Ham tobacco kitten sandwich.

My pants
do not
fit me
very well.

can you tell?
it has me walking funny,
but my jacket is long
and I try not to let on
that if undone,
both the moon and the sun
would be showing

take long strides
and hope the passer bys
do not notice
how it is bunching up around my ankles

You know it took a French man to spell it out for me. I am within stabbing distance of my dream. I am with in grasp of what I want to do with my life. This is what I want to do with my life right? I mean, I cannot think of something I would rather be doing. I want to get a degree in philosophy, but that comes after I have money and need to prove to people that I have not let it get to me.

Fear of success is the only thing holding me back now. That and I need to get five hundred pounds of kiln down some stairs. Then I can get to work and start developing some uber skills. Being naturally talented at things will only get a person so far after all, and it could be another year before I make even a dime doing this. I hope not, but planning to be magically successful seems ill.

The Unicorns are no more, but never fear the Islands are here. If you have any fondness for their former name I suggest you look into the new venture.

I have found a new place to live. I went to look at two places today, the first being very roomy and such but rather expensive and in the far south with a creepy sixty year old man. The second, and the one I will be moving into is occupied by three males aged twenty three to twenty eight. The rent is as minimal as the available space, but they got bonus points for having Settlers of Catan out on the coffee table. The wall was lined with jagermeister bottles, and I will have to find a way to fit all I own into a single room but these are things I can bare.

I am finding out that I have a strange fondness for pan flutes.

Tastes like kittens.

Going to art openings seems to be my new to do. The last one had pomegranate and try as I did, eaves dropping on as many conversations as I was able, I could not find a single socialite discussing survivor or lost. I am sure at least half of them still partook in the repugnant past time, but at least they kept it in the closet. You can stand around talking with strangers while getting drunk for three dollars a beer with out ever having to suggest a thing about the work on the wall. But if you do just make sure you are not talking to the exhibiting artist before calling it crass.

Some people have no sense of humor.

Sean

Pending disappointment

I am not tired, I am not horny, this episode of south park is going to take another life time to down load.

I have painted myself into a corner, there is no body home, and I am running low on paint. Am I at the point now where I am starting to panic. This could be one of those late night change your life or go crazy situations. I am just feeling blind hands out hoping for a place or space to fall. Low on fuel and orbits. ahgghg!!!!

Aghhh!!
Agggggggggh!!
Aghhhh!!!

*falls to the ground*

I do(nnot) really want to scream. There are children sleeping.

maybe I could go outside. But then I would have to put pants on.

Remember me? The curly haired kid from Saskatoon who moved to Winnipeg with aspirations of working with glass?

Well I have run into a few snags. Or maybe even a hundred. I stopped counting.

After months of set backs I finally have my torch, and kiln, and glass, and even a space to set it up. But now another cruel twist has me with no place to live. Working is hard and leaves me with so little. Winter here is cold, and I realize that I cannot just teach myself how to work with glass. The few teachers that were here have now all moved away. I am almost at my wits end and have had too much caffeine and still cannot sleep.

To float,

oh float,

capsized in my boat,
on the remote chance,
you would sail by
and offer a smile.

In arms long in reach,
to pull me out of the cold,
to teach, I beseech,
for a niche in your hair,

snuggled up tight,

I have not written anything decent in so long.
I watch and feel helpless, limp.
nothing to add to this world around me,
no insight to share,
I try to remember what, or who I was writing for.

back when I thought something of it.
what used to inspire my words.

I do not want to complain. It always sounds retarded.
cry about the past and fear the future!

the world makes me sick when I think of it, so I have been cutting it out of my life. It is hard to remember my moral high grounds, why it is better to be here than where I am needed. Or where I need.

elevated

It started so long ago, when watching television. I was not satisfied with it, so I left. Then the city too felt so flat and bland. Then food. I remember eating a chocolate bar and thinking how it brought me no joy, no satisfaction. My ribs are starting to show. Even my tea now tastes like nothing.

I went all of today with out feeling hungry, but eventually made myself eat something. nachos and cheese.

