Got to be a’strugglin’

So what, I got all teary eyed when I got the lyrics wrong?

So what, I missed my favourite verse when I performed my song?

So what, I have more bills to pay than apples in the fridge?

So what, I dreamt of flying when I looked over the ridge?

So what, a bully from my school is still making me mad?

So what, the sun is out today and still I can’t be glad?

So what, I sat for a full hour, panicking about what I couldn’t do?

So what, she beckoned me to try, but I didn’t want to move?

So what, the words I managed to say were clearly not relevant?

So what, the road I decided to take was industrially elegant?

So what, I fell upon the ice and made a whooping-bear cry?

SO WHAT, I biked to the show alone because I had no one to ride beside?

So what, I drank three more beers than anyone should drink alone?

So what, I came across as strange, an assumption to which I’m prone?

So what, it’s most unnatural for me to not feel like a mess?

So what, I smile to pretend there’s not an ounce of stress?

I’ve got to be a’strugglin, and if somehow I’m not,

Then I’m just ignoring this difficult world, I’m skipping the delicious plot.

It’s awful to feel torn and tattered at your very best,

But I do feel awfully full of life whenever I’m distressed.

By Sarah C Louise

Photo From: Paola Pivi’s Exhibit At Galerie Perrotin In New York City

I Should Be Writing

I should be writing

But I need to figure out my banking stuff because things have been really tight lately and who can really be creative anyway when they are wondering whether they have enough in a week to pay off their debts and I really need to make a list of how much I can spend and stick to it because I’ve been a little crazy with dinners at the next act and beers and wunderbar and I better hold back a little bit if I’m going to be able to pay off my phone bill.

Now, I should be writing,

But I just went on facebook for a minute to see what was happening or if I had any notifications or, the so sought after!, special messages from someone I haven’t heard from in awhile or with an offer of some kind, cause you never know, but (ya let’s face it) then I saw this little video of a funny octopus, and I just love the way their flesh looks when their swimming and, how cute!, he stuffs himself in a little jar, and woah, he almost got that crab that was twice its size! Impressed, I decided to look up some more videos of them changing colours when they glide over the ocean floor, they’re little head wings flapping softly. Then I decide to look up how much an octopus is for a pet.

But really, I should be writing,

But then I thought about how I have been looking for more opportunities to sing and, oh my, it’s been months since I’ve looked at theatre alberta auditions, and who knows, even though I have four jobs and the art walk to prepare for, it could be that someone in the city is putting on Threepenny Opera and I would LOVE to play pirate Jenny, and though I’ve looked through all the current posts and most of the ones from the winter (and even some of last fall) there doesn’t appear to be anyone putting on a production of Threepenny Opera, and then I briefly consider messaging Marthe and saying “LET’S FUCKING DO A PRODUCTION OF THREEPENNY OPERA! IT WOULD BE AWESOME!!!!!” I decide again that I don’t have the time and that I should be writing things for future productions I already have plans for.

So, there’s no excuse now, nothing more, just to get writing,

But then I remember that I haven’t heard back from my new boss about hours for my first week and that I should really create a fully flushed out schedule so that I don’t miss anymore meetings or don’t mess up my hours, or miss someone’s birthday fire-pit party again or miss the date of a submission for grants, and really I should work on writing grants because once I have money for grants I will have time and space to write my actual stuff, but then grants always require samples of written work for submissions and I should make sure my pieces are developed so they think “woah woah woah, we should throw thousands of dollars at Sarah C Louise cause she is a BIG FUCKING DEAL!” but I really haven’t spent as much time on those pieces as I should, so really I should just write.

OK OK OK alright, yes, ok, no problem, here I go,

pulling up my documents right now, and just leafing through to find out where I left off,

and, look, there’s the last paragraph,

and I even have an idea of what to say, so I’m golden,

But first…….

