A nice stranger named Corey Mintz invited Teeth and I over for food and conversation! You can check out the results here!

Photo by VINCE TALOTTA/TORONTO STAR, Article by COREY MINTZ

Since we rarely kill animals in our homes, it would be cowardly to look the other way while doing the deed. With the exception of Übermensch Mark Zuckerberg, who has pledged that for one year he will eat only what he slays, we have a minimal connection to the animals we consume.

“You spend so much time documenting an experience,” says Posterchild, “you’ve actually diminished it because the food has gone cold.”

It was recently my great pleasure and honor to be a part of MaSAT, the latest in Jordan Seilers most amazing and inspiring SAT campaign. If you are a regular reader of this website, you might recall ToSat!

I had quite a bit a difficulty deciding what to do for this project, and I relied upon the advice of Jordan, the genius of Jason Eppink, and the wisdom of Sean Martindale. All good collaborators of mine, and clever fellows… but I ended up going against their advice! Crazy I know. I think I’ll post the section of our email conversation that explains why:

…The story will be tight, cramped, difficult and discouraging to read, and worst of all, not in Spanish.

But I’m thinking now that’s it’s ok for me to be all those things. There will be alot of work that will be tight, clever, and read well and that takes the pressure off of me to be those things. Plus I think one terribly clunky but sincere work, maybe trumps a weak but tight one. Good grammar vs good content. Ask me another day, and I know I’ll say effective communication trumps all, but I think today I’m going to go against those good rules knowingly.

And I’m getting really excited about that! We follow those rules because that is what makes for effective communication in public areas! but of course, the ad men are playing by the same rule book. Not to imply that there is anything wrong with the rules- I think it’s intent of work, not how we work that is so important and is what separates us from the advertisers. But I’m liking the idea of ignoring all that I’ve learned about that world and talking like an amateur. I feel like it’s communication on a bit more of a human scale. Clunky, Ineffectual, non-sound bited, long winded, personal story telling. It’s anti-advertising in all ways. Intent AND technique.

Not many will be able or willing to enjoy the piece, but I think the rewards might be all the greater for those that do for their efforts. I’m going to try, anyway.

…so I shared a story. It’s much too small to read in that photo, so you can read it in it’s entirety below:

Madrid, I had a dream that scared me. I woke up and wrote it down. Polished it up a bit. Now I’d like very much to share it with you. I apologize, but I could only write it in English.

The Luxury Living

It’s been almost 60 years since the world was ruined. My name is Hope and I am 18 years old. My parents are Mark and Natalie. My father is much older than my Mother, and he was one of the first to come to the island. My Mother was born here, and became my Fathers second wife at the age of 17. She was already pregnant.

Everyone thinks I’m ignorant because I was born here. They think I’m an idiot because I’ve never known anywhere else. My father and I were arguing. I want to leave the Island. There are a few boats here. I’ve kept a few in good repair. There isn’t really anyone here for me. I’m 18 and there isn’t one girl on the island that isn’t too old or taken. I’m not a virgin- I’ve been with both older women and women who were spoken for, but there is no one here for me. A few people used to come in boats, but there hasn’t been a new person to the island in 30 years. That’s not a good sign. Everyone says that it is not a good sign. But is it? Maybe things are getting better and people have stopped fleeing. The last people to come, the Pattisons, said that things were terrible. But that was 30 years ago. Anyway, there are still a few good boats here. I’ve kept a few in good repair. I want to leave in one. It’s ready, and so am I. My father has taught me about the whole history of the world. We are all boat people. Do you want to know why people of the past always end up leaving their homes? You want to know why they got on boats, risking death for an uncertain future? I’ll tell you why. They had to. They were forced to. This island now has too many people on it. Too many and not enough. I need to go. This is what my father and I argue about all the time these days. He was telling me “You’ll die out there. You don’t know what’s out there. There’s nothing out there. It’s a dead world. You’re being an idiot. You don’t know anything about the world.” and I shot back: “Maybe not, but at least I wasn’t one of the people that ruined it!” My father got furious at that, and if he wasn’t such an old man, he would have beat me for saying it: he told me so. I didn’t mean it, I never thought he was personally involved, but after his reaction… I don’t know… he could have been. He was one of the first to get to the island, after all, and most people alive died. He must have been someone powerful or important to be able to escape so quickly. And all the equipment on the island? The compound? The farming equipment? This island took money and connections to build. And it must have been built BEFORE the end came. Everyone thinks I don’t know anything, but I’m not stupid.

