Monday, November 29, 2010

Mindless Ramble 3

Any time I've been traumatized- usually either from something my crack whore ex girlfriend did or something awful in the hands of a man on the street, I'd retreat back to wherever I was sleeping and just curl up for a good three hours.
Time sands still around these circumstances.
When someone I love or was close to dies, life goes by slower than tar.
Sure, one minute it was Thursday and then suddenly, it's Monday; but inside, you're still living Thursday.
It takes even longer to get your life back up to speed.
Some people just permanently remain living the day someone died.

Your body gets older.
You either grow or shrink.
Cut, dye, or grow your hair....
The days gone past just pile up like the countless sympathy emails from people who never really did give a damn about you or know your deceased.
But inside, you're still the age, mindset, and level of vulnerability you were when that loved one fell from the Earth.
We were all too young.

Sunday, November 28, 2010

Not finished

The Giant Boats of Recovery
Sailed along the stormy waters of fear
No land in sight
No port was near
The Land of Self Discovery
Promising refuge forever
For our journeys alone
We set sail together

Friday, November 26, 2010


Hey, Workin Lady
Hows the night treatin your thighs?
Bet you've tricked a million guys
Still no paycheque
Still no rent
But all your thrusting and fisting's well spent.
Standin on your corner at half past three-
Cause we aint rock stars and weed aint free.

Workin in the sunshine
Workin in the rain
Sleepin in the line on Hastings and Main
Watchin for China
Watchin for Ice
Watchin for herpes
and vaginal lice
There's a line of denyal between you and me-
Cause we aint rock stars, and weed aint free.

I just sit here and beg
While you sell your throat
I'll respect you forever
But I'm stealing your coat
Life fucking sucks, I'll have to agree
Cause we aint rock stars and weed aint free.

Thursday, November 25, 2010

Blue chocolate dream

Had a dream last night.
I was working in a Starbucks. Not sure which one it was..Maybe a ficticious one I keep visiting in my head.
Anyways, all the girls I worked with had no idea what they were doing, but really didnt care. They had rich parents. Their mothers came in and suggested we play a game.
This game involved using some kind of blue chocolate I had never heard of before.
They rolled their eyes and told me to prepare the chocolate.
Apparently, I have to grind this chocolate with a razor.
I was doing an Ok job, but kept spilling a few at a time. They were slippery little buggers!
Anyways, this one woman insulted me, stating I was just some dirty young student, and made a comment I ate bugs.

This dream was probably from my subconscience hatred for anything bourgouise-class related or whatnot.
Maybe some of my own self esteem issues regarding finances as well.

DREAM: Nov. 25, 2010
WAKE UP: 8:00 AM

Wednesday, November 24, 2010

Guerrela Journalism

Since my prerequirements dont include an English degree in Highschool or anything beyond that, I've decided to continue exploiting the english language for my own evil deeds through mass zine-printage.

My work is mad at me and I may be fired. I was going to quit this week anyways, but I'm guessing they got wind of that and have decided to beat me to getting the last nail in the coffin.

I dont understand why we need certain 'degrees' to prove to the world we can do something.
(Okay, yes I do. To prevent people like my sister, whom probably couldnt even spell 'journalism' properly to get her hands on litterary material read by the masses.)

I've been wanting to get out of the Mcjob circuit for a while now, but fail to meet the expectations of most employers.
In a world where having a degree wont necessarily get anyone a good job, my only hope is to either find a trade willing to pick up an uneducated bumpkin like myself, or be doomed to work for $9.00 for the rest of my life.
Alright, I'm not a bum.
I'm a bored, overeducated-understimulated Film School graduate.
I have no idea where I'm headed in life, but feel no want to pursue a career in the film industry.
Personally, I dont think you really need talent anymore; judging by the way most Hollywood films are going these days...

Well, I say: "Fuck Certification and Establishment!"
I dont give two fucks about who says I can or cannot write a coherient sentence.
(For Irony's sake, I've probably spelt at least two things wrong in that last paragraph).
I will continue to write, because I enjoy doing it!

Thursday, November 18, 2010

Memory ramble 2

I'm told I shouldnt wonder what the world would have been like if my mother had stayed sober while I was growing up- but I cant help it.
For the first six years I grew up, she drank heavily, but never touched heroin.
It wasnt like one day, she just dissappeared and came back as this angry, disoriented slob of a human being- she's always been that. It just gradually got more frequent.
Soon, I found myself doing my own laundry, cooking my siblings' dinner, paying for my own junk food (my dad took care of the main staples, although would never let us forget that we were 'costing him money'.
It seemed like we were being beaten and yelled at for everything.
I mean, there were good times..
They were just usually out of guilt, or had some kind of string attatched.
FOR EXAMPLE: If we got icecream or other junk = Either my mom will eat it and blame us for why she'd get fat, or we had to clean the house once we returned.
I remember getting a lecture for making noise in the morning for when we had to go to school.
UH, LADY, your kids are getting up in the morning to go to school.
They're making their own breakfast, gathering their own schoolwork, dressing themselves, and going off to a building ran by a complete psycho. DEAL WITH IT.
We were made to feel guilty about wanting to have friends over, or to go to other people's houses.
My parents stated they 'didnt want to take care of other people's children', although I have a sneaking suspicion this was due to embaressment they felt upon themselves.

Later in life, it esculated to pure violence. Often with either my mother or brother going completely insane (there was usually a substance to blame), beating the living shit out of whoever was there, then leaving everyone else to pick up the pieces.
This prompted everyone to get involved with alcohol, drugs; and to run away from home.

As a young woman, I'm still in the process of trying to figure out everything in life without a Mom.
I mean, she's still alive, but she's increadibly burnt out and senile.
I believe what everyone carries is called a 'pain-body'. Ekhart Tolle wrote about it.
Buddhism helps me quite a bit as well.

My Mother is a deeply mentally disturbed woman.
I'm not so sure if I do love her, but this Christmas, I gotta see all of them again.
Lets just hope the pain-body doesnt take over and turn me into that snivelling little girl in the corner again.

Wednesday, November 10, 2010

Mid-Midlife crisis?

Anyone out there have a midlife crisis in their twenties?
I dont suppose you can really call them 'Midlife crisises", because who's to say people will even live to the age expected of them?

