New Website

Hey

...check out my new website...

http://web.mac.com/dianalabrecque

:)

more writing on there too.
but not as exciting has here though.

Forecast

Sometimes the only hope we are given can't be found in
religion or faith but in the ten-day forecast. Just as
we have to believe that spring will come,we have to
believe that change will happen, and the bad will fade
away and eventually leave room for the change that we
deserve.

Whether it be room for love, or forgiveness or a small
but needed reminder of the good. All my life I've
tried to believe in the future, and put a lot of
weight on the fact that change is inevitable. And that
time, the one thing we can't control,changes things.

At times I was begging for this change to come, and
pleaded for some kind of difference in my life. Living
a life of indifference makes the shortest moments last
a tortuous lifetime. I know. I've lived that moment
too long.

Other times, when I've faced and accepted the best and
worst parts of myself, I've begged for those moments
to never end. And I've wanted to wade in the depth of
those thickest moments, and gotten carried away and
lost by their weight and significance.

Love has a lot to do with timing. We all ask: when is
it going to be time for me? Am I ready for love now?
We tell ourselves we feel ready. It's all around
us--love. I'll look at a stranger passing me, try to
stare in his eyes, and want him to be the one. I'll
want the search to be over, finally. And I'll stop
being so strong and so alone.

So detached and so seemingly replaceable. Love is
supposed to be patient but isn't this a little
ridicules? It looks easier, all around us, the way
people just seem to slide into shared lives together.
I turn the bass up louder to drown it all out, add
another shot to my stomach. And cross another day off
the calendar.

When will it be okay for me give all of myself to
someone. To let him all the way in. To let him know
that he can't live without me. That I'm worth big
sacrifices with little compromises. When will it be
okay to be open and vulnerable and brave and fearless
and no so hard, not so closed, not so distance from
the words I say, from the feelings I feel?

When can I show that I'm scared of being alone? That I
dream of sharing my bed with someone warm, who wraps
his arms around me so tight, squeezing out any doubt.

I let go of the waiting game, when I feel like I'm
losing. And instead I look up the ten-day forecast
again.

movie review for school paper

Catch and Release: Needs More Bait
by Diana Lee LaBrecque
An unlikely cast comes together in Susannah Grant’s latest light-hearted drama flick, Catch and Release. Grant is best known for writing feminist movies such as Erin Brockovich and In Her Shoes. Her newest film centers around Jennifer Garner’s character dealing with the death of her fiancé and about the kind of man he was. With emotional support from her alcoholic and uptight friends played by Kevin Smith and Sam Jaeger respectively, they all deal with life after death. Secrets unravel and the truth comes out about the people we think we know and the people we think we are. Playing the bad-boy love interest of Garner is Deadwood’s Timothy Olyphant. He’s the stereotypical black sheep loner trying to rediscover himself in a crisis. Juliette Lewis (The Other Sister) appears part way through the movie as the dead fiancé’s ex-lover.
Though the story line is just as enjoyable as discounted shoes, the consistency of the actors reminds the audience that somehow not every actor can pull off a romantic comedy. Garner’s performance is mediocre and unconvincing. It seems as if she really is confused by the mix of both drama and comedy in this film and never really picks one way to act, so she sticks with casual indifference. Quirky Kevin Smith is pretty reliable and predicable as the mourner who turns to drinking and drugs to escape. He can be confirmed as the comic relief whose one-liners break any hope of their being any sense of drama in a film dealing with death. . Lewis plays a vegan, masseuse with a kid who is looking for a father figure. Her character was over-the-top and annoying after her first scene.
Character development and chemistry aside, the story gives a nice escape on a Sunday afternoon. It could be considered a date movie but don’t look for true love to be seen on the screen—it’s more like the two main characters are saying: ‘I guess we can hook up cause you’re the best looking one here and I’m lonely’. On a side note, Garner should stick with her usual gigs of physical acting, and stay clear from movies where she is required to show any physical emotions.
There’s no real connection between any of the character but they did a nice job of pretending they didn’t notice the lack of talent in each scene. But as an audience member it’s hard to ignore the weak scenes and unmotivated dialogue. It’s good to know before sitting down in the theater that the movie is over two hours so that way you have plenty of time to get used to the poor acting and get more comfortable with the setting taking place in a house almost the entire time. Though it takes a while to get used to the weaknesses of the movie, especially the love relationship that really comes out of nowhere, by the end you still want all the characters to end up happy.
The preview did a very accurate job of making this movie look conventional and bad but it’s still almost worth seeing if you can’t decide what run of the mill chick flick to see. If Susannah Grant could have found at least one actor whose had more than five years of real film acting then maybe her script could have had a chance. But what she got stuck with was a good-looking cast that doesn’t know how to fully develop characters and a predictable afternoon snack kind of script. (You don’t really need it but it’s not going to kill your dinner, either.)
Final Grade: C+