I hate my father.

I left the island in the best boat. It’s beautiful. Steel and wood construction, long and sleek. Small- just enough room for one person-small enough to be manoeuvred by paddling, but large enough to take a mast and sail and hold one person and supplies. I planned it all out. I took tools and materials enough to maintain and repair the boat and sails. A water filter so I can drink. Dried food enough to last me more that a month or maybe even two or three, and a GPS and compass- should the solar charger stop being able to power the GPS. It took all night to steal everything and get the boat all loaded. I left just as the sun was rising, and slipped away from shore quietly- no one was on the shore to see me go. I had kinda hoped someone would see me- after it was too late to stop me. They would yell and point from the shore, and I would stand up and wave goodbye! But I slipped away from the shore quietly and alone. A brisk and fresh morning breeze carried me swiftly away. It was exhilarating! It was terrifying! I watched the island shrink smaller than I’d ever seen it, shrink as small as I always knew it was and I felt like my heart would burst! I was the first to ever leave! I would be talked about forever. It was all I could do to concentrate on keeping my course straight. I was heading for the mainland- and I didn’t intend to come back.

I fell asleep. When, I’m not exactly sure, but I must have let my eyes close and the gentle rocking of my boat put me to sleep about 4 hours or so into my trip, and I slept for 5 or 6 hours maybe. When I awoke I was surrounded by nothing but water and my GPS said that I was far off course. I corrected my path, set the sails, and went underneath the front of my boat for protection from the sun. A hat! I forgot a hat. I poked my face, and could feel the skin already burnt quite a bit. I thought of my mother, and how she would have chastised me for forgetting my hat, about how she would want to bring me a good sun hat. I thought of her on the shore holding the best sun hat for me and I cried for some time.

Days passed by unremarkably. I ate only a little, but drank a lot. I made a hat using the tools and material I had brought for repairing the sail. It was a good, tough sun hat. A deep bucket with a wide floppy brim. I put a string on it to keep it from ever blowing off my head.

After a while, my skin had recovered from the burn and I had a deep tan. I was skinnier than when I left and my legs felt weak. I made a point of standing up and walking on the spot everyday.

I watched on my GPS as I quietly glided over the edge of the mainland. No surprises there- I knew from my father that the shoreline had greatly receded from the troubles. I also knew it wouldn’t be much longer now till I hit shore- and I felt strange. I was excited and scared for what I might find, and I was worried it would be as dead as my Father said it would be, but I had already decided that I wasn’t going to return home. It was more than that though. I think I felt so strange because I knew that I was sailing over a graveyard. Underneath me was whatever remained of a once magnificent megacity. The biggest in this part of the world. I followed along on my GPS as the street names passed by underneath. For a while I corrected my course so that I was directly aligned overtop of a major thoroughfare. Traffic was good today. “Smooth sailing.”

I saw the shore, and my heart leapt and then sank. It was surely there, and I had surely made it, but it was surely dead. I hadn’t realized how much I had half-believed that I would never find land. That it didn’t exist. That my island was truly all that was left of the world. But I also hadn’t realized how much I had really believed my Father. I wasn’t at all surprised to see that he was right.

I spent many long days on land, and I had a very exciting time exploring up the coast. I was wrong. This land wasn’t dead- green was returning slowly- and so was other life. I ate mostly from the land, and was able to give my supplies a break. I ate a great many insects, and even caught a fish! It was an odd, slow moving creature with a hard spiny shell. I was also able to steal the eggs from some nesting migratory seabirds. I cleared a pretty big shelter for myself in the crumbling remains of a much larger one and slept there for more than a week. The floor was hard and dank, but so much larger that my cramped boat!! I was the first to see and walk this land since the end, and I spent several happy days building a stone monument to myself near my shelter by the shore- for anyone who might come later- they would know I was here first. You could see it from the water. I built it by stacking many small stones and bricks into the shapes of humans. Some only as tall as small children, some as tall as myself! At first I only built one, but then I thought- “What if it falls?”. I ended up building more than 40, and in the center of them all, I scratched deep into a large stone with my tools so that it read: “Hope – Explorer – 2089”

I had to leave. I couldn’t live here forever and wouldn’t want to even if I could. My constructed community, built from the ruins of a dead society, made for poor and lonely company. I watched them shrink in the distance as I sailed away from shore. I had gotten the witnesses I wanted to my departure this time.

