Lauren. 22. Montreal.
Lapsed filmmaker, lazy poet, and old soul.
possibleconfusion challenged me a while back to write 20 facts about myself and pass it on to 20 of my followers. I won’t do the latter since my inactivity has left me with a narrow idea of which followers are still around, but feel free to share your own facts and tag your friends.
1. I was born in Ottawa, which is the capital of Canada. These days I live in Montreal with my two favourite gentlemen: my best friend and my boyfriend.
2. Like everyone else and their mother, I want to travel extensively but will probably never have the funds to do it. Before I die, I need to visit at least: Antarctica, Australia, Romania, France, Netherlands, India, Germany, Egypt, Japan, US, and UK.
3. I’m a happier, more productive person when I start the day at sunrise, but can never go to sleep early enough to be that person.
4. I fell in love with vampires as a small child and fondly remember the early years when the girls who went on to use Twilight as a masturbatory aid were making fun of me for reading Dracula. In any case, I’ve reserved a spot in my heart that vampires are welcome to claim as soon as they can give me a proper fright again.
5. I’m either an atheist or agnostic, depending on the day, but always spiritual.
6. I adore cooking for others, but absolutely loathe doing it for myself. Some of my signature dishes are poutine, tabbouleh, Nutella cheesecake, and guacamole.
7. I’ve been vegetarian for six years. It’s mostly an ethical choice. No, I don’t miss bacon.
8. I once accidentally deleted my level 93 Breton mage in Skyrim when I was stoned out of my mind. It’s kind of a sore spot.
9. On that note, I’m a psychedelic enthusiast. Magic mushrooms and marijuana reminded me that I have the capacity to feel the full range of human emotions. It’s the only therapy that ever helped me help myself.
10. My favourite film is The Warriors (1979) and I’ve never been able to understand or explain why. There’s just a magic to it. The novel and video game are favourites too.
11. I have exceptional foresight due to the fact that I am overly analytical and read people/situations easily. This is both incredibly handy and annoying.
12. My dreams are very vivid and elaborate. I often have recurring dreams or pick up where a previous dream left off, and I can always remember them when I wake up. My subconscious is honestly my main source of inspiration.
13. On the other hand, I also have a lot of graphic, lifelike nightmares and can always look forward to sleep paralysis at least once per week. I once dreamt that I was being attacked by a zombie and it was ripping my legs apart with its teeth. At some point I woke up partially into sleep paralysis and then hallucinated that my boyfriend was a zombie. I got stuck in a loop of being paralyzed while cannibalized alive, then “waking up” and having it happen again until I finally jolted awake.
14. I feel a kinship with sharks. It’s a long story.
15. Celebrities bore the shit out of me.
16. I say ‘fuck’ a lot. Among other choice words.
17. I have awful luck with my health and usually end up in the hospital twice a year. In school, I missed up to 40 days a year. It’s just one complication after the other.
18. My parents have been rescuing dogs my entire life and I plan to continue the tradition as soon as my boyfriend and I get a place with a backyard for them to play in. We also just want a giant animal family in general.
19. I’m working on my first real novel, which is why I’m no longer as active on Tumblr.
20. This was much more difficult than I initially expected.
No time to talk. I’ve got the president on the phone, a narwhal on the barbecue, and a novel to write.
A lot of people say endings are the hardest part to write. I can’t write a beginning to save my life.
I wish I could go back in time and tell my child self not to tear off the tags of her Beanie Babies because she’ll really need the money someday. Then again, I can’t ignore the memory of how she felt when the first tag ripped from the little mouse Cheezer, and she knew the rest needed to go so he wouldn’t feel left out.
Why does sleep paralysis have to be a thing? It happens to me on a weekly basis and it’s always so traumatizing.
So the novel that’s been kicking my ass for the last few years has finally decided to cooperate and let me write it.
"Sometimes I feel like I’m a spoof of what I used to be."
Before I can relate to you the creepy events of my adolescence, there are two facts you must understand:
At our first home, my mom would be unrecognizable masquerading as whatever fiendish monster she chose for Halloween, and encouraged us to follow suit. She would walk my brother and I through the dark neighborhoods when we went trick-or-treating in our small town, making sure to visit that one street that was lined with abandoned houses.
When friends would visit, my dad would put on his best Peter Lorre impression. He would tell them to behave, or risk being imprisoned in the dungeon and experimented on in the secret laboratory. At one point, he purchased an abandoned farm he planned to fix up and sell, letting my brother and I tag along to play in the ruins.
Horror movies were always allowed, ouija boards and tarot cards were anticipated birthday gifts, thunderstorms were cherished, and they never hid from us the fact that the previous owner of the house had died in our swimming pool and some suspected her son had killed her.
Looking back, it seems like they were always encouraging us to accept and perhaps even celebrate life’s darker, harsher little quirks. To smile when an old door slowly creaks open or when the moon distorts the shadows across our bedroom walls. To know Death walks idly behind us all and that it’s perfectly okay.
And those were the first seven years of my life. It seemed strange at the time considering we lived in a small Canadian town in the middle of nowhere, where the worst thing imaginable was someone not apologizing for stepping on your toe. But then we moved.
The house is outside an even smaller town, so far away from anything that the only traffic the long, dead-end street gets is from residents, wild turkeys, and wandering dogs. Most houses are pulled far back from the street, half shrouded by thick patches of woods, and the only point of interest within walking distance is a cemetery. It’s the kind of place you really don’t want to be stuck during a blizzard with no power or cellular reception while a blood-thirsty serial killer is on the loose.
Home was thirty-six acres of quiet farmland and forest, and still is when I choose to visit my parents a few times every year. But to this day, I find it difficult to be at ease there, especially if I’m left alone. Nothing strange has happened there for many years now, but we cannot forget what did happen when we moved in fifteen years ago…
I don’t want a hero or a knight in shining armor. I want a partner in crime.
FRIENDFRIENDFRIENDFRIEND! What name can I put to this friendly gray face? :)
I’m going to use this blog more often. While life is busy, the TWC has these magical powers of motivation and people that I dearly miss. Hello again!
Have you counted the moons
since you were last bruised,
since she composed a psalm
in the hollow of shared breaths?
I did declare, to the ether,
her grave shall know company
and the universe will not flinch.
Circles and squares
compare and contrast
alternatives to auteurs,
a level paper…
what works? Bored.
Worse than Mary Ellen
frequency, overtone, cardioid —
I don’t understand.
Dedicated to Michelle for giving me the prompt “a flower, a dragon, and a girl” back in March of 2012, and Josh for reading the beginning and encouraging an ending. It’s been a long journey, and I hope the ending you choose does not disappoint.
Nowhere in the middle of somewhere, you confront the beast.
But first your eyes flutter in a struggle against consciousness and finally open up to the night. You are standing at the very edge of a great precipice, overlooking a wide valley set ablaze. The screams from below are caught in the leering cliffs that tower around the land, and are righteously smothered.
You blink. Do you know what that feeling is? Some form of pity? You wonder how many children are crying below for their mothers, how many men are tearing each other apart in the madness. Snow is falling, light against your cheek.
The crackling seizes your attention, a buzzing bee at your ear, and you turn around. Foul smoke from a blazing pyre rises up to immeasurable heights like the departing souls of the piled remains, disappearing into the starless black sky and surely into the stratosphere…
You would move toward it. You would seek comfort in its warmth were it not for the beast.
My head played in the clouds
until gravity weighed in;
now with barrel to the temple,
I’ll shoot for the stars.