man on the run, i told you to be kind

I’ve decided to re-orient myself into a mood of acceptance.  There’s only so many times you can repeat the same words to yourself before they lose meaning – so after a while I think it’s important to use new words, to stick with your beliefs but on a different side of the box.

Ever since high school, which ended up being pretty defining for me philosophically and mentally (as it tends to be for many people in the Northern Hemisphere), I’ve had a pretty hippy-esque mindset.  Phrases like, “Whatever will come, will come (and we’ll get through it, or we won’t)” and “Do what’s in your power to succeed, and let the rest be filled in by the world” frequent the sketches on my brain.  I strive for things, but I don’t kill myself getting there. Putting effort into things as a natural side-effect of my personality, which also means I like working.  But I’m never, and I don’t believe I ever will be, willing to compromise the things important to me to get more status, power, or money.  For my family I will sacrifice, despite the fact that everyone says this, everything.  To keep them safe and happy.

I like alone time, and I like reading books. I love watching TV shows because it’s like lazy reading for me (especially since I put subtitles on whatever I can!)  I like sitting outside in the sunshine and generally staying indoors when it rains.  I have learned that it’s always better to come see your friends at the hospital. Usually people don’t learn those sorts of things, but I sometimes struggle at being good.  I’m not saying I’m Miss Altruism, because I’m not – especially not by nature.  But I think people should give themselves more credit for attempting goodness.  It’s not easy.  In fact, it’s a much harder route than being bad-ass, despite the novels and blockbusters to the contrary.

I believe I’ve just discovered Bon Iver, and I’m in music-love, story love – something about writing music while having mono and being cooped up in your dad’s cabin all winter long.  I think that’s a pretty good story.  I think the whole, “indie-band-goes-heroin-cocaine-chic-and-then-has-a-family-after-becoming-sober/realizing-the-meaning-of-life” is so overdone.  There’s stories out there that are a lot more genuine than “cocaine cowgirl” (despite that being a wicked-ass song).  Stories that are earthy and strange and self-made.  Also, Bon Iver is pronounced en francais, like “hiver” without the ‘h’ or ‘eever’ because it means ‘good winter’.  See? Story. Bam!

I do a lot of talking about stories with a lot less follow-up in the writing department.  I mean, I don’t write stories, and if I did, I’m afraid they wouldn’t be very good.  But that doesn’t mean I don’t cherish stories.  I’ve realized that my reading skills have been lacking since childhood in the detail-orientation department, so I’ve been testing myself every book now, to see if I remember the characters names like, a year after I’ve read the book (I’ve accepted that my memory will never let me remember endings, and for that I am thankful because reading a book I’ve already read 501 times is only boring until I can’t remember what the fuck happens at the end of it, and therefore is a unique experience every friggin’ time).  I love stories, is what I meant to say in all of that.

Also, if you happen to have ever considered, or have gone to a university, you’ll be with me on this: fuck youuuuu university planning, money-sucking people!  Who requires you to take 6 credits and then only gives you a choice of courses worth 9? Oh, that’s right, York does.  And here I was sitting being all happy in my honeymoon first year here.  Now comes the bad sex.

I bets be prepared!

Yeah, all in all here, I’m a little wacked out since after work last night I went with my BF to the hospital because he was having some kicking abdominal pains.  I proposed that he was getting his period cramps.  He was happier with that comment after they filled his veins with delicious drugs.  We still don’t really know what’s wrong -except, obviously, my planning skills – but it can’t be nothing serious because you couldn’t see anything in his blood or bones or uteru- uh… intestines?  Anyway.  My planning skills leave something to be desired – also, fuck you rain for making my parking ticket all soaking wet so the parking exit machine got mad at me and spit it out like, 4 times before I was able to pay it and leave.

That’s the only time I will ever be pissed off for not being able to pay for something.

Seriously.

Also – have you guys seen the G20 lake? The picture of a body of water on a wall with canoes hung up around a warehouse that’s costing Canadian’s $2 million dollars to put up and $400,000 to take down?

God, my brain is a mess!

-Arina

P.S. Something, something – earthquake.  I’m so out of touch with news, but in touch at the same time.

IRISH KAFKA FOOT BUDDHA = title.