I made several other stops as I followed the coastline. The ruins of the end would rise and fall as I drifted past the cities and villages of the past while my GPS dutifully called out the unforgotten names of the dead.

I was running low on food. I didn’t have enough to get home, but I turned for home anyway. I was never able to catch enough food to get ahead. The spiny creatures were disgusting and mostly filled with a powdery blue and red meat- but I threw as many live ones as I could find into my boat before I left. I thought that I would have to save one of their shells to show my mother.

I’m not stupid.

I turned back for the mainland after only a few days at sea. I knew that if I kept for home I would die. I wished that I could sleep my way home. Hibernate, unhungry, until I gently awoke when I bumped up on shore. I didn’t head back to where I had been on the mainland, I headed in the other direction for a new shore. I didn’t think I could face the stone community again. It seemed silly now.

Little happened. I ate spinys and insects. I was getting better and was able to catch a few of the nesting seabirds! Dinosaurs- the great survivors. I had long since run out of supplies. I had to spend a lot of my days foraging for food. I moved up the coast in the mornings and slept mostly in my boat at night. I didn’t really feel like sleeping in ruins anymore. This stretched on for months and I had gotten very far! I felt proud of my accomplishments, and wanted to draw a map, but settled for marking waypoints on my GPS instead. Every so often I would build a new stone person on shore. I would leave half of a spiny shell on top- like a hat- and think of my mother.

I awoke one night to a horrible sound. A low grumbling that shook my boat. I woke up terrified. When the world is quiet sound is terrible, and this one was shaking me. I stood up and saw light out at sea! Lights stretching out so far! I soon realized that the sound wasn’t shaking me, but big waves were reaching and rocking my shored boat. The sound was the rumbling of an engine. There was an unbelievably huge ship passing by, a large machine as tall as three or four houses, and as long as my whole island! It was maybe 600 feet from shore and it was moving slowly but it was moving! It was traveling in the opposite direction from which I came, and it was leaving me behind!!

I jumped out to the beach, cutting my foot on a spiny shell in the dark. Cursing but ignoring the pain, I pushed my boat out and climbed aboard. Turning around, I got the sails up and headed for the massive ship with the lights. Thankfully, it was lumbering along very slowly. It was upwind from me and I had to tack to get to it. I was so worried that I’d lose it, that it would increase its speed suddenly and leave me behind! As the ship slowly got closer, it loomed ever larger, as I kept changing my tack. Zigging and zagging, I got closer and closer. It was huge, and its lights were brighter than the stars. My foot was gashed pretty bad, but I hadn’t time to bandage it now. I reached for my hat with gashed foot, dragged it close, and pressed my foot down hard into the upturned canvas hat to put pressure on my cut.

The ship was just in front of me now, and I realized I had no idea what to do next. I was now overtaking it, and the low thrumming from its engine seemed overwhelming. I pulled up along its side and marvelled at the thing. It was huge, smooth and imposing. I got vertigo looking up the side of it. The top was so far away and there was no way to get up to it. Even the nearest windows were high above me- about 15 feet. I called out over the engine, but my voice cracked and died in my throat. I suddenly realized that I had been silent for weeks, and my voice had shrunk. Clearing my throat and yelling even though it hurt me, I called up “Hello!!!” “Helloooo!!!!” to no response. I did this as I moved up alongside the massive ship until my throat felt like it would bleed, but I didn’t stop and I was finally rewarded when I saw a tiny figure lean over the side- a sharp little silhouette in the moonlight. I jumped up and cried “HELLO!!” sending my boat suddenly winding dangerously close to the ship. I regained control and watched the silhouette as it was soon joined by other figures. I could see that a commotion was caused. I waved and shouted, and some of the figures waved and shouted back- their voices barely audible.