Most people really start to examine their lives around the age of 40 and above.
You know.....the children have moved out. The wife/husband's become 'comfortable' with being 1/8th of what they were when you met them, and those millions roads ahead of you when you were in your early twenties have dwindled down to one unpaved back-country unlighten road, somewhere outside of Lethbridge or Kamloops.

Well, I dont have a spouce or children.
I am in my early twenties.
I have completed Film School and am now working in a crappy electronics store, eerily simular to Walmart.
I dont know what the fuck I want to do with the rest of my life.
Debt and posession issues keep me from moving/travelling.
Not to mention strict border control in the United States. NO CANUCKS ALLOWED.

Acting in Vancouver is a joke. It's all sci-fi or commercials.
I dont want to become an alien or 'the colgate toothpaste' girl....God only knows with my teeth...
I am a young vegan buddhist punk with no direction in life.
I'm not that close with my family.
I am also a recovering junkie. Something I feel is weighing on me every day.


Junkie's Promise.

A hundred bucks a day used to buy your stuff
Now a hundred times a day, and it's still not enough
People always tell me you get what you deserve
All in all is what I know, cause all in all is what I've heard
I heard you say 'You know I hate myself, but I love everybody else'
and did you not say 'I cant escape myself'?
But then you did-
And now there's nobody else.

To blame you know that I know, yeah....things are rough.
I want to help you out, but times are rather tough.
People always say 'You got to lend a helping hand'
and nothing in return is all I expect from you, my friend.
I heard you say "I hate myself, but I love everybody else'
and did you not say "I cant escape myself"
But then you do. And now there's nobody else.

-T. Moore

Friday, November 5, 2010

Poem for Lei

 Found your picture today
Havent seen you in quite a while
I kept looking at your face
I always remember: You'd never smile
And though the psycho-disease
never quite took complete hold
You'd probably die anyway,
or so I was told.

It's been terrifying
I keep having dreams when I'm awake
Some are so real; I'm left distraught
Doing several double-takes.
Some have  Cats jumping in spirals
I push-drag- and pull my own face
The mystic shapings are eye-fulls
I check around me just in case
While optics are busy bending physics
My heart's left to do as I please
Still held by the same glue
Solid- in some perma-freeze.
But you're still here, inside me
Hiding between my forhead and spine
Whether you yell or not
You wont tug me out of line

It's alright.
I wont be forever
It wont be quick
It wont go away
'Till the glue unsticks
But I've got presense
Left inside my skull
Though creepy and uneven
One moments' time inside is never dull.

Saturday, October 30, 2010


I am depressed.
I am depressed.

Did I ever mention I'm depressed?

Halloween used to be my favorite holiday.

Now, I hardly give a shit about anything and just rudimentally go through a meaningless existence.

If it were up to me, I'd be dead, but my Dad and two friends would miss me.

I am semi-financially stable, fed, clothed....
But I dont feel pleasure in anything.
I guess that's what catagorizes someone as depressed.
Oh well.

Monday, October 25, 2010



You know them.
Just when you think your computer has stumbled across the greatest free porn Church Potluck Recipe website ever, suddenly....LAAAAGGG.....
"Oh god..Nobluescreenofdeathpleasenobluescreenofdeadggaaaaahhhddd!!!"
"Ah crap. The ad has to load."
This and many other annoyances, not only contributing to the A.D.D culture of the '00's, but cloging up our servers with rediculously hidious-looking spamalot!
They get worse and worse the dirtier the website is.
For instance................Okay, I'll save some time and your innocent little imaginations. Look 'em up!

The often downright outdated references at pop cultured themes make these ads something to almost keep a record book of.
I swear it's the same guy somewhere in Thailand or Argentina making the breast and penis enlargement ads as is the ads for free banking.
"Well, if your bank did have it's ways of putting a little more funk in the junk, if you know what I mean, then I have no choice but to open a free* chequing account!"
*By Free I mean not and by not I mean I'd rather wax my genitals with sand paper and gasoline than have to deal with another bank trip!

Long retired are the ads blatantly selling out celebrities. I think it has something to do with weight gain..
Now, we need younger, sexier, 'average' people, who simply want to enlarge certain body parts for the purpose of inflating their somewhat already devoured-and-spit out self esteem.
We also need more rainboots.
(Speaking from a person living in Vancouver Canada in October....Yes. We do.)

So if you're dying to be the 40000th visitor on some Brazillian Rubber website opting to win an Ipad.....Go right ahead! Click the little slow moving target and enter your credit card number!
Four months and nine hundred credit statements later, I'll see you at the bank.
Bring Matches.

Sunday, October 24, 2010

The Chowder dream

When I was young, I had a cat named Chowder.
He was a white coated, green eyed, pink nosed, short hair with a tendency to wander away.
He disappeared Friday, July 13 2001. That night, we had a tornado in Calgary.
We all huddled in the basement as my mom tried to comfort my sister- Chowder's #1 girl, into thinking he would come home. He never did.

In my dream, I had attempted to mail Chowder in my Dad's yellow duffle bag, across the country. Either I was moving or something, but I remember being a bit worried.
I think either the trip took longer than expected, or that I had forgotten about him, but I had overheard that they store all luggage in a freezer.
To my horror, I came to this freezer, dug through piles of bags, until I saw the yellow bag.
Praying half assed that he'd be alive and expecting the worst, I unzipped the bag to find his fur.
He'd been skinned, but there was no blood.
Inside the fur, I pulled out some kind of fleshy object- His heart.
It looked like a real-life human heart. Complete with veins and whatnot.
I wasnt overtly sad, but uneasy. It kinda put me at peace almost.
I read somewhere long ago that Ancient Egyptians took out all of the organs of their dead during mumification, but left the heart intact. They believed a person truely lived life and had fun with the heart, rather than the mind.
I guess this put me at ease.

DREAM: October 22/10
Moon Cycle: Blood Moon.

Saturday, October 23, 2010

Weird dream/Subconscence

Your Health Matters Because You Matter.

