Muscle and Flow

Hi girls.

Sat through 3 classes. Learned a Suffi poem that is not at all relevent to THIS situation but can be found on a princesses tombstone from 1584 in deep South East Asia. I wrote it in my notebook.
Listen. Verily the world is perishable, the world is not everlasting. Verily the world is like a web woven by a spider.
I like this a lot- even if it is a bit defeatist. At the same time it is...comforting. Don't worry because some overweight guy in a ball cap is gonna put his foot through your world anyday now... It's a HUGE day.
I'm in a weird mood because I spent the last 40 minutes talking to my strongest most fearsome friend who was crying his eyes out over lost love and broken hearts. It is difficult to relate as I have only ever learned of heartache through pop songs and romantic tragedies. One day a tall man with a well groomed mustache and a gentle french accent will sweep me away by the pelvis. He will leave me soon after with a heart in tatters and a mysterious smell in my house.
On a less sexual note, the painter of our house (now purple, pics to follow one day) gave me his card today after we got to talking.
This is he: http://www.brushflow.com/
Which is funny because the last artist I met was named Steve also.

Also funny is this story that Alan told us today in class. He said he was in this Italian cultural center in Montreal that was built when Mussolini was everyone's fav. On the walls were non-figural symbols for fascism. He went across the street and through this little park with trees (drew a map on the blackboard) and on the ceiling of the copola there was, on one side, Mussolini and his minions who were smiling at, on the other side, the pope and his cardinals. A little bit horrified, Alan goes across the street and to some coffee shop to cool down. On the walls there were pictures of Mussolini and his bros looking all glorious and propped up by rampant propaganda. Anyway.
Mussolini was Time Magazine's Man of the Year in 1934.

I stole the globe and mail and I don't feel bad about it.

Today is going to be a long day. How do I know? Because I've been up for three hours so far and it's just dragging. I've walked, I've been for a run, I tried to learn the lyrics to a french song, I read a chapter of "european architecture", under my john keats persona, I found out that spanish isn't a prominent language of choice in the great land of australia. I've replied to emails and now I'm here, just sitting here. I don't know what to do.

http://hypem.com/#!/item/1696k/Baja+Marimba+Band+-+Walk+On+By%2A
I'll tell you a story though. Imagine you were in the marimba garage on a normal sunday practice night. It's starting to feel like normal again, for the sun is gone before your practice is done. We have a new member, and the garage door was open. The air was warm enough for us to do so. A mother and a young child and big down walks down the drive way and smiles, thanks us for the wonderful evening music. They stay for a while and watch from the sidelines. Now, here is the fun bit. A man by the name of Ken came by. He looked happy enough. Tanned, and retired. Had a slight quebec accent and to distract him from his bantings, I was going to ask him if it was the accent I presumed. But I didn't. The man wouldn't let a word from anyone in. At least five times he said the statement and idea about what this band of musical youth should do. Were we interested in cruise ship shows? That we should really be interested in cruise ship shows. All of us, as a band should do this. He wanted to take a video of us playing right there and then. He wanted to sent it off to vegas and tell his son who also works on the boats as a dancer to give it to his big time employers. Now let me tell you guys about his son. And I only know all of this because he repeated this no lie, at least five times. Each time pointing to a different girl in the room, and focusing on her and how much she would love his son. His son is 21. He's blond. He resembles a rougher type. He's a dancer and he really knows his craft. He's been dancing on the boat for three years and in his right eye there is a twinkle that makes all the ladies melt, lacking knees. First time he said that, we all smiled and thought it was cute. What a hilarious father. After the 5th time, it was eye rolling and mother fahlon telling him to go away, we needed to practice. He stayed anyways. It was a gong show. And every time he started talking, we had to butt in as fast as we could, say which song we were going to play, explain the parts and play. As fast and as loud as we could so we could halt any attempt of him making conversation. It was hilarious.

Anyways laura, tell me if or whenever you want your rabbit back.