A window was soon opened above me and a women leaned out. Though she was backlit by the bright light inside, she was so close to me that I could tell right away that she was very beautiful. She smiled to me as she said: “Hello!!” A man pushed her out of the way and lowered a short steel ladder, hooked it to the edge of the square window- he said: “Climb Up!” I looked around me and said: “My boat!” The man shrugged his shoulders and said “Leave it!” I was suddenly paralysed. I didn’t know what to do. The idea of leaving my wonderful and beautiful boat behind shocked me. But the idea of letting this ship go past was horrible too. The girl pushed her way into the window frame and said “Come up! Come up!” I suddenly made up my mind. I took my hands off the rudder and the sails and darted for the rungs of the ladder. As soon as I had let go of my boat, it began to spin and slow in the headwind. I pulled myself up onto the ladder and felt my boat slide away beneath my feet. Clinging to the ladder, my heart sank as I watched my wonderful boat slowly spin dumbly and drift away. My boat! My GPS. It knew all the forgotten names! My precious water filter. My shell for my mother. All gone. The only thing left was my canvas sunhat, which had clung onto the underside of my foot. I reached down and pulled it off carefully. My foot stung and reopened. Holding the hat tight, I climbed up the short length of ladder and was pulled inside.

The grand ship was named the “Luxury Living”. There were more than 500 passengers aboard, though it had a maximum capacity of 7000. She was 1880 feet long. She was built before the end and was made to survive it. “Luxury Living” was a private survival ship created for the worlds most wealthy, a wonder even for its time. It was a marvel of technology, fuelled by a near-inexhaustible power supply and capable of supporting all those people by recycling everything. Absolutely everything. “Luxury Living” was more than a ship, it was a floating world. It had parks and markets and places to play and theatres and everything, though it was all rather quiet as the ship was so under capacity.

The girl I’d first seen in the window was named Iris, and she was born on the ship. She was 20 years old, and warm and soft and kind and miraculous. The first night that I arrived she bandaged my foot and washed the blood out of my hat. The rest of my clothes, which were now rags, really, were recycled, and the ship made new clothes for me. Iris wanted to recycle everything, but I told her that the hat was important to me. The first night that I arrived we slept together.

The next day was a whirlwind of activity. I was given a tour by Iris and the ships Doctor, who was something of a leader in this captainless ship, and very interested in me. As they showed me the wonders of the ship I asked a thousand questions and was asked many questions in return. For some reason I found myself lying. I didn’t know why, but I didn’t want them to know about my island. I told them I was raised in the boat by my mother till she died some years ago. “Ever since then I’d been moving along the mainland.”

The doctor seemed satisfied with that, and asked suddenly if Iris and I had slept together last night. Iris, deeply embarrassed, turned away blushing. This made me very angry, and I said: “What of it?” The doctor was quick to apologize and waving his hands said, “Oh no, good, good, It’s just that it’s been so long since we’ve had any children here.” Iris became even more flustered, and I took her hand and led her away from the doctor.

Later, in an empty, quiet, and brightly-lit entertainment district- Iris explained. The ship was over capacity when the end came. Whole families were crammed into rooms meant for one person, and the ships ability to process everyone’s waste and create everyone’s sustenance was strained to the limit. In the ships core is a massive machine that somehow scans, breaks down and then absorbs all the excrement, urine, food waste, and all other biological waste- even corpses- into a kind of slurry. From this slurry all sorts of things could be created, but with so many people on board, rations were enforced. Food and medicine was the first priority, and everything else came second. No one was allowed to have more than their share or allowed to have children. Over time, as the most elderly passed away and the ship became less crowded the restrictions were lifted. But people found that they could no longer easily have children. Pregnancies were uncommon, and usually ended in miscarriage. Iris was one of the last to be born, and she was always very sickly and fragile as a child.

The mystery of it all obsessed the doctor, and he had several theories as to what was making childbirth so difficult- originally all to do with the end and the troubles- but now he was convinced it had something to do with the ship itself. The slurry machine was a new technology developed just in time for the end, and no one knew what a steady diet of slurry-food would do to a person. Perhaps infertility was a result?

I should have noticed that there weren’t any children on board right away. I should have noticed a lot of things and thought about how odd it all was, but I was so distracted by the marvel of the ship- and the marvel of Iris. The great ship drifted along on autopilot, staying in temperate weather, avoiding storms, slowly cruising and circling what was left of the world- and before long I was drifting along with it. Iris and I very much enjoyed each others company, and I got along well with her friends. I was happy. So very happy.