Those were the words I said in a dream involving an evil mouse, battling an obsese boy, and going about it in a video-game like matter in a setting simular to my workplace.
I had to move this heavy thing across the floor. This mouse was looking at random loonies and twonies on the floor. It had a guilty face/a face of someone about to do something wrong. I finally finished hauling the heavy thing, when I looked back. The mouse had put on some kind of costume, and was in control of this obsese guy.
I dodged under this structure located where one of the Bluray DVD shelves would be along the 'racetrack' and gathered my strength.
The setting slowly turned into my old Elementary school playground/field and I began fighting the fat guy on a play structure.
I kept shouting positive/advice as I fought back, which had an effect on him. He ended up on his back, and I ended up looking at him in the eye and saying the lines above: "Your health matters because You matter".

This is clearly my subconscence telling me to get off my ass and be more positive/stop isolating.
Maybe the therepy is finally kicking in.
You know, this is one thing I could also say to my mother to get her to shut up.
I cant help but thinking that.

Ugh. Everyone in my family phones me up to either bitch about some issue around the house, or something at work.
I'm getting sick of it.
I'm not even going to answer the phone.

Friday, October 22, 2010



I've let myself get fat and lethargic again.
Not very hard when you're working for the third most evil company in the world.

I just eat. And sleep. And cook. And eat. And Sleep. And sleep some more.
Hell, I wouldnt be surprised if I sleep-eat.
I bought a yoga DVD yesterday. {For those of you who have no idea who the fuck I am, or rather, what my ego has set up; I concider myself a feminist punk. Yup. Green Mohawk. Piercings. Spikes. The whole Shabang.}
Buying a Yoga DVD for me was like a Reverend buying porn........which probably happens every day, so I'll use a better example: Like.....Well, a feminist chick buying into the whole society's standards.
I dont believe I'm overweight.
I just feel unfit and gross. I dont think I've repeatidly done any excersize in almost two years.
It's a shame, because excersize did help my depression.
Now, I just have to actually get off my ass, pop the DVD in, and start with the leg crossing!
I hate the Yoga train though.
Yoga is a deep, Ancient, sacred practice. Not some fad-of-the-month quickie weight loss solution.
I doubt Jillian Michaels even knows what a Bodhisvatta is!
(I'm actually surprised I spelt that correctly without reference material!)
But still.........As a Zen Buddhist, I may as well partake in the excersize which has transformed many people.
Ugh. After bed.

Monday, October 18, 2010


Holy Christ.
This is my life.
I hate it.

I'm a single, depressed, lonely, bitter human being.
Living in a tiny apartment where the fridge leaks, the ceiling is caving in, and it's bug-infested, isolating myself.
There's nothing left to do.
I procrastinate with everything.
My job? $9.00/hr working in a warehouse of a crappy electronics store.
Food controls me.
My Depression controls me.
My Mother's violent rage and awful memories control me.
How do I get out?

Mindless self pity rant #207

Five women so far have called about my ad on craigslist. Which means five women will end up in the apartment at the same time; either fighting to the death in my living room, or all of them deciding at once that the room is a useless waste of space and that I am a terrible person for ever suggesting anyone ever live in it!
How dare I!

I've gotten myself into a bad habbit of making this naan-like pan bread (which CANNOT be good for me) everyday. It's about 2:3 in oil content, the other ingredients being flour, yeast, and water.

I need to excersize more.
Seriously. This isnt a vanity thing..Okay it is. I want to fit in my pants again.
Been gradually cutting down though..
I guess this is gonna be another cupcake/emotions thing.
When I find a new recipe I absolutely love, I make it every bloody day.
Gradually, I cut down, then comes to the point where I can safely 'meh' about it.
It was like that with cigarettes, alcohol, drugs, and other such crap people do to themselves, only food is so universally accepted.
Food to me, like millions of others, is a comfort.
I've become my mother: Hiding away in my own space, isolating myself and not caring about my body, health, or happiness.
My addictions counsellor stated 90% of recovering drug addicts gain weight after a significant number of months.
I havent gained too much, although I've never been comfortable in my own skin.
I'm naturally skinny, but my twin sister was always skinnier. I guess that's why I tried so hard to out-do her in almost everything: No matter how much I ever completed, I was always "Fatty". AND I'VE NEVER BEEN OVER 125 LBS IN MY LIFE! AT 163cm! (5ft 4 to Americans).
My Mother's always been overweight. Cruel and addicted to something!
I feel as though she never did anything to stop my siblings tormenting me because it would mean taking the negative attention off of her for once.
Well, now, none of us have great self esteem, and are withering away in crappy apartments, Rehab centres, Jail, or dead end Mcjobs.
I am not my appitite, or my problems.
I'm just a kid who grew up in a bad home, lost her way, and is now trying to put back the pieces.

Tuesday, October 12, 2010


I still feel pretty sad about Ranga leaving.
He's doing what he has to do, and the world doesnt revolve around me.
I'll just miss his conversations and the fact I've met one male who isnt a complete asshole or some jealous-passive agressive dweeb. A guy who's actually smart, but not pretentious about it. If I were hetro, I'd dig my claws into him.
He was like a brother to me.
Like the same brother I once had, whom I lost so many years ago. Travelling on the same wavelength in a world full of disfunctional imps.
It's just what happens. This is life. Life is suffering. Suffering is life.

Saturday, October 9, 2010


My Roomate told me he was moving out yesterday.
He ran out of money and had to go back to his home in Australia.
It hit me like a sack of bricks, but I tried not to cry in front of him. I could tell he felt bad, but shit happens.
Vancouver wages are shit, and I highly doubt *I* can even keep afloat.

I hate the roomate search.
I was lucky running into Shandra and Ranga.
They were like the brother and sister I never had. Well, did have, but never leading on to drugs/stupidity.
Shandra helped me with veganism and art.
Ranga helped me with Straight Edge and punk.
They were the human embodiments of my core belief system.

In other news, my mohawk is maintained and is now green.

I'll miss Ranga so much...
I miss Shandra as well.

Lets just hope another awsome person comes along.

Thursday, October 7, 2010

Polar Promise

A thousand grams of green tea used to do the trick
Now a thousand cups a day, and I still feel cold and sick
People always tell me not to overuse my mind
Of what I know may never be though be it hard to find
You heard me write 'I hate it here, but that doesnt mean you, my dear'
And did I say "Hate Feeds your Fear"
But that's just one thing you'd never hear.

