(prose. for better or for worse.)

(fashion forward s&m to brighten your day.)

Tip of the day: sleep cycles come and go but my so-called life on dvd is forever.

haiku:
i go home early
you're sleepy eyes say it all
waiting for sunrise

February is threatening to drag its way into April. I'm tired. I'm tired. I'm tired. Lupe Fiasco was a bust. I'm spending all day every day either writing, or avoiding writing. In an attempt to be optimistic I'll admit that my discovery of vanilla yogurt has changed my entire outlook on life. Things are looking up. And even if winter is dragging on, the heavy snowflakes looked beautiful tonight.

(i wear my heart on my sleeve.)

Canadian Music Week is long over. Every band and their drummer from Winnipeg has vacated the city, for better or for worse. It was good to have them here. Caught the Details show at Rancho Relaxo, and probably will be doing a q&a with them for AndPop.

Speaking of AndPop, new article up with A Cursive Memory. Britney Spears, Paparazzi, Jerry Springer chants, and oldschool boomboxes. The whole thing is quite Pop Fiction, which by the way is terrible.

In other news, Toronto Fashion Week didn't kill me either.

In fact, while it was no New York, it was fun. Nothing was overtly inspiring, but I caught a lot of decent shows, and got to gossip with my fashion-forward friends. It came up in a hurry though, amidst 1000 essays, exams, articles and a new job. I'm exhausted, and glad it's over with, but it was fun while it lasted.

The new job lets me read, and despite what Oprah says, Their Eyes Were Watching God was not that good.

On that note, I'm off to read before sleeping. Class starts in T minus 9 hours.

R

A Case Of The Sundays:

I am wearing sweatpants and cowboy boots. I have not done laundry since I have been back from New York. Things are getting desperate.

I am writing the great Canadian novel. Or touching up a tired fashion article.

Last night's stamps have not been washed off my wrist, but I have ate breakfast. Things will be O.K. Here is the intro:

There is a line of luxury cars along 6^th Ave. at 41st Street. Every minute or so a limo, taxi or SUV pulls up and the small crowd of photographers perk up their heads hopefully, waiting as the driver opens his door and runs around to let the passenger out.

Then as the door cracks the photographers shoulders slump disappointedly as yet another well dressed nobody steps out and struts up the stairs towards the overbearing white tents that fill Bryant Park.

Full article on Muted Magazine when finished, next edition.

Get some sleep,

R

Do you ever feel like no matter how hard you try, you're always pissing the bed?

Much love to Anthony Goicolea. If you get a chance check out The Monte Clarke Gallery. They often display his work, and I may be writing a profile on them for Muted Magazine. Also check out his website. It has his photography, which is amazing.

More sleep is needed before my alarm goes off. Cheers,

R.