i’ve been in the painting studio off and on since five-ish and i am just about fed the fuck up with oil paints
slender moon: Sometimes I’m confused by Canadian stereotypes but then I realize that we literally dump maple syrup onto the snow, wait for it to get gooey and then scoop it up with a stick and eat it
therapsids: you better not be fucking with me canada is this for real
lottery: it is all too real
i remember doing this when i was little.
oh boy it’s finally seasonally appropriate for me to shove pine cones up my boyfriends ass
It is December 6th, and I remember.
I was 13 years old when Marc Lépine opened fire and murdered 14 women for being at engineering school when he wasn’t. He blamed feminism for the situation he was in, and murdered these women for being in non-traditional jobs, for being there.
Every year, the memorials I go to are different. Some are quiet - I remember several winters in the snow, holding candles and reciting names like a talisman against violence.
Geneviève Bergeron, 21 years old. Hélène Colgan, 24 years old. Nathalie Croteau, 24 years old.
When I was younger, they seemed impossibly mature and sophisticated. I used to imagine them laughing and enjoying university, cut down without warning. Now that I’m 35, they seem so young, and I wonder if they were afraid.
Self reblog from last year. Still worth reading. Still remembering.
Today is the anniversary of the Montreal Massacre.
I will not forget.