Calf to cow, ashes to Atom

She still wants to live
Just not
in this world

He would have wanted
to live longer
in another lifetime


confluence over euthanasia
doctors arguing for a show
admistered his last anasthesia...
It was his time to let go

We all survive in oblivion
and before you return to Denial,
stay with me one more moment,

you can remember,

just for
awhile

Video site

http://www.black20.com/


I actually might do some freelance P.A
work for this company in the near future.

and then there were none

a smile is an acknowledgement
a parellel universe; one moment in time.
i'm here observing in this universe, unfortunately
He. sits across from me, intruder of pan irony
I just feel I'm aging, aging
a second passes and I feel every aspect of him
Chorus in ADegeneration
growing younger beyond his years in
animal magnetism
mammalian intent
Darwinism like politics limits his options more than mine.

Part Duex

(See 12/2004 for Part One of Ballad)

BALLAD PART DUEX:
SURPRISE! SEASONAL DEPRESSION
CAME EARLY THIS YEAR!

Ten shopping days till Christmas and
I’ve eerily been politely told
by both friends and family,
that I need to start being nicer to both
friends and family.

Starting to think it’s true when received
a late night drunken prank call
referring to me as a little bitch
who likes to suck dick.
(The latter accusation isn’t true)

Greatest epiphany in the world
when my somber grouchiness caused
by lack of global holiday cheer has
some how affected more than
my sleep and eating habits-
but has shaken my life as a whole.

Need to stop wishing for the first snowfall
and start praying for my own genuine smile.

I stutter and go into shock when
a passing stranger wishes me luck on an exam,
and it finally hits me like a hail storm:
I need to get my head out of my own ass
before New Years Eve if I want to even have acquaintances in 2007.

joey

If the Man Upstairs
is really there he resembles
this rapist that can still make me smile
If the Man Upstairs
is really there than he has the logic
for the Ever Abstract Grand Design
equivalent to a kangaroo
Humor that you feel drained after
I hide under a rock when it all seems too simple.

Just One Night

Tonight was just one of those nights,
when I couldn’t tap into my self
the way I usually can.
My confidence lingered in the doorway for hours,
and I couldn’t remember how to smile on the outside.

I was waved at and could only blink back.
But I promise nothing was wrong.

It was just one of those nights.
When I was back:
looking though the world in front of me,
like a snow globe, on the outside.
and I just couldn’t find the energy to even shake it.

I sipped the liquid in front of me,
begging it to give me its usual courage.
But it just waded, staring back up at me.
My mind moving faster than the music beat,
while my body sat – motionless–
heavy against the chair.

And my worse fear has returned:

– this one night will become two.

OK

You ask, politely mainly out of concern--
Are you okay?

I turn and say I am fine.
Fine fine fine. Maybe even good.
Since recently I can convince myself of anything.

But whenever I see myself in a mirror
I see my mother staring back at me.

And whenever I see a man
That I may want and feel something
Anything for…one day—
My best friend is there:
Quicker, faster than me.

And I know I shouldn’t,
But I wonder, is it me?

I know I’m good though,
I have the basics down.
How to charm, how to please,
How to make someone love
Me is easy, but how to make
It last is a lesson, I must have
Missed.

All you see is smudged eyeliner,
A sarcastic girl whose lost,
with hair that becomes knotted when
It’s down, a girl who stumbles when
She talks, who slurs when she walks.

But if my father taught me anything,
It’s that there’s a reason for it all.

She is the one who sees her biggest
Imperfections the loudest and can’t
Figure out how to silence them all. She
Hears herself screaming inside and
Often, wants to hide when she finds
Herself around the ones who choose to
Only see a puncture wound they’d
Rather not find a solution to.

She always tells herself to cry later,
Later, later, later. Any time but now.
And sometimes when she is sitting alone
In a bathroom stale she says loudly—
Why doesn’t mine come with a pen?
If an artist is creating something new
Every minute, why isn’t every corner
Prepared with her necessities.

She wants to write, she needs to explain
That she’s not so cold hearted but scared
To be open to a real solution that will quiet
Her pain, that will stifle her silence that
Will reconnect her with the mind she may be losing.


