Alannavich

Post-it's everywhere; organization is so tacky.

Like a wild turkey, I am running free, as all my innate knowledge slips away from me.

Sorting through what's possible. Waiting for the largest chunk. Just lost my sifter.

Hello Diary! Today marks the beginning of 2009, which I can only hope will bring with it many changes for the better! I may sound pretty optimistic, but this actually stems from the worst New Year's celebration I've ever attended. I went to my friend Mary's house as me and my husband do every year, but i couldn't enjoy myself. After dinner, I spent 30 minutes washing my hands 15 times for exactly 2 minutes each time. I couldn't seem to shake the feeling that bacteria from the food, cutlery, or tables had transferred onto my body and had to sit uncomfortably even after washing my hands so many times, afraid to touch anything. I wished I could

Casting two lines down worn wooden steps our shadows danced together stretching the yards down the path to the giant tree-house we made years ago.  Many pale slivers lodged under my peach fingertips as I sat, and they were nearly invisible except for a slight blush at each wound’s entry. I had cried until you finally coaxed the slivers out gently with your saliva and suction. But you accidentally swallowed them and they coursed through your body and somehow ended at your heel, and they pushed your shadow  from mine.

Last seen skipping in hot pursuit of quick white tail, did you find what you were looking for, Alice?I’ve seen a lot – in fact, I caught a glimpse or two of an invisible cat and a giant caterpillar blowing silky smoke rings in the blue expansive sky. You might say I’m mad When I tell you about crying rivers of tears enough to fill a two-storey home – but you see, I was     five    times      as     tall at the time. You might say I’m mad, but I must disagree – for you haven’t met the mad-hatter, whose loose chatter rings like tossed word-salad. He suffered a terrible fall try

snow-covered paths crunch underfoot as the first fly buzzes

The rumbling train has lost its appeal. Branded logos - hyundai and canadian tire - turn the romantic distant wail into a scream. A cry for help. As the ground shakes, it threatens, promises, to swallow wheeled cargo. But we're all just human cargo, shuffled to and fro. Brought to you by Via Rail. From one place to the other, we're riddled with brand logos and buying, buying. The consumer's life is inescapable. We ought to live indiscriminate lives in indiscriminate tree-bark sheds - no, no cardboard homes - no, no refrigerator boxes. We ought to wear skirts of real grass, and shirts made of moss. We ought not a lot.

"Perfect", He'd said. He'd toiled in the clay for heavy hours, moulding everything from nothing with His bulbous, beautiful hands. "He'll mate and propagate, one day", He'd said. He grinned over His creation; He breathed it life, and He might have smiled as He said "This is good", or He might have laughed as a maniac in a starless night, as He simultaneously gave the form before him, life and death.