the good people we meet

Enjoying the company of the people I love most, while the fireflies flutter out of our blood and the music swims into our hearts.

“Sometimes when I’m falling asleep, I imagine all the other musical masterpieces Marley would have given us if he were still alive.  And then I remember, No Woman No Cry is all we need.” -J.C.

personals >m4w

It’s incredible how things happen. One day I’m conversing solely with Nabokov, the next I’m Penny Lane and backstage smoking a joint with Seu Jorge [this story is for another day].  Whether or not I choose to believe it, lately, things have been happening for a reason.  

Some of you might have heard about my heart-stopping encounter in Montreal a few months ago.  I met someone I was immediately smitten with and at the risk of sounding like a desperate WASP from the Bachelor; we had an ‘unmistakable connection’. Ick, I already regret typing that.  Why was I so drawn to this person whose name I didn’t even know?  Was it the mix of adrenaline and three too many gin and tonics? Was it working in my blood?  Call it butterflies or ‘zsa-zsa-zsu’, regardless, I was hooked.  

We danced, we kissed, we talked and we kissed some more.  What’s strange is that our paths have crossed before.  Mystery Man from New York, had gone to a few music festivals I had been to in the past.  I wanted to know more.  I mean, how many sexy, smart, traveled, electro-loving, music fest-going guys are there in the world? Okay, probably a lot.  But, what are the chances of me meeting one on my much-needed escape from Ottawa?

If I were wearing x-ray goggles, I swear I could have seen the sparks flying off our bodies.  Every tingle, touch was anticipation.  The concert was drawing to an end and I figured we would continue our evening at an after-hours or whatnot.  The venue began clearing out and in what has come to be one of the saddest events thus far; we lost each other in the crowd.  Damn it. 

I returned to reality, sore from dancing, but with stars still in my eyes.  I couldn’t stop thinking about this encounter I had.  I mean, I’ve met interesting characters, that I truly was interested in before, but I usually choose to scoot off with my girlfriends, rather than exchange digits with them. Why was this guy setting up camp in my head? Around mid-terms too.. bastard.  

I reassured all this doubt and regret with the notion that because our paths have crossed before, if it was ‘meant to be’, we would see each other again.

-two weeks later-

Eavesdropping in class: “Yeah, she totally found this creep on Craigslist’s”

My sister: “People post Missed Connections for people on campus!”

Saturday Night Live: “Pedophile’s Network; Missed Connections”

Me: “What the hell are Missed Connections!?”

One fateful morning: I was on my last lazy excuse why I shouldn’t get out of my nest of duvets and decided to check out Missed Connections. As I looked into Montreal’s network of missed connections, I turned bright red with embarrassment.  Did I actually think there would be something on there, for me? 

My heart stopped.  There between a missed connection with a transexual and a ‘hot as fuck girl with tinkerbell tattoo’ was a posting for me. 

 It’s very, The Shop Around the Corner meets In Search of a Midnight Kiss. I can’t deny the serendipity of it all.  It’s 21st Century romance, and I am into it. 

This connection isn't missed and is still in motion today.

i'll see you on the rose side of the moon

It’s always awkward starting one of these things. I feel a need to justify my choice in starting a blog.  A need to explain myself. A need to answer that question, “Why the hell do you think you’re so important, that you feel the need to write about it and share it?” 

I don’t want to answer those questions, because frankly, I don’t have the answers.  

What I do have at 3 a.m., is a truly sublime painting outside my bedroom window.  I am marveling over the crimson moon against the fading navy sky.  Shit, it sounds like I’m trying to be poetic or something. 

But really, how is it possible that this site, that really leaves me at a blank for words, only happens once in a while? Chance, luck, coincidence... it doesn’t mean anything?

Red. The sexiest colour on my palette. It’s the colour of passion, love, rage, anger; it’s the colour of life.  And on this early morning, it is the colour of our moon.  I feel like I should be under a blanket of stars with a Brazilian, whose name I just can’t remember, enjoying this lunar eclipse, not typing away at a blog entry. 

Heck, why don’t I make it poetic? This more than appropriate morning marks the lunar eclipse, the first day of winter, the longest day of the year, my first blog entry, and my first day in therapy.  

So here is my answer: I’m starting this blog as a therapeutic experiment.  I will try my best to articulate and write out my thoughts in an attempt to sort out the mess that has been mounting in my mind for the past nineteen years. 

samsara revisited, you are my analyst.  I’m officially signing over the rights to the kaleidoscope, I call my mind.