Iris became pregnant.

This is when it all…

Iris had just given birth two days before, and we weren’t sleeping well yet, so unused to a newborn lying between us, so we very easily awoke when we heard the door to our room creak open. I sat up in bed to see a large man I didn’t recognize carrying a rifle. Iris screamed, and moved to cover her baby behind her back. The man raised his rifle and without an expression on his face, shot her. I watched frozen in horror as a hole appeared in her chest and nightgown. A gush of blood spurted from the wound before Iris clutched her hand overtop it and fell silent, her mouth dropping open. I leapt for the man. He shot again. He shot my Iris directly in her head. I don’t know how long I hammered the mans face but even in my shock and rage I knew a mans face shouldn’t pound away into slurry like that. When my rage subsided, I realized that the baby was screaming. It made me realize that the baby was alive. Iris was quiet. Iris was all over. I wiped some bits of her mother off of the child, and picked her up to comfort her. All I could think was that this was all that was left of Iris, this was all that was left of Iris. I had to keep this child safe. Who was this man? Why did he kill my Iris? Who was this man, and why is his slurry-face all over my floor? Who was this man, and why was he lumbering back into my room, stepping over his own dead body, and bending over to retrieve his fallen rifle? I quickly put my child back down beside her mother, and savagely leapt for the man. My foot crushed his hand on his rifle. He didn’t make a sound. Over the cries of my baby, I used the but of his rifle to render his face once again into that green, mucousy jelly. It was solid in some places and almost liquid in others. It ranged in colour from a light green to a dark blue-black. He didn’t have recognizable body parts everywhere, but he had slurry eyes -one lay on the floor- slurry tongue, and a pretty solid skull, but no blood, and nothing I would call a brain. Just… stuff. No sooner had I reduced his head again, did I see him through the open door, walking calmly down the corridor to my room. I steadied the rifle to my shoulder, and watched as his soft slurry head splattered the walls.

I gently took my baby back into my arms, trying to console her inconsolable cries and with the rifle still in hand I fled the room. I was in shock. I didn’t know where to go, but the only authority on the ship was the doctor. I headed to his room, checking over my shoulder the whole time.

When we arrived, I pounded on the door till he opened. He saw my child and I, she covered in blood and I in slurry, and his face went white.

He took me in and he locked his door. He said. “I never thought that they’d go so far, I never…”

He cleaned the baby, as I shouted and demanded answers from him. He told me that the Bio-Mass was alive. I said I knew that, but he said no, it was alive and thinking. “We put our corpses in it, and it… absorbed them. All of them. It… learned each time. Thoughts. Memories. One day we saw Michelin walking about on top deck the day after we had his funeral and committed his body to the Bio-Mass. He was stupid. A smiling idiot. He was poorly made. His shocked bereaved wife hugged him and his arms cracked and broke off, dripping slurry. He just smiled the whole time. It was horrible. We killed it and the next day Michelin was back. He said “Hello” this time. Some teeth fell out as he talked. We killed him again. He didn’t come back until months later, and this time he was better made. He told us that he was the prophet of the “New”: The future of life on this planet. He said that he loved us, that he would feed us till we died, he said he was patient and loving, but we had ruined the planet and our time was over. He said that we couldn’t have children. We “weren’t allowed”. He said that when we were dead, he would take the ship to land and repopulate it with new loving creatures, all of the same and one “New”.

He said he had long been adding chemicals to our food to make the men infertile. Then he said we could kill him if we liked, for he lives forever in the New and that he looked forward to meeting us all again in the New. He said all of our loved ones were waiting for us in the Bio-Mass. We killed him and tried to keep it under cover, but word spread. Soon we were having suicides. Some people were just killing themselves. Some were jumping overboard. Some people were killing themselves by climbing into large recycling units. Some people were killing their loved ones, even strangers, and recycling them so that they could “live forever”. By the time..

A knock at the door interrupted the doctor. “Oh God.” he said.

We went silent and said nothing. I barely breathed. The slow knocks kept coming.