I have not smoked anything in so long, but feel stoned all the time.

drummed out dull, and dimming.

my chest pains ran the course, and left. Normally that would give me a few months before they would return to cripple me once again, but they are already back constricting my breathing. If it is stress related as the doctor suggests why do antacid make it feel better?

Enough!

Sean

We dug up the wrong body
we were so excited
no one checked the name
when we finally got down to it
she just was not the same
who is it now, who is this
the ring on her finger
fits on my pinkie
we took a few pictures
made it look like she was crawling from the grave

Took all day to write this.

When do our desires end and addictions begin.

just try not opening that can of diet coke.

I walk around as if I am about to fall over sometimes. You know, leaning over to the side from the hips and swing my arms around to keep myself up as I am walking. The results are mixed. Smacking into walls, cabinets, door frames and even falling completely over and to the ground.

I try to keep on my toes for the most part. You know. To keep it interesting.

Sometimes.

Streetlight Manifesto is coming to Winnipeg. And saskatoon. So if you like ska, or if you just like to dance like an idiot, you should get yourself a ticket and go, go, go.

I know I yam.

So back a while ago, I cannot remember how many years, I got a birthday card with this little potato looking thing on the front, only it had eyes, arms, legs and had a speech bubble saying, "aren't you sick of all the cheese puns they put on birthday cards?" then you open the card and it says, "I know I Yam." It was not a potato after all. It was a yam.

And since then, when ever I might have said, I know I am, I now say yam.

Funny how some things stick with you over the years.

like glue
or epoxy.

Sean

Back to Basics or Blue Daulphins

And how this all got started.

I realize now how much work there is a head of me now.

With half the debt payed down it is time to really get things moving along. I am already in way over my head, but these weighted boots and lead belt will not hold me under.

It is time to get hard as fuck, not pussy out.

Grrr....

ahh yeah.

I saw a billboard on my way home. Ugly Betty, i believe it was for. A new tv show that is playing on some cable channel they were also advertizing. I looked at the picture of her braced face and glasses, and thought, I would do her. Ugly Betty? She is not fat, she does not have an abnormally shaped nose, she is not covered in acne. She is a pretty girl they gave braces and glasses, and will likely say all the right things just before each chortling of canned laughter.

You can get canned laughter but you cannot get weeping preserves.

And some one needs to develop a system that would tell me the New Pornographers are in town before the day after they left. How can I be expected to know whats going on while maintaing my anti social detachmentism. I need a unified internet site that would hub all venues, all bands, and all of everything. I need a system that i can tell what i like, and that will tell me when it is here. Or maybe before it gets here so i can get presale.

Sometimes i wish it was me.

Fridays opening of the gallery really caught me off guard. Perhaps everyone was caught a little off guard. With as many acts, in the three buildings, and every one involved in the, "I am kind of new to this," level of experaince, nothing really went wrong. And there is much to be said for that. There was lots of room for things to go wrong, and i am sure that it would have taken just one person to lose their head, or patiants, or wallet or something. It is not that i did not have faith, I believe this project is going to rock the casbar, but it just went perfectly.

The Fire Pixies were unbelieveable, I had seen some fire dancing before but not like this. Most of the fire dancing i had seen was some one with a stick on fire jumping around. This had eight people with sticks on fire jumping around to the beat of the drum kit. Wonderfully coryographed, and all volenteer.

Christian Worthington went almost the whole night before i relized it was he who painted these works on the wall. He looked too young to be painting so many pictures of jesus in pain. he himself looks a bit like the traditional white jesus himself. I liked his work muchly, but even if it did not cost five grand to aquire one of these paintings of his, i doubt i would hang it in my house. Not every one felt the same way though, and he did sell at least one that i know of.

A good chunk of my time was spent handing out welcome sheets to any one who came through the door, so i did not get to see everything that was going on, but the musical acts i did catch were pretty sweet. A little old asian woman playing massive drums and singing was but one of the highlights.