I’m just going to make some coffee 🙂

By Sarah C Louise

Photo from: http://some-forgotten-things.tumblr.com/

Portrait Titles

I made portraits of the children at my work for our Art Auction Fundraiser, and I asked each of them to make their own titles. They are a beautiful collection of representations:

“She’s a vampire, and her name is Sprinkles Princess”

“Miss Weirdo”

“These are my beauty marks”

“It’s me, drawing Ninji bird” our class budgy

“Super Hailey” which is the name of her mother, not the girl in the portrait

“I look through the colouring sheets, and notice there are none of monster high”

“My little bunny’s name is Sparkle”, a little plush bunny which she got from McDonalds and carries with her everywhere. Sparkle sat on her shoulder for the portrait, inseparable.

By: Sarah C Louise

Miss Weirdo

Miss weirdo got weird at around five,

When her heart acted up as Hootie and the Blowfish played

on the technology-station stereo

Causing an arm-swarm, sway-array

Which worried her polly-pocket-scene-director friend

And depleated the numbers at her staple lunch table.

Miss weirdo never said much,

but performed a rather rousing rapture

of the Skylanders rap

in a near whisper

for the talent show,

Between “Winter Song” and “I Hope You Dance”.

Miss Weirdo ordered a cat and rat skull for her 15th birthday,

To better understand the bed of the brain,

But hid them upon arrival,

For fear that anyone should ever know,

And eventually through them out with Tuesday’s trash,

relieved to be free of her weird idea.

And when Miss Weirdo graduated,

She found herself standing alone beside a fire,

While behind her someone got hit in the head with a shovel,

And someone got laid in a porta potty,

And someone got sick in the back seat of a steamy volvo.

Miss Weirdo prefered last night star musings,

By the dark, dense river,

to the rouge lounge hovel,

But longed constantly to be Miss Weirdo no more.

She made a plan,

to be a better conversationalist,

and a better companion,

and plans became rocky actions

and rocky actions became skewed intentions

and skewed intentions became awkward reactions,

which made her feel

all the more

a weirdo to the core.

The only thing which gave Miss Weirdo a feeling of

serenity

was to paint her weirdo visions,

and write out her weirdo dreams,

and act on her weirdo plots,

and share her weirdo schemes,

and then one day,

a not-so-special someone remarked

“you’re really fucking weird”,

and Miss Weirdo replied,

“why yes, I am”

with a juicy smile

and wicked eyes.

By Sarah C Louise

I got big BIG love

I have big love for Calgary and the shows from Nose Hill

And Lola lying, shining in the backyard sun,

And graffic novels with really novel graffics,

And when the news received is humbling,

And sleek suits with snazzy sneakers and simple smiles,

And new journals with their powers of possibility,

And neon green fire hydrants, because there are better colours than red,

And Sunday morning patios with folks silently sipping coffees on busy 17th ave intersections,

And those mornings when words are easy to throw around, like spices into soups, and taste delicious in any combination,

And avid bikers in bright orange windbreakers, flying by Aztecs and Smart cars and the latest Mersedes’s with their blinking lights hurrah-ing on the roof of their helmuts,

And dolled-up dolls with little notebooks writing some necessary thoughts while breaking to uphold their updates and their image,

And the hobby/dreamy photographers taking dreamy, hobby shots that will back into road lanes for the best angle they can muster,

And graffiti of animals, and tyrants and plants and truth,

And timid men in tight pants standing across the street from tight men in timid pants.

And installation art that is as good as dropping down the rabbit hole,

And coffee, sweet coffee, that never gets cold despite the chilling spring wind.

And a big BIG love for spring springing everything

Ideas, flowers, dreams and little bird wings.

