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[18 Jun 2014|06:04pm]

"I love the rocket summer"
Fuck you.

This party is awesome.

Aooooooo'n shit

Where's Patrick?
- Kat

It smells like farts in here.
Oh wait, that's my upper lip.
- John W.

I'm 25.

I'm mean and mean
- "Holly"

"Robin is the fresh young meat. Fresher than FarmBoy"
-John W.

"Why is everything shaped like a bat?"

"No one wants to have an orgy with me..."
- Emilie (she's so hot)

I don't want to see David's Cock.

I do...
-Eleanor (meow)

I want go to the Lust Shack....stat

This party's awesome. Ra ra ra.
Fucking Jabboo.




Eleanor is fat.
Stop eating treats.
Damn, bitch.
Fat little panda.
Stop eating Eucaliptis.

Stop giving my cat treats you WHORE!!! JUST KIDDING!! :D

Captains log: T 3hrs, the Gin is beginning to take hold, the madness has begun, perry ferril is invading my brain, for the love of jesus where am I???!????

you are home. Phone ET.

This party is hot. hot. heat.

The Hives are a pretty ok soundtrack to Batman. Think about it.
holy dickbutt batman


uh....don't touch my business...mmkay?

This pie is worth a stop. And by pie I mean wine. And by stop, I mean...I'm drunk.

OMG Garfield referenced PlayBoy magazine.

But it's no goddamn lust shack...which I still want to go to. Stat.

Playboy ain't shit, gimme some muff
John M.D.

Adam West is my personal jesus

"Smell my chest"... "ok"
- emilie and holly

Is this depeche mode?


im bringing... sexy back. again. - asha.

getting humped by emilie savard... such a pleasure does not exist.

Michael Norton cannot have sex on my back.

This is incredible, that's what it is.

This party would only be better if there were penguins. Considering that's not an option, this is awesome. AWESOME. You heard it here first.

shakira makes my nuts want to impragnate and shit
john m.d.

god damn neighbors!11

THIS IS A QUIET BUILDING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I hate that bitch. Fuck off with your six cats you whore. You don't even live here. (I'm not kidding).

Hey Ashley, calm the fuck down! It's just smartfood. It's not like it's batman or something!

Lee is pretty in black. Like Johnny Cash, but obviously not Johnny Cash...he's a country superstar...but not THAT country.


"IT IS BATMAN." "huh?"

I'm the porn. I'm your porn.

God's porN? No....your porn.

If I have to listen to more of this Matt Good Bullshit, I'm going to JUST shit.

I didn't sign up for a DAN DUFF party.

"I don't even understand."

Captains Log: T 5.5hrs- beatles covers, overlarge flowers, heart racing....life is beautiful

Ashley is a large flower ninja.

I won't take your flower if you don't want me to.


point, aim, shoot


never, you have incredible hair

Spiritual Kung Fu. Dig it.
Like a pony.
or chuck norris


with your face!

Fuck you capslock.

Steve: +1000000000,000000000 pts. for Ani.

....hr 6......neil young

Interpol?? Do they play that song? Or is it Depeche Mode?

Jackie Chan just peed on the ghosts. that must have SOME metaphorical content.

Fuck. I hate the movie room. STOP SEGREGATING ME!


Fuck you Adam West, Jackie Chan is my personal Jesus

8th beer. 9th beer? One of those.
Interpol sound like that new band getting tons of radio play who swear more.

*buzzer* *beer opens* Aooo. 3:00pm.

(insert B4-4 photo here please)

I got the full monty in David's room. It was awesome.

Uh...this party is TOIGHT. Like a TOIGER.

"I needed some port. To get the PORTY started."

"dont encroach on me"

Can somebody please tell me what a Rock Lobster is?????

HOLOCAUST, hhahahahahahahahaha - mel gibson

No one understands my drunkeness. They are mean.

So we take a chip trip to Heck's Confectionary. They sell VHS's for 99 cents. So i bought HP Lovecraft's Necronomicon: The Book of the Dead and it gets opened and the tape in there was FUCKING HEAT!!!, and that movie is like 2 tapes and like, so i got Heat part 1. WHAT THE FUCK. I hate Hecks. I got Heck owned. fuck..... -Patrick

It just isnt a party without someone getting locked in a bedroom. *cough*

So Zac tries the obvious...and here they are....David and Simon...back at the party...Oh my fucking christ...why did we kick in my door??