To Claim you feel what I feel; know life's hard
I know you want to help me out; impossible regard
People always tell me to 'be gentle with your heart'
And nothing goes unwasted when your life's been blown apart.
You heard me write "I hate it hear, but that doesnt mean you, my dear"
and did I say Hate feeds your fear"
But that's one thing nobody will hear.

Meh thoughts

Having depression sucks.
All those fools out there think it's crying all day. It isnt.
It's not giving a damn about anything.
The wonderful things in life you just KNOW are out there, but really cant feel excited for.
Thanksgiving, Halloween, Friends..I'm so lucky to have these.
So why do I feel so empty and tired?
I'm understimulated at work.
People say: You need a hobby. You need therapy. You need drugs. You need new friends.
I dont 'need' anything. Fundamentally, things do not exist.
There's a deeper truth and meaning to it all.
Halloween was special because I got to dress up and eat a ton of crap.
Thanksgiving was cool cause Mom used to make something good, like cheesecake, back when she did things.
Now, I have no family.
I have friends, and to tell you the truth, Thanksgiving with my family always turned out horribly violent every year.

I just miss being excited for anything.
I miss feeling emotions like a human being.

Its not so bad that I have a roof over my head and food. Those parts are good.
But..Hell...Sometimes, I wish I had some kind of a soul.

Sunday, October 3, 2010

Breakup Letter


It's been what....Five years now?
Whoa..Five whole years since I first discovered you.
I remember it well.

2005, I was an angry teenager.
I had skipped school that day and decided to bum around the Chinook C-train station in Calgary. It was cold out, as it would be in November, so I decided to go into the first building which caught my eye.
Okay. Chinook Centre.
I could go in, walk around, go undetected, and warm up.
I made my way to the Chapters and saw you. Love at first sight.
I picked you up and began reading.

Something to agree with my anger for over-consumption and evil marketing of companies!

I agreed with everything you expressed.
From the disturbing number of sexist ads in media, to the impoverished sweatshop workers of South Asia: You had it all.
Your ideas of radical revolutions and anti-capitalism had me by the throat. After all, I was young.

But now...
Listen. You're brilliant. But I dont want to read you anymore.
No, I havent sold my soul to Starbucks, nor have I become a slave to Nike or any industry.
I simply dont want to read you anymore.
You contradict yourself. If you're so hung up on anti-capitalism, why do I have to buy you in the first place?
I still love your ideas, as well as your insight to the world....But, damnit! You've become a fucken snob.
If you were a human being, you'd be those millitant hipster twenty-somethings with no real idea of how to get any of your 'Revolutionary' ideas working.

That and the Violence. Oh god, The Violence.
When I was young, I was convinced violence was okay, in order to get what you want.
But it isnt. It never has been, and it never will be.
Yes, Revolutions have come and gone. They have been violent.
How many of them have held their ground?
Ghandi found a way to overthrow the British Empire with Peace.
Buddhism has lasted 2500 years, and has yet to spread hatred towards any other religious group.
You cant just splatter photos of young punks with their faces covered in Eastern European Countries throwing grenades at buildings, and expect anything good to come of it.
(Why are your photos all young people anyways?)

Yes, Mega-Corporations are destroying the Environment, taking away our rights, producing sexist/ageist ads, among other millions of things, but here's the thing: No matter how many buildings blow up, or cars lighten on fire: You cant change the minds of people who dont want to change.
You cant go up to someone and start yelling at them about their shoes. Or latte.
Yes, Children did create those shoes. Yes it is wrong. But obviously, the guy wearing the shoes doesnt care. I doubt his ability to give a fuck will magickally double with some young zealot screaming in his face.

The world will not change into a Peaceful Utopia with Violence.
People will not change with agression.
Yes, they'll do things yr way by yelling at them.....But only until you've left the room.

The way you treat me is horrible.
I've been a devout follower for five years now, and you still accuse me of being a Capitalist pig.
Okay. I consume. I live in a First World Country.
Is that a fault? No. I cant help where I live! Thats mighty Class-ist of you!
I am a Straight Edge Vegan who doesnt drive a car, owns mostly second-hand materials, and never takes more than my share of anything!.........Except for Rice Chips.....{ALL MINE!}
Yet you still belittle me for simply reading the English Language and using money.
Well, here's a wakeup call for you: Trading and currency have been around since the dawn of time.
I dont need you telling me I'm a horrible person because I live in a tiny apartment and sleep in a little comfortable twin size bed.
I'm not in a sweatshop, but I am still underpaid for the work I do. And trust me, I do work.
I am not being whipped, but I am still taunted and hunted down by perverts because I am a woman.
I am very aware that horrible things happen in other countries- which is why I try to consume as little as possible and donate to charitable organizations.
One thing you have to understand, Adbusters: Things take time. You have to be patient.
No matter how many people you scream at, people will change and realize injustice when they want to.

Yes, we do need to seriously re-educate ourselves about over-consumption and evil corporations: Just not from you.
I can see right through you.
You are a magazine created in Vancouver BC, Canada.
-The last time anything blew up here from the millitary was a meth lab on Princess Street, ran by the son of a retired Cadet.-
Many people will see this breakup letter as some idiotic dribble of a disillusioned young punk.
I dont care how they see it.
I see it as one step towards a future thinking for myself, and having my actions damage as little people as possible.
Hope You find another nice Boy or Girl to converse with.




I really wish I could believe you were out to promote equality of women in the media and shatter myths about what exactly beauty, while encouraging self esteem.
But, unfortuately, like every other campaign out there, it's to sell a product.

Rather than being angry with you....I'm past that already....I'm going to spread your message as a free agent. No strings attatched.
Because, although you use animal products, have been accused of using child labour, belong to a company which promotes sexism/racism in their other products- I still love the idea of your slogan: "Love the Skin you're in."

Tuesday, September 28, 2010

Digital Suicide

The following is a practice suicide note. I'm not going to kill myself. I'll probably just go to sleep.

