Sunday, October 05, 2008
Stupid Dandyberry
How many times can you hear the word 'vagina' oscillated, ampilified and modified?
Instruction #3
From: 7057337841
Sent: Oct 5, 2008 4:43 AM
Subject: Meet me at Riverdale Park,
Sent: Oct 5, 2008 4:43 AM
Subject: Meet me at Riverdale Park,
Meet me at Riverdale Park, Cabbagetown. Follow the light. To stop msgs from rupartoftheart txt 'no' to 647-989-7707
Instruction #2
From: 7057337841
Sent: Oct 5, 2008 3:37 AM
Subject: Put your ear to the ground and...
Sent: Oct 5, 2008 3:37 AM
Subject: Put your ear to the ground and...
Put your ear to the ground and listen to the earth breathe. To stop msgs from rupartoftheart txt 'no' to 647-989-7707
R U Part of the Art: Instruction #1
From: 7057334783
Sent: Oct 5, 2008 2:25 AM
Subject: Invent a new language and speak to...
Sent: Oct 5, 2008 2:25 AM
Subject: Invent a new language and speak to...
Invent a new language and speak to anyone who will listen. To stop msgs from rupartoftheart txt 'no' to 647-989-7707
Saturday, October 04, 2008
Conversation #2
Nuit Blanche 2008
It has been awhile, but just like last year I plan to moblog the night from my phone.
Monday, May 19, 2008
And he wonders is he safe from the cold...
It comes in waves. Wafting up at a frightening pace. Often pushed to the back recesses of memory, but never ever forgotten. Like a smell or a touch, once duplicated, always bringing back the same emotion.
Back straight, chest puffed out; ideas of what was meant to be cascading through your mind. A wry, yet uncomplicated smile crosses your face. Thoughts of elsewhere and elsewhen tromping through your brain like circus elephants on parade. Trumpets sound, but only to you. The true son, or so you think, is ready.
Ready, and willing to follow the call home.
And that is what it is, a call.
An unheard whistle like dogs can hear, grinding into the back of your brain, burrowing into the soft tissue, accumulating until you are overwhelmed by a need to be somehwere else. Somewhere particular and known, populated by those that you know so well. So well, that you dream of them when you least expect it.
This is the call home.
Back straight, chest puffed out; ideas of what was meant to be cascading through your mind. A wry, yet uncomplicated smile crosses your face. Thoughts of elsewhere and elsewhen tromping through your brain like circus elephants on parade. Trumpets sound, but only to you. The true son, or so you think, is ready.
Ready, and willing to follow the call home.
And that is what it is, a call.
An unheard whistle like dogs can hear, grinding into the back of your brain, burrowing into the soft tissue, accumulating until you are overwhelmed by a need to be somehwere else. Somewhere particular and known, populated by those that you know so well. So well, that you dream of them when you least expect it.
This is the call home.
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