I was going to hit you guys with a bunch of pictures I took of my parents, but then I don’t know if that’s like internet-ethical, or whatever.  Everything is so complicated on this mass of wires and electricity and light transfusions.  Seriously. But if you want to see them, if you’re smart enough and can find my flickr page, I won’t stop you from gazing at their adoring Russian-jawed faces there.  (Hint: don’t be silly, Russians don’t give hints. GOTCHA!)

Today I took out 3 books from the library, and none of them are ones I actually went to the library for (A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, The Power of Now, Autobiography of a Yogi).  (If it seems like I’m curious about Buddhism, I’m not, but I talked to this random man at work the other day and said something about bitterness and he was so happy and mentioned these books to me, and who am I to say no to a book that has the word ‘yogi’ in it? Plus, oh yeah, did I mention? I’m curious about Buddhism).

I am a giant COCK-A-ROACH-A!

But I saw this tiny little book by Franz Kafka called Metamorphosis that caught my eye because firstly, it’s tiny and with very bold writing on it (yes, cover, book, judging), but also, I want to be as cool as all the other people that read Kafka (who I have decided 20 pages into the book are CRAZY or on serious hallucinogens), and I love the trope of metamorphosis.  Last year at U of T I totally read Ovid’s version of Metamorphosis, which is mad original in the whole genre and all.  He practically put all Greek myths to paper.  So much rape there though, wow. You’d be surprised, if you… read.. old.. Greek poets.

ANYWAY.

CLICK ME.

This isn’t what I meant by “metamorphosis”, stupid Google.  And fuck Hilary Duff for ruining the coolest Greek shit I’ve ever read.

Next book I got was Sula by Toni Morrisson.  And I totally read Morrison’s Song of Solomon this year for my class and totally loved her storytelling.  So, I decided that along with that, and the fact that, you know, it won the Nobel Prize, it might be up to my very pretentious book-picking snuff.

Gerard Butlerr.... rrrrr... in Ireland.... rrrr... in P.S. I Love You... rrrrr....

And the last book is a random, because I couldn’t find any last names on the shelves that I knew (um, Markham Library.. whaddup with that?)  by Tim Winton.  It looks super dark and demented, but I kind of like them like that (if you’ve read Kafka, you must be at least a little twisted)***… plus something something, but it said Irish on the back, and since I work in a bar I’ve become very fond of the Irish.  (Also because of PS I Love You, and Gerard Butler, and Craig Ferguson, and all the hothot actors from there, and the lead singer of The Script…who is totes delicious in that kind of boy band way ) but really, just because it’s a beautiful country?  With a rich heritage?  … I like Catholics.  And JAMES JOYCE! He was Irish.

Yes.

Here’s some flowers. And feet. OF MY PARENTS. I get too intense for you guys sometimes, I know this.

Love you all – the boyfriend is getting surgery tomorrow, wish him luck, why don’tcha!?

Other than that… boourns. I’m off to either watch complete trash on the net or read something possibly horrifying. I hope that’s how most of your nights go too.

-Arina

*** My first pretentious Kafka reference! AND ALL IN ONE POST. Too much. Too. Damn. Much.

books bite

Theoretically (or NOT?) how I feel right now.

That’s about all I have to say.  This is me, lately, onwards until the very end of March.  Apart from this though, it’s been b-e-a-utiful weather here lately.  It’s like a fake-rug-under-your-feet sort of Spring Awakening thing.  Everyone’s undressing and isn’t it just glorious?  So many shoes I can wear instead of boots!

Love,

Arina

drought and march

Sometimes there is an abundance of things to say,  but not many to write.

Rawrrrr, darling.

Things you talk about with other people, are concerned with, but just are not that exciting – and not particularly something you need to ever remember from the future.  Ie. I got a new cell phone last night, but nobody cares.

What you DO care about is that while I was reading texts from last night, last night, I heard this eerie scratching sort of noise at my window.  And, it’s like 11 pm, I’m tired and it’s dark out – really dark.  So, if I were a lesser thoughtful human being, I would start freaking out.  However, when the meow-ing started I kind of caught my brain up with what was going on.  Therefore, last night I became Arina, Cat Rescuer.  Yes, Mr. Fluffy loves me now.  Lots and lots.