I was totally gonna kick in the door wearing skinny cords and heels...it was gonna be SO hot.

Esther: "Zack, it's a pleasure basking in the sunshine of your presence."
Zack: "Aww--"
Esther: "Can I have a beer?"

[Sidenote: Esther did not get a beer.]

You have the piece I didn't have...
That's what she said!!!!

Yes there is!! IN A BAGGIE!!!!


I'm your biggest fan remember??
Oh ya...you have like...my entire discography as of yet.

(REM plays)
Matt: I'm so old.

Roisin: I've never been to a party with a blog before.

In his actorial Debut Kevin Bacon TOTALLY gets it on and then gets stabbed through the fucking chest from behind while he lays in bed...NICE -Patrick

Ashley: That's Kevin Bacon's bum!

David has a SIGNED Goth Bible

(In reference to "Eleanor is fat.
Stop eating treats.
Damn, bitch.
Fat little panda.
Stop eating Eucaliptis."):
Panda's don't eat "Eucaliptis". Koala's DO!
and it's spelled like "Eucalyptus", but i think it's wrong I'm not claiming it to be the right spelling, there might be an "H", i have some wine in me and i don't normally write about trees
- Roisin

Dictionary.com says "eucalyptus", good job Roisin.

"I just need a little bit of time..."

Eleanor, stop cleaning your ass on my laptop case.
Holly - I just need a little bit of time.

(in reference to Eleanor)Patrick: This is a really hairy pussy, and this time it's licking back.

OH SHIT SON. Did someone say SNAP?!

Stop looking at me.

I know he's attractive, but seriously...he's mine. Fuck. No Comma.


Peter, on his way out, after I mentioned that Eleanor winked at me: "Looks like you're getting some pussy tonight." Delight.

(On Lee's slight in the movie room) David: Lee is by
far, my favourite person at this party
Patrick: Dude, I'm right here, what the fuck
David: Write [what i said] in the blog
Patrick: Why don't you write this (motions to penis)
Nat: That wouldn't fit on the blog

Patrick: This is the hook, and this is me....off


that's right , i said that

im not drinking.. ever again... until tomorrow. - asdh

WTF you fucker.

Dude, you have so much work to do!


TEAL. It's fucking teal.

Talk about Bum Cakes, my girl's got 'em...

I'm sticking my fingers in YOUR deep dish
-Zack to David

I don't even understand my life right now.
I listened to "I'm a Fake" THIRTEEN times.

It's not a hangover unless Ashley's sleeping in her car.

I want pancakes.

"Aw, is it tomorrow?"

I may as well just go and listen to the used. I lead a terrible life and I haven't taken my sunglasses off since last night.
"why don't you just say to them...why don't you just eat your own face?!"
-Lee on How to get people to shut the fuck up.

*Holly sock puppet demonstration*


That should be a new type of Nerf.

Tennis? Squash? WHAT THE FUCK!?

I'm the QUEEN of onomatopeia.

Yeah...it's O, N, M, Y, whatever.

That shirt looks like a tree tried to rape her.

If they're just shooting those potatoes out of the rockets, why do they need to be peeled?

I thought harlet was a kind of bean

Poor Chet.

That's it. I've had it with these mothafuckin' snakes at this mothafuckin' party. I'm about to open some windows.

Elly has burrs on her lady hole
kind of like neuticals
she may have been raped by a shrubbery.

I don't want to touch her there. I'm her father.

That was Mod Night. And it was awesome. Super awesome.

Steve Here. Steve Out.
- Steve

Oh god. im never drinking again.... until the next time I'm in Ottawa. Thanks for the shout outs Gary & everyone.... I'm about to cry and drink more... oh oh god.... never ever again. fuck.
- ashes+ then some COMMA FUCK.

We're now doing something we've never done before. Especially while drunk.

We're watching Clone High.

I am broken

"oh Wesley he has ADD"


It's Leslie. We just met and I'm in your house and on your computer. Good going. Way to be.

Mike? Most likely threesome?
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[23 Jan 2007|12:21am]

Tickets on sale Tuesday, January 30th!

