I'mWideAwakeItsMorning.

Dear World,

You are utmost frustrating. If I were writing this on paper I wouldn't know who to send it to.

The sky is getting light purple as it is now 7am and the sounds of cars passing North & South on Bathurst is on a steady rise and has been for two hours.

Majority of these people are going to work. Going to keep Canada from becoming third-world. Going to spend the very little of the time we have here to afford the commodities we are conditioned to believe to need.

I'm sending this letter out to the internet because I don't know who else I would send it to.

As a species we are caught in a ferocious struggle between wild animal and conditioner. We put products in our fur. Most of our bodies are bald and I'm sure we're very ugly to other animals. There are species of plant designed to be more attractive than we are to each other. Most of all I feel we lack the balance we once held in the animal kingdom. Snow Geese give birth to a bunch of goslings, a fox comes by and puts 4 or 5 adorable fluffy puff balls into her mouth, takes them back to 3 equally adorable fox pups and we watch as the baby foxes eat the baby geese.

Our children would be food for larger prey.

Witnesses have also experienced great acts of inter-special kindness. Wildlife footage depicts a mother hippo actually saving a gazelle from the mouth of a crocodile. There are sick and dying people in the world and all I feel like I can do is put change into those plastic bottles all over town.

It's impossible to be half as happy as I should be knowing my reality is someone's paradise and yet I don't feel as I will do anything to help them in my lifetime. And the officials I will elect, will not take the right steps to help them because suffering is necessary for happiness.

I will give you fifty dollars to take away my guilt.

Please tell the starving children in Africa who don't have Playstation 3 yet that I'm at a point in my life where I'm feeling a little too angsty to assist them or their country.

But hey! I'm young maybe I'll go through an activist phase in college and go visit Haiti for a week and take a bunch of photos with orphans and then come back here and tell everyone how eye-opening it was.

Speaking of open eyes. Mine can't stay open any longer.

Explain yourself to me world, where do I fit in you and how can I fit there without living knowing my happiness comes at the price of great sadness and pain.

From,

Gabie.

Of Soul Mates and PROOF!

Exhibit A:


Exhibit B:


....just saying!

Girls act too Much/Boys act too Tough...

Enough is Enough.
I thought I had something to write.
I guess I did not.

Show was fun last night. Great bands, great people. Except some guy who is no longer my friend fucked up again and threw a can at my fucking head. I feel like I can safely, without causing any form of disrespect to the disabled community classify this man as Retarded.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mental_retardation

Yep. Yes I can.

Questioning decisions. At what point is your life actually supposed to start? Anyone? Bueller?

Of Insomnia...

You know what I hate about tattoos? ...I've thought of like 800 great ideas and I want them ALL.

You know what I love about shows? I've been to like 800 in the past two weeks. Frankie Foo and the YoYo Smugglers last night and everythan.. kicking so much ass.

Tonka and Puma, Azores, First Rate People and Face Party on Tuesday. I hope to see all the many many many people who read this blog. So basically, EVERYONE EVER BORN. Ever.

Blah Blah Blah Blah Blah I made the flyer.

Of Late Afternoon reflective Poetry...

"This town ain't big enough for the both of us."
The look you shot me...
It was a Harpoon disguised as a gaze...
I watch the thoughts hidden behind your head race...
Am I taking something away?
As I try to determine...
Which of us is the lioness and which is
The gazelle with the broken leg...
You hiss
I laugh
"Here Kitty, kitty... this town ain't big enough for the both of us."

can't it all be like this mama?

Of Husbands and Scabbies...

They call me scabby gabie... yes indeed!

So I'm about to embark on an awesome three month mission to film as many cool things about Tdot as possible! That includes stores, organizations, events, bands, venues, parks, parking spots, bridges, holes, molemen, spinach, and mummies. No, not your mom, mummies. Local Toronto mummies. Please notify me if you know if anything wicked cool to be filmed. Matt has suggested a restaurant that has "Tv Dinner Thursdays" that I am fo sho checking out. Fo sho fo sho. More on this later. Ace of cakes is on.

Aside from that, I'm wondering why I am not married to this bad boy yet:


and wondering when this bad boy is going to heal:


[Photo by: Katrina Sung] and yeah, thus is my life at the moment. Got some wicked shows coming up... 22nd is Pop With Brains a-la the Vaudeville Whores and Broken Bricks.. 23rd I'm going to see a random band The Guest Bedroom because they sound pretty rad... on the 2nd Tonka & Puma and Azores are playing at our very own Rancho Relaxo ( I actually just finished a beautiful flyer) and on the 6th Lava and the Ash and our buddies in Big Crimes will also be playing at Rancho!! Ahh concerts. And, well the 13th of COURSE but that is a SURPRISE.

Somewhere inbetween all that dancing I have to get accepted to a school and get my tattoo finished. But I'm on my way to that right now and I'm really anxious/excited to see where I get in!! I hope they like my stuff.

Death by Rock and Roll...

"You know those bands.... those bands who make a record or a song or play a show so god damn good you figure they don't need pussy, drugs, or any form of human enthusiasam or triumph to feel any sort of joy? The kind that make you go 'If I were them, I could die happy knowing I was in a band this good. No regrets or fear, I've completed my destiny and now I should die.' You know?" He was chewing a piece of gum furiously. Half of me was so concentrated on the tiny bit of flavored rubber swishing back and forth between his nicotine stained teeth I barely realized he was speaking to me. One tooth looked like an arrow head. The embarrassingly outdated microphone in my hand shook slightly.
"Yes." I said.
"We can only hope." he smiled. The tiny lines between his teeth oozed solos in every vessel of my blood. "Was that good?" he asked.
"...that... was perfect." I responded. I thanked him and walked away, the mechanical box a treasure chest and the tape inside precious cargo, irreplaceable by time or man. The voice that sang a thousand songs, a thousand sixty four words deep in my pocket. Every one poetry. Suddenly neither the time wasted standing outside waiting for a ticket to a sold out show or the freezing cold, scraping at my lungs, made a difference. My heart beat in times faster than any drum beat and my toes were curled up inside my shoes. Every hair on the back of my neck stood, pins in a pincushion.

Oh yeah there, there goes your skull and bones, talking through your broke telephones. Will they play as you fall? The bathroom stall.