Upon finding this note, I'm guessing you found my bloating rotting corpse as well.
Yeah, I took the cowards way out.
I feel I am inadequate as a human being.  That I have never, nor will ever, accomplish much.
I'm miserable to be around, and those who I do hang out with, I feel as though I have lost touch.
I fit nowhere. I've been disconnected.
I belong nowhere, and I really dont see the point to life anyways.
To live. To exist. There.

I havent felt any happiness for the last three years.
It's been full of pointless bouts of wasting time.
I dont want to do anything. In a way, I'm freeing up space and am one less mouth for the world to feed.

I just dont see myself as worth anything.
I dont mean that in a melodramatic way; I mean, scientifically, I dont contribute anything!

This is my own doing.
Yes, my parents sucked at raising their kids, but they arent the reason I've done this.
Nor is it my friends, siblings, coworkers, or anyone else for that matter.
I did this because of me.
I am a useless human being wasting space.

Exist and Desist.

I am a girl trying to find out who I am.
Trying to find my way.

I dont know how important my impact on the world is, but I go about my days with the notion in my head that I'm glad just to be alive.
I am recovering from an eight year drug addiction, as well as a lifelong issue with severe depression.
I have no family, a crummy job....Really, the only connection I have to where I'm living now is some friends, and the fact I exist in general.
I am into punk rock.
I grew up on Punk roots, meaning I questioned everything, always seemed to be in trouble with some kind of authority, and really wondered just WHY people thought I was weird.
The way I can describe it, My Mother was a burnt-out junkie who stayed in bed all day and My Father was a straight-as-nails, morbid-yet-sensible man.
My Siblings and I were all very creative yet troubled.
My Twin Sister, to this day, is a lazy, uneducated slob with the maturity of someone six years her junior.
My Brother was an extremely violent, angry, sociopathic ex-crackhead, who seems to be settling down since he found out one of his friends was gay. Heh. Guess someone got in under the radar.

I know existance is, in fact, existance; and that we are not all just floating in the dream of a monumentous Universal Centepede in Deep Outer existance.....
But thats about it.
We create almost everything.
The Water of the Ocean is only as deep as the one swimming in it.

Monday, September 27, 2010

NYC punk?

Here's a crazy Idea:

A somewhat unstable Canadian Punk decides to save up money for a pilgrimage to New York.

But cant you just spend that money on a Tattoo?
I barely make anything at the job I have now, so I'd have to get a new job and save up..
Plus my stuff will be in a bit of a weird place...
I'm sure Ranga's leaving soon (tear), so I'd have a new person to guard the fort. Watch: I'll come back and half my stuff will be pawned off.
Meh. It's just stuff.

Anyways, I guess it's just a pipe dream.


Hurray to my Drug Doc (sorry..Addictions Councellor) who just became a Dad yesterday.
Thats the good news.
The bad news is: Now I am in Councellor Limbo.
This place, I know too well.
They havent told me anything yet, but I know from history that it's gonna be at least a month before I get in to see anyone. That and I have to explain things to them all over again.
Whenever I tell a personal story, I not only have to explain the characters, but also the setting of the story.
Like, whenever I tell a story about my own father: Okay. He's a Moldavian-Canadian Police Officer who's funny, witty, and creepy.
Therefore, if I told the councellor about the time my dad left me in a rail yard for two hours when I was fourteen; only to come back bruised, bleeding, but acted like nothing had happened and continued to drive me home- the councellor would have taken that as a sign of 'she was abandoned by her father'.
No. I wasnt.
Old councellor already knows what my Dad's like, so he'd probably ask me what I did for two hours in the rail yard. (I think I sat down and smoked like, five cigarettes. Whatever was in my pocket at the time. I dont remember!)
Not only that, but it's the connection.
You cant just open up to anyone. Thats why it took some people so long in school to get one simple scene done. I mean, you're vulnerable: thats probably how I got hooked on drugs in the first place.
Isolation, loneliness, vulnerability.
Now, it's like I'm having to take five steps back. Again.
I mean, I'm not blaming my councellor, or am angry at the fact his wife gave birth. Good for them. We need more Dharma Punks in the world.
I'm just frustrated that I'm lost in the system. Again.


I've been thinking alot about Fathers lately.
Whenever I see a picture of a father playing with his children, or a commercial of sorts, I get pretty sad.
I know most fathers out there are assholes, but mine wasnt.
Well..Okay, he's been an asshole at times. That doesnt mean he is one.
He had his own style of parenting. He just wasnt around much because of work.
My Mom was always in the house. We just never saw her. She was always in bed.
To this Day, some friends I knew in Junior High think I was Motherless/ Raised by my Dad.
I was, to some extent.
Yeah, my mom was there to display neurotic mood swings, childish ramblings, drunken fighting and terrifying violence, but that's about it.
Dad taught me how to cook, clean, and ways to keep my siblings from killing each other- when he was home.
After that, the schedual was: Avoid Mom, make breakfast/lunch/dinner, shut Laura up, get Phil organized, feed the cat, clean whatever mess the siblings made, get everyone ready for school/make sure everyone's doing their homework (we never did).
Dad came home around 7:00 every night.
He knew my mother had left her room if one of us was crying, or a wine bottle was missing.

So, why am I getting so uptight about fathers?
Maybe I blame mine?
I mean, he could have left my mom and taken us to somewhere safer.
He always stated though that he didnt want her to die and that there wasnt enough money.
Or maybe I just feel I've missed out on the whole childhood thing.
My Dad's been very supportive with this whole stupid baby thing, so I guess I shouldnt be complaining.
You know what? Maybe I should, actually.
Dad. You didnt take responsibility for raising yr kids in a safe environment. You knew we were being beaten; Laura stopped breathing one time she was so scared.
This wasnt just slaps either. We were punched, kicked, had our heads slammed in the walls, and I have two missing teeth from it. I've slowly learned to accept my smile.
Dad. You were such a wonderful man. So why didnt you rescue us?

Thursday, September 23, 2010

Early Morning Ramble- 1

I just want to stay in bed today.
Stupid responsibility.

There comes a time in one's life where they wish to move.
To Change.
To go ahead and continue further on the path through the hazy waters of adulthood.

This person isnt me.

