Chillin' With Zanglah

There's more to life than a cheesecake.

My mother cares more about what people think about her than she would like to admit. Truthfully, she used to be like everyone else: projecting an image of apathy at all times, but secretly having every negative shot cut her like a knife. There was a time when she would try to cover it all up, with mental foundation that was all-encompassing. Time and weakness has caused the make-up to cake in jagged shapes, revealing a sad and defeated visage.

She compensates for her what she feels she lacks with a mixer and a cigarette. Cheesecake, cupcakes, chocolate cake, cookies of all kinds, any sort of sweet to treat a bitter life. Like a politician buying votes, she hands them out to anyone who will take them, with the hope that the recipient will walk away and remark on how wonderful she is. Craving that perfection in baked goods will translate into the perception of perfection in life. I see through it all.

The most disheartening thing of all is to witness a pillar of strength fall from grace. Attempts to assist go unnoticed and unwanted, and the absence of a desire to improve it presented in the form of yet another cheesecake, and the barking of a few orders to try and maintain some sense of control. I have become stronger, and she is aware, but is desperately clinging to the identical will to project lies until my opinion shifts. There are times I would just like to shake her, knock some sense into her like a puppy that wet the carpet, but I know within that it would do no good. When someone is resolute on remaining a certain way, no amount of persuasion, in any form, will make them budge an inch.

I see everything I never want to become. When I look in a mirror, I see the solidarity within. While I still feel the blows, while I still am uncertain about my standing, and while I continue to struggle with mundane, everyday things, I have enough will to contain it all within myself, and I don't need to turn to cheesecake to find a false imposter of it.

Sometimes I wonder if my other will ever be able to say the same again.

I have a wonderful rust-coloured fleece blanket that, when not wrapped around me, has been resting, neatly folded, on the back of the couch since I temporarily began occupying this house. It's one of the only things I own that makes me feel old. Just looking at it, sprawled there, just waiting to be used, reminds me of being at my grandparents, as pop always has a fleece blanket at the ready that my nan will tuck around him when he falls asleep during wrestling with his mouth open.

Was it really worth you going out like that
See I'm moving on
And I refuse to turn back
See all of this time
I thought I had somebody down for me
It turns out
You were making a fool of me

What needs to change?
What have I left undone?
From where did the wind come that changed your heart,
and could it be persuaded to reverse?
I'm evicted daily
from my castled ideal,
resorting to a beggar's life,
but doing so graciously, and no one understands why.

I wish I could drop these ties that bind
with equal speed.
I wish I could have thoughts of you
free of butterflies.
I wish I could recall our memories
without that pang of reality
that those to come
are a different brand.
I wish I could be telling the truth
when I tell you I understand.
I wish I could.

Now that every avenue has expired,
each hopeful road a dead end,
I've hit the bottom of another tall, skinny bottle
of self-exposure.
One day, I will love
without my core out on my wrist.
Until then,
I'll dream of and evoke
the ghosts of what we once shared
to get me soundly through the nights.

So I haven't been able to stop creaming myself since I put the new Norah Jones album on...I'm still on my first listen through but I am already oh-so in love...all over again. Her voice, music, lyrics...she's the complete package, in my opinion...loves her =P!

Some of the highlights...

Back to work at Chapters as of today, 3:30-11:30. Emergency seasonal hire until at least the end of January.

COME VISIT MEEEEEEEEEEE! I'm back on da cash, bitches!

See, there's a reason why music makes up such a large part of our lives and who we are.

I dropped Tim home this afternoon after another crazy night downtown, with a lot weighing on my mind. As per usual, but even more than normal. The drive from CBS was really pretty for some reason, with the trees in their multicolours and the sun shining for once.

Anyway, I turned on the radio...and this song was just beginning, and, without even joking, it embodied everything I had on my mind into words.


Well, you're the closest thing I have
To bring up in a conversation about a love that didnt last
But I could never call you mine,
Cause I could never call myself yours,
And if we were really meant to be
Well then we justify destiny.
It's not that our love died,
It just never really bloomed

Well I can't let go
No, I can't let go of you
You're holding me back without even trying to.
I can't let go
I can't move on from the past
Without lifting a finger you're holding me back.

And then we saw our paths diverge
And I guess I felt OK about it.
Until you got with another man,
And then I couldn't understand why it bothered me so.
How we didnt die, we just
Never had a chance to grow.

I can't let go
No, I can't let go of you
You're holding me back without even trying to.
I can't let go
I can't move on from the past.
Without lifting a finger youre holding me back.

And it might not make much sense
To you or any of my friends
Though somehow still you affect the
Things I do.
And you can't lose what you never had
I don't understand why I feel sad
Every time I see you out with someone new.

I can't let go
No, I can't let go
No, I can't let go of you.

I can't let go
No, I can't let go of you
You're holding me back without even trying to.
I can't let go
I can't move on from the past
Without lifting a finger youre holding me back.
I can't let go of the past.


