Tag: photography

off to go gypsy dancing

nadia nadia

Pictures of my friend Nadia in the park across the street from my house.

-::-


I come across your picture and my consumed heart shakes, a little quiver of reminder, the smallest of chemical starts, as if every time I am inspired, it carries your name.

I’ve been pleasantly busy with photography work lately, taking pictures for expecting friends in Seattle, Shane’s band here, and Duncan’s before-the-charity-hair-cut series. Soon, too, headshots for Joshua’s new website, publicity and documentation for the upcoming Vancouver SlutWalk, and bridal pictures for David’s sister’s wedding.

Today’s Best Spam Subject Line: Can Lupus Sufferers Use Henna?

Rise Up Fallen Angel, an imaginary exploitation poster

Rise Up Fallen Angel, an imaginary exploitation film poster.

Yesterday was a good day. It started fraught with computer problems, the stupid sort that feel like steel wool endlessly scrubbing against the back of your eyes, but ended on a high note, with a visit to A. that left me feeling better than I have in weeks, to the point where I caught myself beaming at strangers all the way home, waving a broken stick of flowers I picked up off the ground. Oh dopamine, how I have missed you. It’s left me feeling super productive and significantly less like I’ve been crushed by steel plates. Not quite myself again, but a step in the right direction. I got up at eight and have been working on neglected tasks ever since, answering e-mail, putting away laundry, calling people, making plans, and continuing to tackle the broken hard-drives of idiotic doom*.

*First I could see the hard-drive, but not interact with it, then after Joshua worked on it an hour, it was discovered that the case was too old to be supported by Win7. Then, after the case was swapped, the drive, ostensibly a terabyte, refused to show up as anything but 1Gb, while the SeaGate software specifically meant to fix such errors has refused to run. Kill it with fire.

There’s been other good news, too. Tony’s going to be in town this weekend, up for a visit with me and Tamea, and staying here on Friday, the better for dancing and Saturday breakfast together. Apparently I’m being paid for my gig with The Short Story Long this weekend and my antique bureau should be selling soon, too, (see all my listings), which should go a distance towards clearing away my credit card bill and getting me down to Seattle for my NYC trip.

Unemployment has left me financially devastated this past year, so it will be especially delicious to finally shoot down some debts. To wit: EI sends me monthly letters, asking me to pay them back over a grand. ICBC calls every three weeks, reminding me to pay off $100 in fare evasion tickets someone put in my name while I was in Montreal. My credit card’s maxed out, a slow death that one, used up on groceries. I finally did all my taxes, dating back ten years, (minus 2010 and 2011), but through the magic of interest, late fees, and general tax evils, even after living below the poverty line for a decade, I still owe them $70. It seems like the worst part of being poor is that the system is set up to keep you there.

But back to the good stuff! David was just promoted to manager of the Yaletown Book Warehouse! Not only will he be finally making a living wage, soon he’ll be able to start saving to go back to school to be a primatologist. Related to books, but more personally, I got to meet Zsuzsi Gartner, one of my favourite authors, at her book launch for Better Living Through Plastic Explosives. She’s going to be doing a reading at the VPL main branch on May 11th that I’ve decided I cannot miss. Also, the Dusty Flowerpot Cabaret is hosting a pay-what-you-can, tickets-only-at-the-door show at the Roundhouse on Sunday, 2 pm. Would anyone like to come with?

“I want to be happy, but I also want a unicorn. It seems more likely, so I’ll work on that first.”

“What should we get? Do you like ice-cream?”
“Always. Ice-cream is my only true love that never leaves me.”

Today I finished my image for my mother’s New York art show, Rise Up Fallen Angel. The more I thought about the theme of the show, the more I was found myself attracted to old grindhouse exploitation films, faded Russ Meyer style prints of unhappy women, a girl named Angel in need of revenge. Now that it’s sent, I vaguely wish I’d done more, but one afternoon slathered in black facepaint, screaming my frustration in an empty apartment, eyes clenched shut trying not to cry, is enough for now.

I saw A. earlier this week, on Monday afternoon, during the beautiful warm. The first time since he broke off the relationship. I was jittery, approaching his house with a very frayed heart, almost too scared to go on, but pitting the starkly intimidating possibility that he might actually answer his door against my near overwhelming desire to see him, with no idea what one says to a person who’s left you sobbing in the street, breathless from pain and sorrow. It was an extremely short visit, held close, but reassuring. He missed me too. He is sorry he’s been unfair. I haven’t had a nightmare since.

I wish you could have been there

Lung and Nicole at the Burrard Bridge secret stairs

I took Lung and Nicole to a film shoot at the Burrard Street secret stairs last week, where we took a ton of pictures. The sound inside was beautiful, like the ocean on a rainy day, but heard through a megaphone, crackling and thrumming and incredibly comforting, and the light was so perfect it was almost unreal. I’ll post more pictures later, as I get to them.