I dont want this person to be me, and quite frankly, I dont understand why I have to be this person.
I'm perfectly fine and content with who I am, as well as where I live, what I eat, and how much I have.
I dont own alot of things.
I dont eat alot.
I dont feel the need to gain more money (yet. Christmas is coming up.)

I dont want to start a family.
I dont want a larger apartment, or more clothes.

It's the double standard: You're greedy if you want things, and you're insane if you dont.
You're frivilous if you buy things. You're stingy if you dont.
Capitalism is evil and demeaning. Communism is Soul crushing and pointless.

Where's the dust to cling?

Monday, September 20, 2010


Female Influences

1. Yoko Ono
2. Alice Glass
3. Courtney Love
4. Kim Gordon
5. Gloria Steinem
6. Bif Naked
7. Bjork
8. Joan Jett

Saturday, September 18, 2010


Oh Thurston Moore...

You may be a Schizophrenic Helltroll, but damn, boy! You make good music!

You also suspiciously remind me of my ex girlfriend. One of them anyways.....Who cares...They were all fucking nuts.
Ono Soul, Dude. Rock On.

You've been tagged!

Been reading up on a recent news article about a Sixteen Year Old Girl who was drugged at a rave and Gang-Raped by half a dozen people in a field.
In the age of surveilance, how did anyone NOT see this?!
We have surveilance footage of a homeless guy being thrown from a dumpster into a dump truck.
We also have footage of Amy Winehouse smoking crack. (Big Surprise there.)
But why, when it comes to actual hard-wired evidence, did this somehow go un-noticed?
There are Seventeen pictures on facebook of it. The guy who posted them is gonna get a talkin' to by the RCMP, and maybe a slap on the wrist for distribution of what's concidered 'Child Pornography'.
Uh, this isnt pornography.
Pornography is usually heavily digitally enhanced pictures of anorexic, seventy-five percent plastic Women fornicating with other equally plasticated Men/Women/Donkeys.
*Insert a million Donkey = Ass/Porn Title jokes here.*
It's consentual and payed. Unless you're the donkey. 
(And if you're reading this, Mr. Donkey, you're a donkey who can not only read english, but navigate the internet to read this. I'm proud of you! Now go get another job. No, not those type of jobs!)
This was Rape. What's worse is the guy taking the pictures didnt do anything to HELP this girl!

She's now living with this ordeal and there's a dozen photos of her strewn all over the internet of her, barely conscience/on GHB (the 'date rape' drug), while being fucked by half a dozen douchbags in a line!
(And you thought the facebook photos of you dancing drunk on a table in some backwater bar were bad!)

The RCMP claim that they simply cannot pinpoint all the pictures strewn about because Facebook is so vast and picture sharing has become so widely available, that it would take about a year of hacking to neutralize all the photos from all sources. So....
You can find and shut down illegal mp3 streaming operations.
You can prevent me from using my roommate's credit card to buy a pet goat on ebay.
You can use infrared technology to find ammo dumps.
You can spend countless hours streaming the BP Oil Disaster to CNN.
But you cant help a Sixteen year old girl find her attackers and maybe get her dignity back.

Yeah, Okay.
I'll just go back to tagging drunken photos of my sister dancing on a table now.
Thats the great thing though about having a twin on Facebook.
That supposed little blurry black dot fighting crocodiles while plummeting down a waterfall?
Totally Me.

Thursday, September 16, 2010

Creepy Roomate Update

My Current roomate:

Steven Boscher
Age: 26
Occupation: Tattoo Shop
Time S/He's lived with me: May '10 - Present

This guy's gotta be one of the coolest people I know. (Well, he'd have to be to live here!)
He's an average Str8 Edge Punk Ginger Aussie (Adelaide?) with some great tattoos.
He's also a millitant Atheist. Okay, I shouldn't say Millitant. He doesn't blow shit up. (That I know of...But then again, with the track record I have for roomates, you never know...)
He does, however, feel very strong with the separation of Church and State, as well as just the general Idiocracy of Christianity.
I know, I know.
The little twenty one year old Idolizing some Tattoo'd atheist.
Trust me. It makes a better Twilight Ripoff than anything in real life.
He does raise some very good points in some Facebook Atheist groups, so HURRAY!

He also eats a ton of sugar.
He's probably nuts. But hey, I dont mind.
He has his space. I have mine. It's all good.
And because some idiot's gonna ask sooner or later: No, we havent seen each other naked.
I hope to never. Despite being awsome, lets just say I'm an early bird who doesnt go for worm.

Wednesday, September 15, 2010

Junkie's Promise

 A hundred dollar's pay used to buy your stuff
And now a hundred times a day and still it's not enough
People always tell me you get what you deserve
All I know is all and all is all I've heard
I heard you say: "you know I hate myself
But I love everybody else"And did you say: "I can't escape myself"
And then you did and now there's no one else
To blame you know that I know-yeah that times are rough
I'd like to help you out, but things are rather tough
People always tell me that you've got to lend a helping hand
Nothing in return is all I expect from you my friend
I heard you say: "you know I hate myself
But I love everybody else"And did you say: "I can't escape myself"
And then you did and now there's no one else
I heard you say: "you know I hate myself
But I love everybody else"
And did you say: "I can't escape myself"
And then you do
and now there's no one else.

Take Thou Job and Shove Thy, Part 2

Skipping work again.
God, I hate my fucking job...
I also hate the fact I'm being some kind of a lazy ass, and justifying being lazy with the whole 'I hate my job' excuse.
If it were up to me, I'd run my own business of vegan catering.
But that would mean taking a business course, getting certified, learning the 'art of presentation' and many other things which require money.
I have to work for money. At a job I hate.
{Vicious Circle time!)
I never have wanted to become a cook.
I like cooking, dont get me wrong, but that's just the thing: I like it.
To turn something into a job is to make it the enemy.
I know Andrew McIllroy stated to 'never make the building/schedual the enemy', but then again, he'd shuffle into Starbucks at night, and spew a plummel of exausted aggitation about having to teach at another place till midnight.
Meh. He's a great man, so I'm not going to point out the whole hipocritical viewpoint.
My job is getting easier since they've began training me. (Gee...That only took three months!)
But it's just the whole repeatitive nature, plus making an indecent wage $9.00. Immigrants make more.
Our Supervisior is very overworked, nobody ever really knows what's going on, and the whole merchandising department is opperating miles apart from everyone else.
That and everybody in the store, including the new people, are making more than I am.
Why this is, I have no idea.

