October 31, 2005

The morning found us scattered across the land: Carly in St. Catherines eating bagels, Dave in London chasing buses, Corwin in Guelph sleeping on cold floors, and me in Kitchener shaving my armpits. But by two o’clock the four of us were lost together in Toronto, navigating awkward streets: Corwin ferocious behind the wheel, and Dave sleeping in the back seat, his teeth shiny in the sunlight.

We shook ourselves awake in front of the Gladstone hotel where hipsters gathered to devour zines. There was good shit, bad shit, self-made shit, and I swear everyone there created their own buttons. And because you can’t show up to a zine fest without a zine of your own, we brought with us Corwin’s SOAP. Go read it. It’s all about hipsters.

After we wre sufficiently awed and crushed by people with strange haircuts, we hid in an alley to put on our army gear and go to a burlesque show. It was a delightful combination of monkey blowjobs, baby puke, and titty tassles. To quote Sra, “What’s a burlesque show without tassles? Crap.”

Unfortunately I don’t have any photos of the tassles or of the nurses dressed in vinyl. I was busy photographing candles (one can never have enough photos of burning shit).

And when midnight came, Corwin once more scattered us throughout the province to dream about jiggling breasts and everything burlesque.

Elsewhere:
Just your luck — everybody who went there had a blog. Here’s some intertextuality:

• Carly’s Entry
• Corwin’s Entry
• Dave’s Entry
• Sra’s Entry