The child cried out. The knocking became a pounding, and the door splintered and fell away. The man was at the door. His arms were gooey messes, knubbed away to the elbows from pounding the door. Behind him was a whole crowd of people that I didn’t recognize. “Michelin..” the doctor breathed. I took aim, and shot the man in the head. His headless body stumbled backwards into the crowd. I shot the next person. More goo. I shot again and again. If I missed the head, only a small hole would form and the person would keep advancing. The gun was empty. The corridor beyond the doorway to the doctors room was piled with bodies and slick with slurry. The doctor had gone though his drawers and picked up a large, mean looking blade, about 6 inches long. It didn’t look like it could be used for surgery, It didn’t look like anything a doctor should own.

He ran screaming through the doorway, charged the crowd and began slicing. He cleanly removed the head of one slurry person before being overpowered. He was an old man. They got his knife, and sunk it into his chest. The doctor screamed, and the crowd backed away. The doctor pulled the knife out. No blood. A blue-black slurry. The doctors eyes went wide then wild. He began making a awful sound- a horrible screaming laugh, while using his own blade to saw through his neck. As he passed his throat the sound stopped and he only made it a little farther, about a third of the way through, before his eyes went dead.

What was left of the crowd dissipated. I can’t say why. They left me and my child behind. I took the knife from the doctors neck, and made my way to the top deck. I sat there for some time not knowing what to do. The ship seemed empty but I was scared to go anywhere. I finally went to a shop and took some paper. I began recording this. I not sure why or who might read it, but I knew I had to make a record. I was going to destroy this ship. I had to destroy this ship. I didn’t know how I’m going to do it, but I knew that I can’t let it reach the mainland. I also knew that I had to save my daughter, she’s all that’s left of Isis…

But while writing all this I’ve just remembered…

We can all live forever.

-Posterchild

This is a Lovers Lock. If you’d like to submit your own love story -and maybe have me create a personalized lock that will be added to Toronto’s Lover’s Fence- please read more about submitting here. Of course, you can always go and add your own. Toronto’s Lover’s Fence encloses Grange Park, the park behind the Art Gallery Of Ontario.

Charlie And Caroline’s Love Story:

HI! My name is Caroline, and I’ve been with a boy named Charlie for almost two years now. We’re both young, so I doubt you’ll put us on your fence (most people scoff at young love, who knows, maybe they’re right), but I figured I’d submit our story, just to add something to the collection.

This is a Lovers Lock. If you’d like to submit your own love story -and maybe have me create a personalized lock that will be added to Toronto’s Lover’s Fence- please read more about submitting here. Of course, you can always go and add your own. Toronto’s Lover’s Fence encloses Grange Park, the park behind the Art Gallery Of Ontario.

Ginny And Steve’s Love Story:

I was in a pretty bad rut, had a dull and unfulfilling job, boyfriend and general lifestyle, to which I had become unhealthily resigned. There was a man at work whom I rarely saw, but who called me sometimes for work reasons. I always found our conversations entertaining as he had 1000% more personality than any of our coworkers (we worked in government – go figure.)

One day he asked me to lunch, specifying that it wasn’t a “romantic” invitation. After a few months of indecision I decided to take him up on it and we got along really well, realizing that we had much in common. We decided to spend some time together doing the things no one else would do with us: hiking, snow-shoeing, mountain biking, rafting, shooting at cardboard guys, the works! We thought it was all innocent, only slowly realizing we were falling in love. When it became obvious we left our significant others and Steve and I started planning a new life together. We saved money, gave notice at our jobs, got rid of much of our burdensome possessions and decided to go on a super adventure!

From our homes near Seattle, we drove south in our little truck with a canoe on top. Drove through Mexico to the Yucatan Peninsula, then south through Belize, through Guatemala, back up Mexico’s Pacific coast and over to Baja. We spent 9 months just bumming around, canoeing islands, hiking jungles, and snorkeling. We camped on beaches or slept in our truck in whatever amazing place we happened upon as the sun set. Our relationship withstood the constant close quarters surprisingly well and we decided we should try to continue adventuring in a sailboat. In the year since we crossed back into the US we have road tripped cross-country three times (last time through Canada!) and spent 8 months working on fixing up a 21′ sailboat in which to further our adventures. We are almost done and should be getting dropped off in Southern Florida soon.

Three and a half years since our first mini-adventure together, we are still very much in love and consider ourselves married, though we haven’t gotten around to the paperwork yet!