Needless to say, I was pretty numb by the end of it.

Physical wounds heal so quickly...I'm still waiting for a whole myriad of internal gashes to stop bleeding.

I'm tuff though...not to worry.

So be it, I’m your crowbar
If that’s what I am so far
Until you get out of this mess
And I will pretend
That I don’t know of your sins
Until you are ready to confess
But all the time, all the time
I’ll know, I’ll know

And you can use my skin
To bury secrets in
And I will settle you down
And at my own suggestion,
I will ask no questions
While I do my thing in the background
But all the time, all the time
I’ll know, I’ll know

Baby-I can’t help you out, while (s)he’s still around

So for the time being, I’m being patient
And amidst this bitterness
If you’ll just consider this-even if it don’t make sense
All the time-give it time
And when the crowd becomes your burden
And you’ve early closed your curtains,
I’ll wait by the backstage door

While you try to find the lines to speak your mind
And pry it open, hoping for an encore
And if it gets too late, for me to wait
For you to find you love me, and tell me so

It’s ok, don’t need to say it.

I have a confession. Darryl, you'll enjoy this one:

The new HILARY DUFF song?

....I kinda like it.

Someone please take me behind the house and shoot me?!

The more she sluts it up, the more I seem to like it. Explanation for this??

Give her another few years and I'll probably be an avid fan. Except, not at all...unless I throw all my standards out the window.

What to do tonight? Besides chill with the Duffster.

I can hear the voice inside my head
Saying you should be with me instead
Every time I'm feeling down, I wonder
What would it be like with you around

So I, I made my way
Cold and roaming in the wild
I'm forever changed
By someone I never knew

I built my house beside the wood
So I could hear you singing
And it was sweet and it was good
And love was all beginning

Fare thee well, my nightingale
Twas long ago I found you
Now all your songs of beauty fail
The forest gathers round you

The sun goes down behind a veil
Tis now when you would call me
So rest in peace my nightingale
Beneath your branch of holly

Fare thee well my nightingale
I lived but to be near you
Though you are singing somewhere still
I can no longer hear you

What a peculiar thought process.

Am I even capable of investigating this? Surely not.

On second thought, yeah, I think I am.

What a scandal!

Finding people I have missed in an unexpected setting. Spending the night with lots of friends. A little dirty dancing. Drinks at the Grapevine and few cigarettes in between.

How can a guy complain? I mean, really.

The robbed that smiles steals something from the thief.

I finally took the hint.

You can rest assured that I'm fuckin' beaming.

Laramie auditions for the vacant male role will be next Thursday the 13th from 7-9, 4th Floor Rehearsal room at the A&CC. Pass that along to anyone you know of who might be interested, and tell them to e-mail me.

Also, stay tuned for some dates of the Laramie Project tour...which is quite possibly the most exciting thing I've ever entertained the thought of.

Can you imagine being employed as a bingo caller? I mean, really...we all complain about our jobs being monotonous...but ultimately, with that job, there's 75 possibilities...over, and over, and over...

Everyone's leaving all at once. Kinda sad, but at the same time, when you're young and living somewhere like Newfoundland, it's an imminent fate, I suppose.

I have a house and car to myself for the next week, and no hours at work with the exception of a 5:30-10:30 tonight. Call me if you'd like to do something.

I really need to wash my hands.

I'm thinking about doing the East Coast Trail this morning. Something different than my usual routes, which I'm getting bored of. Maybe I'll bring Kristen back to life and make her join.

Reminder as well about the Canada Day BBQ at my house on Saturday...it's becoming a tradition. You know you wanna be there. Rupaul will be. That's right (unless Rupaul would be a better reason to stay away...in which case...no Rupaul).

I'm becoming more and more like myself again. It feels nice. I'm like a fucking butterfly or something. No more ugly caterpillar these days.

Speaking of which, my favourite neighbourhood friend, the span worm, is back again for a repeat performance of last year's nasty invasion. Let's hope this time I don't have to burn them out of the fireplace.

you shall above all things be glad and young
For if you're young,whatever life you wear

it will become you;and if you are glad
whatever's living will yourself become.
Girlboys may nothing more than boygirls need:
i can entirely her only love

whose any mystery makes every man's
flesh put space on;and his mind take off time

that you should ever think,may god forbid
and (in his mercy) your true lover spare:
for that way knowledge lies,the foetal grave
called progress,and negation's dead undoom.

I'd rather learn from one bird how to sing
than teach ten thousand stars how not to dance


-e.e. cummings

I really need something other than early morning runs to make me break a sweat. Fuck bah.

In other news, it's probably not a good idea for me to piss off one of the most prominent theatre people in the city, is it? She's kinda treating me like shit, but really, it's either take it, or retalliate and be permanently in her bad books.

'Moral dilemma', indeed, woman. It's not my fault that you don't know how to issue a schedule more than three days in advance.