,” she whispered softly, suddenly shy and at a loss. What was he doing here? How had he found her?

Her puzzlement must have shown on her face though because he answered her unspoken question with a quirk of his lips and the words, “I was walking home to visit my mom and I saw someone in the park. It reminded me of you, and then amazingly it was. I didn’t know you were back.”

She nodded and they fell silent for a moment, rocking slowly back and forth on the swing, lost in their own thoughts. When the silence was finally broken it was by her. In a soft voice, barely a whisper, she said, “You did it.”

“So did you,” was all he replied.

Her gaze met his sharply and he laughed. “What?” he asked, “did you really think I never asked my mom about you? Or read the book you wrote?”

The blush that tinged her cheeks the color of an apple was answer enough.

Tsking softly he tapped her on the nose and said, “You still have the same insecurities I see. I thought I’d rid you of those.”

“It’s been four years,” she admitted, “People change.”

Frowning slightly he shook his head. “Wrong,” he chastised. “Up here,” he pressed their foreheads together then bonked them lightly, making her giggle, “we might change. Our thoughts are influenced by the world around us and our experiences after all. But in here,” he moved away slightly and took her hand, pressing it to his chest, “we are the same.”

“Always so sure,” she mumbled, imagining she could feel the steady thump-thump of his heart through his wool jacket.

“I have to be,” he retorted with an impish grin. “You are unsure enough for the both of us.”

A tiny grin pulled at her lips at his teasing. “I made it though didn’t I? You were there in my head yelling at me whenever I got scared.”

“So were you. Only you were wringing your hands and fretting over me until I just pushed forward to drown your worrying.”

She snorted that time and freed her hand from his grip so she could shove him on the shoulder. “I’m not that bad,” she groused, nose wrinkling. She wouldn’t admit it, but she had worried about him. She still did, daily, hourly. And it felt good to know that he had thought about her.

He hummed a sound of agreement then suddenly stood up and walked around the swing until he was standing in front of her. Holding out a hand he waited for her to grab it then tugged her up, pulling her into a bone-crushing hug. “I missed you,” he whispered into her hair and tears pricked her eyes as she squeezed him back.

“I missed you too. Why on earth did we ever leave?”

“To chase our dreams,” he reminded her.

She was quiet for a moment, hearing the promises they’d made to each other ringing in her ears. Then she asked quietly, “What about now? We did what we set out to do.”

“Now we make new dreams,” He replied firmly, pulling back and pressing a quick kiss to her forehead. “But this time, let’s dream up something we can do together.”

Frowning, little wrinkles appearing on her forehead she asked, “Like what?”

He shrugged, “Who cares?! Dreams can be anything.”

“Anything eh?”


“Okay,” her lips split into a wide grin. “Anything it is. Now let me just go get my shoes on so we can go concoct up some mad schemes without me getting sick and dying.”

His grin matched hers in brightness as he held out his hand and replied, “Deal.”

Instead of shaking his outstretched fingers though, she reached out and entangled the slim digits together, holding tight and promising herself that this time she wouldn’t let go.