So, that’s our love story, hope you like it.
Ginny
http://ginnyandsteve.blogspot.com/

p.s. In an unrelated story, I was inspired by your attempt to resurrect “Oobis” and have almost finished 6, which I’ll be releasing soon with little hope as to anyone ever seeing them. Did yours ever make it to its destination?

Ahoy!
I noticed you are doing lovers locks again and in case you make it to ours I thought I’d give you an update:

Since the time I wrote you our story we took off on our boat adventure and a marriage adventure too!

We launched our little boat in Florida in late December and row/sailed it along the west coast and down to Cuba, along the northern coast of Cuba and over to Mexico then along the Caribbean coastline all the way to Guatemala where we are now. In a few days we’re heading towards Honduras where we plan to follow the coast East to Nicaragua, etc. etc.

While in Belize we decided to get married and actually convinced some loved ones to fly down. We had a somewhat impromptu ceremony in the backyard of our parents’ vacation rental complete with juggling friends and hackysacking nephews. It was excellent!

The difficulties of living on a small boat (our cabin is only 8′x3′x4′!) I could not tolerate with anyone else, but we are convinced we must be two of the most compatible people on the planet because we thrive on it. I’ve never been happier and I know wherever our adventures take us, whether to the Amazon or back to the dismal gray of Washington we will always derive all the fun out of life possible and always do it together.

Ginny

This is a Lovers Lock. If you’d like to submit your own love story -and maybe have me create a personalized lock that will be added to Toronto’s Lover’s Fence- please read more about submitting here. Of course, you can always go and add your own. Toronto’s Lover’s Fence encloses Grange Park, the park behind the Art Gallery Of Ontario.

Ryan And Danny’s Love Story:

I found Ryan on Craigslist. I was looking for someone to be a rebound after breaking up with my last boyfriend. Later he told me he had replied on whim as a personal writing assignment. It should have been a total joke. I remember his completely open attitude and playing DDR on our first date thinking I would never end up with this guy. He was too brazen! But every time I thought I found something I didn’t like about him, somehow it would be fine. He doesn’t know boundaries! (As he pulled me through the back doors to meet the band). He’s a total hippie! (As he’d hide knick-knacks in a shoe box for me and call it treasure). He’s too childish! (But we’d both hop on a playground train and let the kids steer us to the other side of the world).

When he couldn’t understand why I’d get upset about him not worrying about me he came back with a Mario star to keep me ‘invincible’. Instead of being protective, he was always the one to call over to me “C’mon, let’s do this!” The world would turn a different colour when he smiled so big.

He would take over a task before I could finish asking for help. He keeps his promises. And when we argue I always here the honesty in his voice.

We’ve been together for 10 months but I’ve been in enough relationships to know this natural love carries on and I doubt I could get much happier than this. All the little things other people miss is an entire world of fortune to him. Every person an opportunity for friendship. Or knowledge. It is an entirely different way of living that I wouldn’t do without. And I hope to keep sharing this with him everyday.

…Spending Time With Posterchild!

While I was living in New York, I met up with Keith Haskel, who filmed and interviewed me while I installed some work!

The resulting video is now ready for you to enjoy! I hope you enjoy it!

Many thanks to Keith!

Well friends, 2010 is about to end. This was a very good year for me and I hope it was a very good year for you as well! I’m afraid that it was also a very challenging year for me, and that’s what I’m writing to talk to you about tonight. My finances- my margin for survival- was razor thin. As usual. Unlike usual, I fell below and couldn’t seem to pull myself back ontop. This year was a year of deep struggle and it ended with me going back to work full time. I left my roachy place with very cheap rent, got “evicted” from the lousy place I went next, and incurred debt all the while. I had to borrow money from my parents for the first time since I began working as an artist full time. A major red flag. I was even all set to leave Toronto for cheaper living. I wasn’t making enough money, I was working too much, not working on art, and something had to give.

Turns out that something was Blade Diary.

I can’t update everyday, as much as I’d love to- but there’s no way I’m quitting either. I’ve got the bug too badly. So I’m going to update less.

This is a non-announcement, I know. It isn’t really an announcement as my lack of updates already tells the tale. It isn’t really a decision either- I didn’t choose to stop updating- but I haven’t been able to keep up. So It’s time to make it official.