Craigslist Time, again.

Speaking of job woes, I saw a picture of my old roomate on craigslist, who's now in New Zealand, working as a prostitute.
She did the same thing when she was here, but I was glad she was living with me and not in a brothel somewhere.
I was always very nervous that her body would end up in Coal Harbour or False Creek.
She's come home and tell me about all the guys she'd service.
God I'd wish they'd legalize prostitution already!
Sure, these fucking pseudo-hippies can block victory square for hours about 'Freeing Marc Emery!' or other shit, but I have yet to meet any young people who will put their time towards prostitutes.
Oh yeah, that's right....Prostitutes arent really people. I forgot.
They cant be grinded up, put into bags, unless you're Robert Pickton... smoked, and make you do stupid shit.
Anybody who gives me that 'It's their choice' attitude can stick it up their ass.
You think someone just gets up one day and decides "Hey, I'm going to go sell my body, risk my life, and begin a life-long addiction!" just for something to do?!
No. This isnt 'choosing' between Cookie Dough Icecream or Peanut Butter Icecream.
It's (for lack of a better term) choosing to make money the only way you know how to, so that your body doesnt go into entrapedic shock from withdrawl, possibly risking a heart attack, or eating another day.
The Sex these women are having isn't passion infused either.
Nobody's in love. You're on something, a guy is punching you in the face, doesnt care about how much it hurts when he's fucking you, and hey, maybe he has a gun and might shoot you! Who  knows!
These women have the self esteem of chewed gum on the sidewalk.
What's worse, is that in Vancouver, people would rather clean up the gum.

Monday, September 13, 2010

Never Enough

I always secretly feel really lame that I'm the one not drinking or toking at any party/social function.
I mean, it's totally my choice: Live up and pay up.
I know it works out in the long run: More self control, slowly gaining my life back, never hung over, never making a giant ass out of myself...The pros totally outweigh the cons.
Recently though, I've been to a few outings where I've felt a bit disconnected from everyone else.
I guess it's my own doing, seeing at how you're only as happy as you want to be happy...
I guess I'm just on a different wave length than everyone else.
Dont get me wrong: Being dry has totally saved me in situations as well....*coughDrunkMagicianscough!*
I mean, because of being the quickest (well, relatively) thinker in some situations with some people, I have prevented some fires. (Literally).
I mean, I know people who've almost gotten themselves seriously injured while drunk....and being in a room with a stoner when you're not baked is about as exciting as watching paint dry. Sometimes, that's literally what you end up doing all night anyway. Only they enjoy it.
I'm not gettin all preachy or anything about the dangers of alcohol...
Everyone already knows that.
I guess I just feel like how I did when I was the oldest kid in Kindergarten.
I knew Santa wasnt real, and even if I pretended and went along with the excitement of the other kids, I knew deep down that it was all an over-rated sham.
Meh. I'm being moody.

I still have lovely friendships I am greatful for; I just really dont appreciate how everyone keeps telling me I'm a 'good girl' all while chugging their beers/wines.
I guess I can compare the feeling I get to someone on a diet in a room full of people eating cheesecake.
You think "Oh hell....Everyone's eating it! May as well have a slice!"
Thats when you remember that nobody in their right mind ever has just one slice of cheesecake.
Alcohol and Drugs are the same way.
"One Drink is too many, and a thousand is never enough".

The deeper subtext I feel is that I'm the only one I know, who is willing to admit I am struggling with an addiction. So far, I'm winning. But it just keeps going on. It's a simple fact. Nobody I know has (or is willing to admit) an addiction. I feel as if there's some kind of stigma placed on me as 'the chick who cant drink'.
Same thing with being Vegan and Diabetic.
Cant have this. Cant have that. Blahblahblah. I know that if I throw it all away, it's gonna bite me in the ass though. (I'm just being whiny...)
Thank god for the Virgin Margaritas at the Mexican restaurant tonight!
A friend of mine from school, Stacy, turns Twenty One today! YAY! MEXICAN FOOD!
Complete with a sombraro, guacamole, and of course, a thousand things with cheese.
I ordered the guacamole. Really the only thing I could eat. I dont mind though. I love the shit.
I'm glad I got to sit and eat my favorite food with good friends.
Happy Birthday Stacy!

Sunday, September 12, 2010

Short Poem

I called up my mother
She'd had too much to drink
What's one pint to another?
As this woman might think.
Reluctantly, we sang verses
From the exact same song
It was two different bands
But she still got it wrong.
"The song's about a woman who was left by her man"
"The Song's about Suicide" I interrupted. "Understand?"
"My version is beautiful. Filled with a soul
Your version sounds like it was sung in a hole."
Mom, I interupted, Cant we agree?
Or is that such a problem, from a person like me?
Surely they sound different, but the message is there-
It's someone who's lost touch with a world in dispair.
But there's no use arguing, or taking the blame
You cant win a match with the creator of the game.

Taketh thou job and shove thy

This entry was written August 21, 2010.
Facebook never let me publish it. Reasons I have no idea why.

In this past week, I'd have two very opposing conversations with two members of my family at different times.
I had managed to come to even terms with my brother, stating to agree to disagree; though I have a sneaking suspicion he's going to hinder off to the same level of being an asshole he usually is when I'm at home.

The other ill-fated-as per usual- conversation was with my mother, from which I had managed to evade her usual guilt ridden self loathed stories of pointlessness.

I haven’t slept well for a couple of days, so now I'm sick.

I've missed two days of work. Bad for the paycheque, but good for the fact I despise my workplace.

I have a job interview today for a small café which makes chocolate.

Coffee and Chocolate: my two Achilles Heels.

I’ve also been reading Edgar Allen Poe, the result being my writing is beginning to take better shape.

I’m sitting on the fence with the whole job thing.

On One side:

Jean’s Reasons for Quittin’ Time!