By: Sarah C Louise

Photo From: http://ineggshellseas.tumblr.com/

Someone Did That

Somebody Hired professional ekskavators

And somebody paid the doggy caretakers

And someone designed the pillars above benches

And someone dug cup holders from dirt trenches

And someone needs the lawn chair for back-alley smoke breaks

And someone changed the sign of the roads you will take

And someone stuffed fro-yos in brittle dead branches

And someone put out a plastic bag of matches

And someoneleft a teddy at a fatality sign

And someone gifted the bear bin with a half bottle of wine

And someone got the mangled rabbit off the road

And someone painted a card with the money they owed

And someone gave a kiss to their babe on that corner

And someone abandoned their freshly repaired horner

And someone bought those kakias to feel better dressed

And someone lived on that block where their hands were impressed

And someone devoured that tubby dog from that tray

And someone caved for that bakery window cake

And someone carried Nashville Skyline in that black plastic bag

And someone heard the crack of the crow that couldn’t be saved

And someone touched the toyota that cried in alarm.

And someone needed Peter’s to recall their mom’s charm

And someone turned an eye on that peg-leg musician

And someone else danced to his rhythmic transitions

And someone walked the shadey side on a sunny day

And someone bought their skis at a sale in late may

And someone chose Suess instead of Bukouski

And someone played gypsy punks while their coffee brewed slowly

And someone took home that dog they found on the reserve

And someone found the stage was the only place where they had the nerve.

And someone cared deeply that you cared a lot

And someone’s responsible for all that you’ve got

Someone did this

And someone did that

It’s nice to know that someone

Laid every brick and bent every hat.

By Sarah C Louise

Erik Johansson – Arms break, vases don’t (2008)

The Rainbow Song

I have had this song stuck in my head all day. It’s a song I wrote for the children I work with for our talent show. They are really into colours, mixing colours, discovering layers within colours, and they love singing. This is our song called The Rainbow Song:

I like red so very much, the colour of the heart,

The stop signs and the strawberries are each a work of art.

And when I see an orange beside pumpkins in the store,

I crave that yummy colour more than ever before.

I like Rainbows, they’re just so big and beautiful.

I like Rainbows, I wish the sky could always be so colourful.

Yellow coloured jello and yellow coloured wheat.

We should paint some yellow bricks on the pavement in the street.

And green, green is so supreme, the colour of all life.

In summertime the grass and vines makes everything alright.

I like Rainbows, they’re just so big and beautiful.

I like Rainbows, I wish the sky could always be so colourful.

Blue, blue, oh it is true that blue’s almost the best.

The sky, the sea, the blue birdies, blue everything! Oh yes!

There never was an indego that didn’t catch my eye.

It ends the day the richest way to see an indego sky.

I like Rainbows, they’re just so big and beautiful.

I like Rainbows, I wish the sky could always be so colourful.

Violet is for kings and queens, the kinders know this well,

For we’re the fairest in the land, I’m sure that you can tell!

By Sarah C Louise

Photo from: http://freebresha.tumblr.com/

Where are the Edmonton Eccentrics?

Where is the woman who dines each night in the company of a chimp and a couple of gazelles?

Where is the artist who experiments with throwing paint cans at moving cars?

Where are the children who design backyard stages for productions of Titanic?

Where are the herds of demons summoned by the river valley wizard?

Where is that couple who makes their house out of glass?

Where is that lady who stands at the corner passing out the feet of old crows?

Where is that team of gothic devotees who constructed their own language to better be misunderstood?

Where is that wacko who created their own radio station to announce the astronomical dooms of the near and dear future?

Where is the nut-case who collects garbage from the river and designs gross, smelly statues for brand new condos?

Where is the man with 100 unaccounted for dogs who roams in mill creek in the mid-evening, searching for signs of his long lost child?

Where is the queen with the cafe of kooks who dance to rough rap and explore the extent of bodily pleasures?

Where is the psycho who cooks stews with little lamb blood?

There is that house on University Ave with the grand wooden star,

And that woman who hoarded 500 rabbits deep in the southwest*

And that guy who flew a plane under the high level bridge as a gesture of his love to his fiance.

Maybe I’m not looking in the right places.

Maybe they’re out of sight!

But I would love to see a few more oddities,

For eccentrics make life a delight.