More info: http://www.capitalsyn.com
10 comments|post comment

Goodness Gracious [18 Jul 2006|06:54pm]

My Dad vs Yours

With their first full length, My Dad vs Yours force down post-rock barricades to a state where pop melodies take precedence over orchestral crescendos; where electronic beats, slide guitar and shoegaze co-exist in vibrant harmony; where instrumentals can incite sing-alongs. Recorded over the marrow-chilling months of 2005-06, After Winter Must Come Spring is tulips pushing through a late thaw. It is the sound of intense expectation that focuses not on escape but upon communal re-alignment. Though not a movement, it draws upon the social energies behind one: sometimes sullen, often celebratory, always self-aware and questioning boundaries.

Love Me...Now!

The surprise hit comedy of the 2006 Ottawa Fringe Festival returns! You have 4 minutes to tell me why I should spend the rest of my life with you! What the Hell?! It's SPEED DATING! The 21st Century solution for love. Watch the sparks fly and fall as a motley cast of crazy, fragile, and often world-weary characters look for love in the fast lane! So love me...NOW!

Last Tracks: Songs to Listen to Before You Die

Spoken Word performances by local writers on the last song they'd ever want to hear. Featuring:

Natalee Blagden
Amanda Earl
David Emery
Peter Gibbon
Ian O. Graham
Marcus McCann
Jess Pembroke
Holly Price
Mark Sokolowski
Esther Splett

Visual Art

Kathryn Jetté
Mike Norton
Andrea Stote

Visit http://www.capitalsyn.com for more details!
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[31 Oct 2005|11:11pm]
4 comments|post comment

[31 Oct 2005|09:17pm]

I'm helping to organize this show. I've been talking to Rich's managers on a regular basis for the last few weeks. It's going to be the busiest night the Avant-Garde Bar has ever seen. I really, really hope it goes smoothly for Alex.

I'd give you advice on how to ensure you get into the place, but as of right now even I'm not sure. He's also playing a DJ set at the Aloha Room the night before, after he's finished at the NAC. More to come.
6 comments|post comment

[31 Oct 2005|03:17pm]
And something's spooky in the pit of my heart
And something's turning in the trunk of my car
A nervous itching on the roof of my mouth says,
"Don't go out after dark on Halloween Day."

        - Veruca Salt

I've been listening to that band a lot, lately. Formulating a compilation in my head for someone relatively ignorant to their music. I'd kick it off with a live rendition of Louise Post's "A Piece of You," never studio recorded, because it was the song that started the band. Nina Gordon heard a demo of the song over the phone one New Year's Eve and decided she wanted to play music with Louise. I'd put on the version of "Seether" that Louise has been playing live since 2000, after Nina left the band in '98.

When people make me compilations, they're not the same because they aren't mine. I worry that's how other people look at the compilations I make for them. When I make a compilation for someone, I'm effectively holding up a large sign that says, "SEE? SEE?" Ironically, people rarely see what I'm showing them. They can't listen to "Fly" and feel like they're drowning, because it's being shown to them. There's a disconnect when they're listening to "Disconnect." I want people to feel how I feel, and it bothers me when they can't. I suppose all that's left is to try to make them feel new, positive things that I may not understand fully, but can take some pride in administering. Pride because people deserve to feel new, positive things.

Sometimes I worry that I'm getting too old to ever play music again, that it's been so long since I have that I'm no longer a musician. Why do I worry about things like this? Why do I think about becoming successful, but feel like it's such a burden that I don't actually ever accomplish anything significant? I want to be a writer, but I never write anything and send it off for consideration anywhere. I'm currently in the frame of mind that University makes me too busy to accomplish anything outside of academia. But I'll be through with school soon. Will I finally be able to sit down and write, to play music, to travel, to do things that I believe I can't do now? Or is it just a cop-out? Sometimes I look at my life and think it's so contradictory to the way I want it to be. So why can't I change it? Why can't I start something and finish it?

There is no reason beyond the influence of outside forces. But I'm quite clearly fabricating those.