Since I began Blade Diary in September 2006, I have managed to update almost every single workday. I got by working odd jobs and was able to focus on my art pretty much full time. I did it all on a shoestring budget, paid my own way and did things on my terms. I’m very proud of that. I also feel very proud of (some) of the work that I’ve made in that time and I feel so happy and lucky to have had that time- to have allowed myself that time- to be a dedicated artist. Most artists never get, or give themselves, that chance. But the Blade Diary experiment- daily street art updates- is a creative challenge I can no longer pursue. My life is changing and so Blade Diary is changing along with it. Blade Diary as it was will end in 2010. Blade Diary in 2011 will be a site with no promises and a sporadic and unpredictable update schedule: a hobby. Basically, I will no longer be looking at art as my full time pursuit, my career- but as my passion.

It’s more than a little sad for me, but not all is bad news. I hope to update Blade Diary less, but with better content. I guarantee that I will continue to bring you the very best in authentic, innovative streetart- or your money back. I’ve also gone from working joe jobs that I wasn’t very good at with little future in them to a career that I love. I’ve decided to become a Brewer; turning a new passion of mine- beer making- into a livelihood.

I’ve spent most of my adult life, and certainly the past 4 odd years of Blade Diary, making very little money and an awful lot of art. With brewing, I’m hoping to do a bit of both.

Thanks for sharing these last four years with me, I’ve enjoyed them more than I can say, and I hope that you stick around for the future!

Best!

Post.

You know, people are always asking me how I come up with my ideas…

HERE IS THE SURPRISING TRUTH- I STENCIL A LIGHTBULB AND STAND UNDERNEATH IT! :0

I was recently contacted by Toronto photographer Jesse Milns, who was interested in shooting my Portrait! I had a look at his work at www.jessemilns.com, and I suggest that you do as well! After seeing such fine photography, I readily agreed to his flattering offer! Of course, I am thrilled with the final results. NICE PHOTOS, EH?

Once there, I had a casual chat with the engaging Melody Krauze, and admired her excellent Sexy Time Pillows! Melody took that chat and turned it into an interview. See, Melody and Jesse are “Teaming Up” to interview and photograph a “creative Torontonian and spotlight the individuals that make this city unique.” They are going to feature the results of this awesome endeavor on a website they are calling “Focus Toronto” – cleverly shorted to foTO! I look forward to following this site as it grows, but for now you can check out my profile here!

This is a Lovers Lock. If you’d like to submit your own love story -and maybe have me create a personalized lock that will be added to Toronto’s Lover’s Fence- please read more about submitting here. Of course, you can always go and add your own. Toronto’s Lover’s Fence encloses Grange Park, the park behind the Art Gallery Of Ontario.

Tara and Alvin’s Love Story:

My name is Tara. I am a therapist for children with autism, finishing my Psychology degree from UC San Diego. I have been with my boyfriend Alvin for just about 2 years now. We met at a coffee shop.
On our first date in March of ‘09, I laughed in Alvin’s face when he told me he was a Religious Studies major. I am incredibly grateful that despite my rudeness he gave me a second date! We bonded over our love of making electronic music (good stuff, I promise!), appreciation of Existentialism, and Christmas lights. In October, we took a 10 minute night drive to Ocean Beach and promptly wrestled each other to the ground. All sweaty and out of breath, he stammered out the words, “I love you.”
In March of 2010, he also wrote me a poem that made me realize that he is the man I want to be with until I am dead. Even as I am dying, I hope my body releases DMT to the point where I hallucinate that I am kissing him.
I am attaching his poem to this email.
So far we have traveled to Big Sur, San Francisco, Berkeley, Portland, and Seattle together. He is exceedingly good at being a boyfriend whereas I am exceedingly proud of my ability to spread peanut butter evenly on my toast.

Alvin’s Poem:

Title:
What are you thinking about?
*or*
Do you think we would have done a lot of drugs together if we’d known each other in high school?
*or*
We started talking about our ex’s, so naturally my first question had to do with comparative male anatomy.
*or*
I love you because I can think about death around you.
*or*
You dreamt that I shot you and I immediately asked what kind of gun I used in the dream and you (understandably) got upset so maybe this poem will make you feel better.