Perhaps I should fill the roll

And make my peculiarity more strange

I can think of 100 things I could try,

Though true eccentricism is never arranged.

There are too many places that look plain

Too many people who keep their bizzarities shut in

I want to see all the craziest crazies!

And see how their days have been.

By Sarah C Louise

*http://www.huffingtonpost.ca/2012/06/11/edmonton-rabbit-hoarder_n_1587902.html

 

I Failed at Gender

I failed at gender

When I wouldn’t shave my armpits though my synchro coaches couldn’t conceal their revolt,

When I wanted to be a bat every halloween,

When I forgot to buy a brush or blush 5 years ago, and never remembered to care,

When I didn’t change my outfit for my first date with a special guy, and was surprised when my friends told me I should have prepared,

When I shaved my head of long hair off one bright morning.

I fail at gender

When I worry about how my family would see me differently,

When I repress the memory of her freckles or pretend that I was just being friendly,

When I worry that publishing this in any sort of public form will alter my world,

Which it has,

Most positively,

Because I see it,

and it makes sense.

Ya, I’m queer,

And it doesn’t matter where I’ve been,

Or who I’ve been with,

I’ve known for some time,

And though I’ve dreaded this confession,

And dreaded what would come of it,

Now that it’s there,

And out of my journals,

I see the sun is bright,

And that the day is early,

And that the air can feel clear

When we open the windows.

I failed at gender,

But only under someone else’s definition.

By Sarah C Louise

Check out Gender Failures with Ivan Coyote and Rae Spoon: http://genderfailures.wordpress.com/

The Sorrowful Tale of Timothy Payne

There is an extensive list of murder ballads involving stories of women being murdered horrifically because, for one reason or another, the man who courted her went absolutely crazy. Some of these stories beg for pity, or claim to be innocent, or ask to still be sent to heaven. As a music project with a friend we decided to create our own murder ballad involving a woman doing the same, noting how it seems much more terrifying or upsetting (and not “appealing” like most murder ballads) because it’s a woman who committed the crime. Here is the sorrowful tale of Timothy Payne:

When I first met my beautiful love

I knew that we were surely damned,

For that true love of mine, sweet Timothy Payne

Was more lovely than I could stand.

I courted him by the river side

Where our parents couldn’t stop our kisses.

It’s tender moments like this

That my weary heart most misses.

Timothy Payne had a fearsome father,

Who demanded the world of my love.

Even in the whirlwind of our passion

Timothy hoped for daddy’s pride of all things above.

I tried my very best to make Timothy see

That through every kind of storm I’d be by his side,

But no matter how close I held him

He wouldn’t ask me to be his bride.

One day in early Spring I asked him myself

And told him I lived to keep him well,

But Timothy said, though he loved me dearly,

His father said I’d poor Timothy under a spell.

I put up a strong battle but the damage had been done

My dream of walking alongside my Tim

Was a stone along a mountainside

All around me began to look dank and dim.

Oh earthly spirits and unnatural creators,

Have pitty on a foolish young girl

For me there was nothing but my Timothy

And without him I hated the world.

We met one night by the riverside,

Where our love first flourished brightly.

I made sure I was Timothy’s last sight.

I killed my love in a manor unsightly.

I lobbed off his head after our last kiss

And tossed it into the flowing river.

I kept his ring finger, betrothed it’s fading flesh.

The rest of my Tim to the earth I delievered.

It didn’t make it to dusk before I’d been caught,

Timothy’s bejeweled finger in my hand.

When they asked me what had possessed me I said

“I killed him cause life stole my man!”

So here I sit in a dank and dark cell

Aching with memories of his kiss,

Cursing that demon that was Timothy’s father,

Who cruelly smothered our chance at bliss.

I know it was wrong but I had no choice.

Timothy and I should have long lived together.

It was a nasty pool of excessive expectations

That cause Timothy’s head to be severed.

By Sarah C Louise

Photo from: http://ggbygossipgirl.tumblr.com/