I've decided to write a poem every day. I have a handful now, which is a handful more than I had before I started. I don't know why I'm writing them. Probably because if I don't, I'm going to feel increasingly as if I've abandoned any and all creative pursuits. I'm really too lazy to be an artist. Give me recognition now; the pretty words are in the mail.
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[30 Oct 2005|02:04am]
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[29 Oct 2005|07:02pm]
I feel extremely upset and alone.

Thank goodness for pumpkin masks.

Three more days.
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[28 Oct 2005|03:55pm]
After I dropped off the mic stand out on Russell Road, I was waiting for the bus to head back downtown. There was a paper box beside the bus shelter. At the last second I spotted a pumpkin sitting on top of the paper box, just a small one about twice as big as my fist. I put it in my bag and took it home with me.
2 comments|post comment

[28 Oct 2005|10:37am]
Out/Words drains me.

In certain societies on Earth, men and women who are respectively fond of the opposite sex start what are known in the English dialect as "relationships." The term "relationship" defines much, so it pays to narrow it down to "romantic relationship" so as not to confuse it with friendship, familial love and the like - an easy way to distinguish is to keep in mind that in the romantic relationship, the man and woman typically enjoy each other's company because it allows them the opportunity to put their mouths on one another's faces (or at the very least, once in awhile, occasionally, their hands in one another's hand).

"Romantic relationship," however, also defines much. It is meant to involve the emotion of "love," again differentiated from that of friendship and the familial - that swirling sound of bells chiming in your belly when the object of your affection smiles is not something your sister induces. While these terms are in place to define, they're more of a general chart of how the romantic relationship actually functions. There is further differentiation across romantic relationships due to the diverse nature of the individual human being. The word the English-speakers have to account for this is "chemistry" - how well we get along with each other, and how well our emotions of "love" live together in the same house (figuratively speaking, in this case).

In certain societies on Earth, men and women who establish great chemistry and end up in romantic relationships come up with further terms to describe one another - "boyfriend" and "girlfriend." They see one another a certain number of times per week, which is the given increment of time that analysis determines how successfully a romantic relationship is operating. The process of seeing one another is referred to in the dialect as "dating." Eventually, they spend more and more time together, with the vision in mind that the most perfect romantic relationship is one in which the boyfriend and girlfriend spend generally every single moment of their lives with one another as a complete, fully-functioning emotional and physical being. This is impossible, of course (sorry, Plato), but the boyfriend and girlfriend deny this impossibility through the romantic act of "marriage," in which the boyfriend and girlfriend morph into the new identities of "husband" and "wife." "Marriage" is a public display of ultimate commitment. The husband and wife stand in front of a bunch of people (usually of the friend and familial persuasion) and tell them that they've decided they won't listen to the bells in their stomachs set off by any other person any longer. The people applaud and ding their glasses with their spoons and give husband and wife gifts for being in the now perfect romantic relationship.

I was initially brought up in one of these societies. After my heart broke for the first time I must have been drugged and put on a rocketship to Quaoar. On Quaoar, boyfriends and girlfriends exist here and there, but most of the women I talk to find it an alien concept. This is the initial difficulty in establishing the romantic relationship on Quaoar. The second is the concept of dating. Women on Quaoar, contrary to the societies on Earth, believe dating to be a ridiculous idea. They don't see the logic in spending time with men. They have the bells in the stomach, but they only listen to them when they want to. It takes a very, very long time to convince a woman on Quaoar that she needs to show you that she cares about you. Quaoar has telephones and email, but no one seems to ever send words of concern or encouragement or even simply flippant, innocent sentences of affection to anyone else. My theory is that when the women of Quaoar leave my sight or the sound of my voice, they cease to exist. There is no realm in which they have experiences that affect their emotional outlooks, no world apart from me that allows them to wish I was around. It's possible that I could be wrong. But my telephone isn't ringing.

I realize that this is all quite ridiculous, that I'm on Earth and that I've been in affectionate, romantic relationships in the past, that most of them took a lot of work on my part in order to get the Earth-woman to wish I was around. But it seems so easy for other people, the people who speak the language. I know I'd probably be bored if it were easy. But at what point do I just get tired of all of this strenuous effort?

Every day feels like a hundred years to me. Would you let a century go to waste? No. You'd pick up the phone and dial Earth long distance. You'd shoot your affection across the galaxy regardless of how long it takes the reply to come back. But that doesn't make the waiting game any less difficult.