1. It’s pretty obvious. I’m like a retarded child attempting to play bagpipes in an Elevator when it comes to working where I‘m employed. The training sucks. What’s worse is that my superiors have all ADMITTED the training sucks. When it comes down to crunch time, within me asking whether or not I’m going to actually learn something today, everyone’s ‘too busy’ to show me where the fucking hooks are, what the fuck an MTD actually is, and whether or not anyone actually gives a fuck about merchandising in general.

2. Is it chilly in here? Or….
Is everybody just in a really fucking bad mood ALL THE TIME?!
Yeah, it’s 5 AM. Yeah, you were probably out drinking all night. I understand.

But all I said was “Good Morning”, not  in demonic voice from The Exorcist “Yer Mother’s Here”….

Lighten the fuck up people!

I’d never thought *I* would be the one telling someone to smile!

3. It hasn’t been since VFS that I can actually feel myself tensing up when I enter the building. It’s an automated reaction of fear; something I don’t need.

If my body is reacting towards the point of being so frustrated that I actually start to shake, then I know I’m either doing something painful (AKA At home Sewing Needle Piercing) or something I really do NOT want to do.

4. Nine Bucks an Hour. I made more doing the exact same tasks I do now, at a Liquor store.

Granted here, I’m not sneaking booze.

Jean’s Reasons to Stay.

1. Three people out of the four dozen people working there are nice.

2. I’ve only been there for two months. {But then again, if I’m already driven into a shaking frenzy after only two months….}

3. I can have many piercing and purple hair. They don’t seem to give a damn about those.

Who knows. Maybe I wont even be hired at the café. (Editor's Note: She wasn't!)
Maybe, like almost every workplace nowadays, they’re looking for the Lulu Lemon wearing, sweet to yr face-snotty to yr back type of people, whom seem to be multiplying at a terrifying rate.

I’m frustrated because it seems like every other month, I’m out looking for a job.

I was debating whether or not it was just my attitude towards the entire thing.

Or maybe I’ve just worked a lot of crappy jobs.

Who knows.

All I know is, From this job, I got a cheap printer.

Hurray and Thank you.
I’d live on an Amish farm with no technology whatsoever if it meant I got homemade chocolate.


I’ve found the dirty little secret behind the ever addicting evil Girl Guide cookies in vegan cupcake form.

*Insert Mwahahaha Here*

If nobody wants to eat Chocolate Peppermint Cupcakes, then I’m outta’ here!

Saturday, September 11, 2010


Before I forget:

Nine Years ago today: whether you believe it was carried out by Islamic Extremists, or an entire cover up/incident created by the CIA, over a thousand people lost parts of their families/friends in the World Trade Centre Attacks in New York City.

May they Rest in Peace.

-September 11, 2010

Music Rant 1

For the last month, I've been listening to Sonic Youth non-stop.
Before that, it was Kap Bambino.
Before THAT was Crystal Castles.

I'm wondering if this is either something more deeply rooted in my psyche, or if I'm just succumbing to any average young person's interest in music.

Kim Gordon, the Bassist for Sonic Youth, is definately on my list of powerful women in rock.
I'm so amazed at almost everything that spouts from her mouth.
Sure, she's guarded and edgy...But who isnt?
Best of all, it isnt an act. That and she actually knows what the fuck she's talking about.

I cant believe some of the idiotic things most tween pop stars say these days.
I'm sure people can remember that twat Miley Cyrus's 'racism scandal', in where the fucking twat  singer was photographed mocking some Asian guy by doing the slanty eyes thing.
OH and some wonderful words of wisdom from Shiloh! (Who?)

Interviewer: So what can you tell me about your single? What was the inspiration you followed?
Shiloh: Well...Uhm..Like, I didnt actually, like, write the song.

Sorry. That was the sound of my skull imploding.

Now, back in the day (the 80s...), most punk rockers got by on writting their OWN SHIT.
Like, picking up a pen and paper, and writting things down. Then creating a melody through practice.
I know that Sonic Youth still produces their own music, even though they're all on their merry little ways of becoming grumpy old people.
(Kim still looks fucking beautiful, and her husband/bandmate Thurston Moore hasn't aged a whole lot.....Maybe gingers really are all secretly evol trolls. He reminds me of every guy I went to highschool with. I will post further self-created conspiracy theories on why Kim Gordon may just be the devil. I've got my Dad on this theory as well....)
The Beatles also followed this somewhat foreign practice of creativity/talent.
I bet you Paul McCartney can source every song he's ever written. Thats because, uh, HE ACTUALLY WROTE ALL OF 'EM!
I was taught this at VFS: When your results suck, you suck. No matter what you do, if you dont do the work/put in the time and effort, you not only lose power in everything you do, you never really gain the power to begin with. The power of talent, work, and self respect.


Allow me to introduce myself.

I go under the handle 'Lambcat'.
(The name is after a little stuffed genetically modified cat plushie who think's he's a lamb. He wears a pleather jacket I made him.)

I am a bored, overeducated-understimulated young woman, living in Vancouver, Canada.
I'm a vegan buddhist, as well as a recovering drug addict. (Arent they all?!)
My main source of income involves spending four to eight hours at an un-named Electronics store.
I know for a fact this company actually spies on its employees, so I wont bother getting into all the red tape and shit.
I'm a Str8 Edge Punk, currently with a Black and Red Mohawk.
I'm still young. I can do whatever the hell I want with my hair and face..
If, by some fluke coincidence, or some horrible experiment-gone-wrong involving soysauce and poptarts- you were to meet me, you'd assume at first glance I was some angry-spitting-junk shootin'-sarcastic-punk girl of a bitch. I'm actually quite warm and funny. That is if you dont subject me to drug fuelled schizophrenic ramblings of utter destruction.
Too Many of those...

I live in Vancouver with some Australian Str8 Edge punk I met on Craigslist.
He's cool.

I've lived throughout Western Canada most of my life, so I really dont have a hometown.
Vancouver to me is the greatest place one will ever vomit in the street.

Most of the people I hang around are either from the last city I lived in; Calgary, or people I drag home from work to play N64 and eat spaghetti.
My hobbies include cooking, playing N64 or Gamecube, jumping up and down like a monkey on speed to music, photo manipulations, baking, and sleeping.
I am also an Alumni of Vancouver Film School's Acting Department.
I think I'm going to do that now, actually...