I honestly don´t know what to do anymore.


I love hardwood floors, French wine, pretty boys and black and white movies.  I feel as if I was born in the wrong era. Is it because I see or feel these things and smell substance on them as if I made them myself?

I see an old, turn of the century house, it may not be a glass mansion so sought after by today´s generation, and I want to go inside and lay down. I hear 50s Christmas music and it feels like I should be at home, drinking hot chocolate, I watch a black and white no-talkie movie and enjoy myself more then if I was in a bustling hollywood blockbuster, chalk-full of budget and CGI. I walk into an antique store and act as if I were a child that just got a candy.


I live in a city that has more old century homes then anywhere else in the Continent. What happened to them? Oh, nothing, they are just all inhabited by drug addicts and owned by landlords who are too cheap to restore so just let it go to HELL. I could CRY when I see the ugly-ass lino they put over the hardwoods because they are too fuckin lazy to just re-polish. As a result, one of the last places in Canada with brownstone, original oak hardwoods and marble mantles is being overrun by condemnation permits and then mobile homes.




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It is like nothing is sacred anymore!



I suppose older things appeal to me because they just... They have so much soul, so much substance. I know that the antique table I buy may be old, but it was made by someone with their own two hands. Made for quality, and proving this through withstanding the test of time.

Everything used to be done with so much soul, so much spirit, so much happiness and a cry for joy in life.  There is no pessimism in me about the old days, the old days were hope. It was people smiling to you when you walked down the street, and tipping the milkman and picking up hitch hikers because you knew everything was cool. Those smiling Coca Cola ads from the 1920s always stood out to me in Antique Stores, people having a good time, enjoying life.

Every movie, though seemingly corny to us today, was filmed with such precision and detail, that even when scenes were mere paintings behind the actors, it was done correctly and to animation.  Now, we are so lazy we can barely consider watching a movie unless it has a full script and graphics to the T which will spoonfeed us adrenaline until we puke popcorn and jujubes all over the seat below us. 

Ohhh and the people. The people were intense passion incarnate. The women were defined and intelligent, special hovels and cafes for women were built where the ladies of the century could discuss politics, the latest book or fashion.  Unlike the women of today, the women of previous centuries knew who their foe was, and were too smart to be fooled, for their era was the era of enlightenment, of true revolutionaries and feminists. Where you could only find ego in the disgusting corner of the upper governments.  Poets, Artists, Architects, Scientists, all of the greatest of the great minds were born before 1940.

And the men? I am sure you all know by now my strong affection for the well-groomed pretty boy of society. The boy who says, ¨Dear lord, I don´t want to look and smell like an ape today!¨ Everything from Corsets to High Hats, the men of the centuries were dressed to the T. From 1850-1920 was the absolute hight of men´s fashion. For once in history the men looked as classy and simple as the women. Please don´t get me started on Yardley Brilliantine. Needless to say it should be an absolute law for all men.





It is like people really had something worth living for. People had books worth living for, people had shoes worth living for, people had friends worth living for, people had sunsets and sunrises worth living for. Now, THERE IS NOTHING worth living for. The world is on a steady decline and has been for the last 60 years. I jumped off the world, pulled out my parachute and am trying to find ground to no avail.


Ahhh yes. I often drift off in dreams of living in the Charlie Chaplin era instead of the Charlie Manson, and even more often - I go on mad, murderous rants about it all.