Out/Words drains me.

Friends Only in four days.
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[25 Oct 2005|11:35am]
I can't undo the day
it won't go under the rug
I pull out the stops
   and you pull the plug

These are sober days and I know it can't be
but I'll miss you the way you miss the sea

(Don't look down)
Keep staring like you've never seen the stars
If you need me to remind you who you are
Little blossom, there's the shiniest soul
        just behind those eyes

"No longer my affair"
Well, I can't go there just yet
so I've come to love and trust those friends
  that are holding your net

          Falling off used to mean maybe grazing a knee
          And I'll miss you the way you miss the sea

(Don't look down)
Keep staring like you've never seen the stars
If you need me to remind you who you are
Little blossom, there's the shiniest soul

   just behind those eyes

While I won't second guess what you're thinking of me
I will miss you the way you miss the sea
    ( )

I've been thinking about making a compilation of the songs that are in my head when I wake up in the morning. I'd have to keep track of them for about 20 days or so, but it would be interesting to see how it would turn out.
4 comments|post comment

[24 Oct 2005|10:49am]
Thursday, October 27th, 2005
Avant-Garde Bar (135 1/2 Besserer St.)
Doors at 7 PM
Cost: Free
All Ages.

"...noisy, chaotic...and yeah, it was fun. A memorable evening. Worth repeating."
- Amanda Earl, Managing Editor of Bywords

Out/Words features spoken word performances courtesy of contributors to In/Words magazine, as well as an open mic available for anyone willing to share their work with an audience.

Join us at the Avant-Garde Bar for our next event on Thursday, October 27th and support your local writers. We will be celebrating the release of our first issue of the academic year. There is no cover charge. All are welcome to bring their own work for distribution at the event.

Want to be published? Submit your work to inwordsmail@yahoo.com for publication in a future issue.

For more information check us out on the web at http://carleton.ca/inwords.
3 comments|post comment

[17 Oct 2005|03:37pm]
Over the past few days I've been receiving incredible news. Mindblowingly exciting news. It culminated today with a phonecall.

I feel like I've just won Gonna Meet A Rock Star.
11 comments|post comment

[15 Oct 2005|09:52pm]
Stolen from Rayanne and Kat:

1. Open a music player.
2. Go to 'all music'/'library'.
3. Hit shuffle.
4. Find photos of the first 10 artists/bands that come up [no repeats and no cheating].
5. Have people guess who the artists/bands are.

I have to stop procrastinatingCollapse )

Pfft. Too easy.
3 comments|post comment

[13 Oct 2005|07:00pm]
This Sunday:

Bywords Fall Reading
2:00 pm. Chapters, 47 Rideau Street
Readers from the fall Bywords Quarterly Journal with the music of Jesse Ferguson.

Dusty Owl Reading Series
5:00 pm. Swizzles Bar and Grill, 246-A Queen St.
Featured reader Jennifer Whiteford followed by open set.

I'll be reading my short story The Wendigo Lived Downstairs at the Dusty Owl open mic. If you want to go to either of these, let me know and we'll make plans to hook up.

Last Tuesday I went to see the stage adaptation of Alistair MacLeod's No Great Mischief at the Great Canadian Theatre Company. A talented cast of musicians/actors. I like watching the lights go down on a theatre scene, characters staring off into a real impression of a false distance, the way their eyes hang there in longing and lightly disappear.
8 comments|post comment

Pirate jokes [11 Oct 2005|02:45pm]

How does a pirate travel on land?

How does a pirate travel in the sky?

How does a pirate travel on the sea?


A boy with a speech impediment dresses up as a pirate for Halloween. He knocks on a door and a woman answers. The boy says, "I'm a birate. This is my barrot. Can I have some bandy?" The woman says, "Aren't you cute! A pirate! But where are your buccaneers?" The boy looks at the woman angrily and says, "On the sides of my buckin' head, you buckin' idiot."
11 comments|post comment

[10 Oct 2005|12:26pm]
What's wrong with me, seriously? What happened? Why am I doomed to be left? Doomed to be rejected? I need answers.