Every one seemed excited to hear i play with glass. Too excited. I tried to make it as clear as i could that i really do not know what i am doing, and they should not expect me to be able to teach them how to blow glass for a good long while. Every one has this idea that if you do something like this that you must be good at it, which is unfortunate and untrue. I put the hack in poser.

i did 'extasy' at a party last night... or this morning rather.
Amy knew right away. She is in many way the mom in my life,
i feel i let her down in the way that makes me feel pretty sick.

What is worth?
Did i have fun? Make new friends? Try something new? yes.

but would i have it all taken back to take that hint of accusation out of her eye? i likely would. I have had fun at raves with out drugs before, i could have done it now. But such is life.

I think working midnights for my short while at the gas station has given me a better understanding of time. It seems like i am better able to enjoy sitting on the bus, or wait for the come around of some things. it could be coming from the understanding of how days pass. I am better able to break down the hours, and how the cycles relate to when i want to be asleep as aposed to when i can be asleep.

Sometimes i think about what Winnipeg would look like if all the houses and roads were gone, and just lawns and trees.

sometimes i cannot think at all.

heh heh. there was left over fruit platter that made it back to Amys house, and the kids took it apart and hid the fruit all around the living room.

enough!

Sean

Skate Park In The Sky

Tonight, and this morning, (would that make it last night?) I learned a few things. Any rave that you have to climb to the third story via the fire escape is a good rave. Dancing in dress shoes is a bad idea. Art openings are filled with pretty girls who know how to get into raves.

the opening was a huge success, nothing (that I noticed or was informed of) went wrong.

Fire Dancers, belly dancers, a few bands, a solo act or two, short films, chips dip and cheap beer made sure that every one was entertained.

Amy is still asleep on the floor, even as I type this now.
and a fat girl kissed me while I was trying to dance.
so I suppose there were some casualties.

Some one said that Winnipeg reminded them of Berlin with the volume turned down.

I am going to go to bed before the kids wake up.

Sean

The Edge Artist Village 611 Main St

Burrrrr ninja.
I am craft cold work.

Got to work twelve hours today at the hotel, and next week has me lined up to look like the same thing next week.

Work at the hotel is pretty fun for the most part. It allows me to eat large volumes of pineapple. I had a pretty long conversation with another devotee of the heavens nectar we call pineapple. Seems that there are more believers than I once thought possible.

Tomorrow finally is get the hoses day.
I was hoping to be off before five today,
but was not off until nine. Stifling my ability to purchase.
So tomorrow! I will get it. And perhaps propane...

My studio is filled with doors.
The care taker fellow has already spoken to me about it,
So they should be gone soon. To where is the question.
I swept up two (five gallon) pails
of dust n' crap off from the floor.
Off of the section of floor that was not covered by doors.
I am going to have to paint it.
it is all concrete though, even the roof.

Though,
there is a urinal directly in the middle of my space. It stands like a monolith, a constant reminder that I am working in what was once a bathroom. They knocked the walls down, so the space is larger than the bathroom was, but this obelisk remains unchanged, even after the old walls and floor have been removed. It does not work. But I think I might have it painted.

tomorrow is the opening,
the whole world is invite to come
six eleven main street, starts around seven
but I would try for around nine.
A very exciting time, and the exclamation mark
of everything Amy has been working so hard for
(its in Winnipeg, suckas!)

been listening to a little too much public enemy.

and not enough beck. Ponies!

Do painters always paint.

always.

Sean

What is there to say?

I feel like I have run out of things to say. I could worry about north Korea, or I could complain about the third x men movie, but it feels as if I would just be repeating myself. And I hate repeating myself.

So I avoid it (with varying degrees of success,) in thought, writing and day to day affairs. and I perhaps stop thinking about some things prematurely, and allow myself to get stuck in these half baked opinion, and preconcluded ideals. When I look at the news, I do not read anything out of America anymore, nor do I read what other countries have to say about America... unless it is Hugo calling Mr.Bush Satan, ahh haha ha. Yeah. that was awesome... but most of the time I just avoid it knowing I will only be annoyed by what I read.

But I think I have spent enough time on this.

Sean