Big Belly

This is for all you ladies out there.

Okay, so maybe it isn’t.

My internet is broken. I am at the corner store listening to the owners speak in arabic about the high price of Special K with dried strawberries in it.

I love those strawberries.

The best strawberries in the world are grown in Saskatoon, Saskatchewan, but difficulties in transporting them out while they are fresh and perfect means the rest of the world is unaware of the bliss induced by these berries. They are small and sweet and evenly red.

My childhood is dotted with memories of jars of my gramma’s homemade strawberry jam, the way the sugar in it would almost crystalize, and the joy of being the first one to punch a hole in that canning wax. Like busting someone’s cherry, only with berries on the other side instead of an orgasm.


So my internet is broken and I am making plans for my life that involve a move. I have decided it is a far better thing to live with other artists, so that’s what I’m going to do.

I am trying to work on a video as well, about fear.

My ipod is still my best friend, although I’m a bit annoyed at the music on it and I desperately need more tunes. 972 tunes aren’t enough! I need different ones. I can’t tell you how weird it is to have it on shuffle and end up with a Carpenter’s tune right after a Marilyn Manson one.

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