High Fidelity is a strange movie. It always makes me feel incredibly secure, because it's about this guy who is emotional and melodramatic and grumpy and overthinks everything when it comes to women; he has the same hangups and insecurities and problems that I seem to sport every now and again; he handles them in outrageous ways because he just doesn't get it and therefore sees himself as blameless (until the end, and even then his mind still wanders once he gets what he wants); and yet, and yet it all comes down to a matter of him growing older and dealing with the fact that romance and dating and being in love is absolutely fucking ridiculous for awhile if you're a certain type of person. I guess it makes me feel secure because if a guy like that can ultimately be loved and taken seriously and accompanied by someone in a mine field where he takes it upon himself to practice his dance steps, maybe it isn't as hopeless as all that.

I've had the house to myself for the past couple of days, so I've been rocking out and shouting and peeing with the door open and such. Editing stuff for the magazine.

I finished reading Settlers of the Marsh, and I've come to the conclusion that there was something seriously wrong with Frederick Philip Grove. The pain that he captures in people is so intense and real, lasting for such a long period of time that it's almost masochistic. It's about a man who has a vision of establishing his own homestead and marrying his neighbour, but when the time comes to ask her, he finds out that she'll never marry or so much as touch anyone because of the relationship her parents had. So he despondently seeks out another woman, loses his virginity and feels obligated to marry her even though he doesn't love her. They're married for years and drive each other crazy and it eventually becomes a story of her trying to get revenge on him for pretty much keeping her prisoner. Every time I read a book like this I feel like I'm being warned about my emotions. And I have to read The Mountain and the fucking Valley next. I should just find a hill to freeze to death on and get it over with. Or I would if it weren't one of my favorite books of all time.

Speaking of books, for some divine reason Chapters got in The Road to Oz and The Emerald City of Oz hardcovers, books 5 and 6, as BARGAIN BOOKS. I picked up both for a mere $20.

Oh, by the way.

On November 1st, as an early birthday present to myself, I'll be cleaning up my friends list and making this journal friends only. There will probably be a reminder to this effect before then, but let me know if you want to stick around.
10 comments|post comment

[05 Oct 2005|11:45pm]
Livejournal. Such a wonderful procrastination tool.

I'm in the midst of working on a seminar that I have to deliver tomorrow on John Steffler's The Afterlife of George Cartwright. It involves a lot of study into dreams. And study into finishing it at the last possible minute, apparently.

Music: in the fall I like to listen to Eels material exclusively. With my iPod I can throw all of their albums together and shuffle the songs. It's a fantastic experience that I suggest you try, if you have the means. Their music is definitely conducive to falling leaves.

I decided to take next year off rather than immediately continue school with my Master's degree. I've been thinking lately about heading out to Newfoundland next summer so that I can finish a story I started that is set in the province. Maybe stay at a bed and breakfast for a week or so relatively close to Cape Spear. Maybe I'll stay in Newfoundland for the summer and work on the shore. I have no idea how I'd even start going about looking into that, or if I'll want to when the time comes, though I think it would be good for me. I have not done nearly enough aimless wandering in my life.
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The Thieves of Flight [05 Oct 2005|10:27pm]
In the baked dirt,
An injured bird breaks its final note.

I have heard the sounds of airborne creatures dying.
The pitiful whippoorwill disappearing in the brush at the edge of the valley,
The tendons under its primaries snapped in a cat fight,
Now foundering on the forest floor,

     This is the past. It is an unforseen feeding.

I patch the wing;
The creature’s buried eye beholds my fumbling hands
And takes its trouble calmly. Not a peep.
Standing, scouring for a safer respite for the trembling, feathered charge,
The bird balks at my clumsy boot
Conscientiously placed upon the base of its spine.

A memory shrieks. For a moment, all is still,
The swirl of the glen-ridden bird sending my careless step into history.

So it is written.

     We are the thieves of flight. Broken
     backs hit the ground in our wake.
     The air rises, the look in the bird’s eye devours. We are caught
     within the folds of its wings.
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[04 Oct 2005|01:49am]
Indelible image: her hands fixed around a candle in the center of the table. My hand with her hands, touching lightly, shadows joined in the flickering flame.

There is a sense of magic here that I never thought I'd encounter with anyone. A reclaiming of innocence that had been slowly swirling out of reach, like a balloon set free from a child's grasp at a county fair.
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