What else happened yesterday? I started reading Song of Solomon by Toni Morrisson.  It’s an amazing book so far; really hard to put down (I wonder why they gave it the nobel prize…)  It brings you into a whole new level of character reading.  I’ve never read anything like it.

Plus I love that there’s a young boy there named Guitar and that he’s friends with a boy called Macon “Milkman” Dead.  What up, cool names.

My friend also put up pictures from the 80′s party we had a few weeks ago at a friends place.  Don’t you simply adore my sequined dress,belted/shoulder padded jacket, hair, and bling?! I know I do. And did.

What else… yesterday… this past week… I got an A+ on a professional writing paper.  I was SO excited, I cannot begin to explain.  Especially when that A+ is accompanied by comments like “You have really excelled in this course,”  ”Your writing is improving dramatically,” “You really know how to use language to your advantage,” etc.  I am just tooting my own horn here, but where else to do it if not on my blog.  Even my English prof after reading my paper was like “You have potential – I can see it in your essay that you write creatively as well.” WHADDUP. HOW COULD HE SEE THAT. 6TH SENSE, SERIOUSLY. OR, Writer’s Intuition..

Another thing is that Excalibur published another one of my poems… but they “fixed” it?  They changed a whole LINE.  Seriously? SERIOUSLY.  And a word! They added a word to my poetry.

Now, okay.  Listen closely.  I don’t give a flying fuck how the real world works, and I can even come to some kind of understanding with the editing process of a large newspaper, whether it be on campus or “real”, that the editors have some sort of influence and power to change what is written to their standards/their audience/their newspaper.  And I can even understand why my piece on the Youth Slam was altered (which is why I’ve been debating even putting it up here, since it really didn’t even come out to sound like my piece,) BUT the understanding goes straight out the window of a 40 storey building when you start changing shit in my poems.  The arts editor even wrote back to me when I questioned her on the article, and said they give poets more “creative license” and don’t change anything in their work, and yet, here we are.

I go in to class on Wednesday (my favourite day), have my coffee, my strawberry yoghurt, my newspapers.  While everyone is settling down I scan the headlines, look through the paper, and then I see it – Poetry Corner – Doves, Arina Kharlamova.  Hm… wait WHAT? That’s me!  Now, if you read my blog, you’ll know that I posted this poem a while back… and they have printed it.  Altered.  So, I read it in my head, and something about the rhythm of it seemed off. So I go, and check on my blog to see if it matched up. AND IT DON’T MATCH UP, SON.

So tomorrow I’m basically following my mother’s advice: writing a strong worded letter to the editor as to why I will not submit any more work to Excalibur because of these issues.  I mean, Emily Dickinson didn’t publish her work after she sent it out once and got it returned with corrections on it.   And it’s not about thinking your work is perfect – I think all of my poetry can be revised and rewritten and retouched until they’re nothing but eraser marks on a page, but the point is that when I send in something to share with the public, to be published, I send it in because it is what I wrote, precisely.  And accidents like changing words can’t just happen in a big newspaper without proper notice to the writer.  Poetry is especially tricky, but you can’t chalk it up to not knowing either.

So there. That was the semi-sad disappointment of the week.  All in all that’s not so bad is it?

Heeeeeey-aaa!

Especially with this picture in the mix.

-Arina

I pretty much suck with new shit.

So, I literally JUST figured out what RSS feeds are and how they work and the freaking AMAZINGNESS OF GOOGLE READER? Now that I started reading more people’s blogs, I just kept going to their sites and I was like, “MAN, this is a lot of clicking” and I kept reading about these “feeds” and I was like, okay, feeds.

I made no connections.

Sometimes I am very stubborn in my ignorance.  Very.

Anyway, I discovered it and am now following EVERYONE. WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!

What an exciting day in my life.  I really am so behind everyone in terms of technology, but sometimes I just.. don’t like all the updating.  Twitter freaks me out because I think I would just post stuff from the toilet way too often.  That’s just a temptation I’m not willing to give in to.

And to break up this ineptness, here is a picture of bald, baby me and my super freaking young father (about 24 in this picture, I believe?) Look, we’re both kind of face bald (not that I have facial hair now, but he kind of does.)  That sentence didn’t really work out to my advantage.

My dad being super young and me! All bald-headed, as I shall be again one day.

Ah, well.

Off to work! Time to go increase the world’s population of alcoholics!

Ciao. Arina.