--The worst part if it is,
Is that she reminds herself
That she could have had him
If she really wanted,

And she’ll be kicking herself
Tomorrow, not over too
Many beers, too many
Awkward moments, too many
People who don’t understand
But the moments before she
Closed her eyes before the sun,
She realizes her teeth and brush were left
Undone.

mundane mystery

I'm an asshole
when I'm productive

I'm a drunk
to ward of the inevitable

I'm trying
to make you understand
I'm volatile, I'm an epiphany, I'm an asshole
and if your lucky

I care enough to forget your name,
to make you get bored of searching before you give up.
It's not interesting or even fair
but you've only lost something when you have to find it.

preparing to be miraculous

It's hours before
I'll meet this, child, the details
I know are skeptical and missing needed information
at best.

It's hours before
I'll meet this child
and his Mother all ready
believes I will get him to stop banging his
skull to the tiled bathroom floor, softly
accenting every fourth slam with exceptional
intensity.

It's hours before
I'll meet this child
and I prepare to be miraculous,

before transformation the cigarette burns
to a small, filthy nub between
my pointer finger and thumb
My lips quiver, I lick them rawer with my tongue

It's hours before
I'll meet this child,
my lips form words before I can acknowledge I may
not be talking to just myself, remember to breathe, please
Please god Give me this Gift One More Time.

Latest Assignment- write a poem about love

Being Forced

Being forced to write about love
is like being stuck in a basement,
while paralyzed, with a magnifying lens in hand-
as my first fresh, glass of whiskey spills and slips though a crack in the carpet.

It’s like only wanting to listen
to the eerie silence of a light, blue shadow
but being forced to uncover my ears
to a railroad spike cutting through sheet rock.

It is as if someone is holding my stretchy headband over my eyes
and isn’t letting me see the tiger.
When all I have ever really wanted-was to see a tiger.

Being forced to write about love
is like my sweaty, dirty palms grabbing the sharp edge of an ax
while tears and snot run down my snout
and then someone reminding me that:

all David ever gave me was a sweet potato for my birthday.

finding the trail

drugs are great
they open the eyes
i chew down on mushrooms so hard
i feel the liquid freshness roll down my tongue
piercing the center of the stem

i time myself
to know from what point i will slip to a
better view
I am marching, searching for the trail
the minutes are easy to count
at first
but nothing happens

Until i forget time,
and place, and me and I am
Pleasantly suprised
I live in this world I just don't
take much away from it until
I'm gone

I'm a little girl, again
and I won't come down the mountain to grow up,
like that.
so let the sky and the sea and the tide as their progeny
claim me as lost and I
will be found
whole and alive for the first time.

a wannabe

What do you do
when
you’ve met all the smokers
all the jokers,
all the wanna be cokers?
when
the new hot scene
is already cold and old?

Who do you turn to
when
the city beats you back,
beats you down
when you thought you were the one
with all the control
in the palm of your hand?
when
you miss feeling
larger than life during
those small victories,
that may, in the end,
be nothing?

Where do you go
when
you see that the rain cloud just gets darker and darker
above your head
while watching the soundless lightening storm
above the night sky line just exhausts you?
when
the glamorous dirt under your sink,
the dirt under your fingernails,
is the only sign left
that you once dug for your dreams?

What are you supposed to think
when
over and over again
you feel like crawling under anything
anything at all,
as long as it’s under and deep and far,
away
from where you are now.
when
you’ve been playing a part for so long,
so when the smoke finally lifts from the crowded dive,
so when the city street noise takes a minute to breath,
so when the need to have it all
dies down for just one brief moment,
and you finally, finally, finally
take a look in the mirror
you can hardly remember
when was the last time
you
played
you?

I know,
because sometimes
I think.
I think,
I know that
You wanna be loved.
Loved. And.
You wanna be.
And that’s it.

mismanagementspellingbee

To stay in the game I cover my mouth
to stay in the game I pretend to follow the rules
I strategize, compromise
Feign apathy when appropriate.
I can be this instrument, this well trained tool
I have been trained, bribed in small meek steps
Well,
when it comes to when they ask me
'What would you do if it was your child?'
like my advice is best because it's there,
I'd say, "You shouldn't have to ask if
you cared,"
But I don't I tell them this, I tell the good things
and they tell me lies and they only take him for a night a week
I feign apathy and they feign family
when they fill his head with lies
of vacations they will take him on
next time, and if they asked me what I would do I would
say I wouldn't need to try to act like
he is my son.
I would not hide him from the rest of my life like he is
some dirty affair
There are children hidden in pockets of buildings, in special rooms in schools
The lucky ones find an acceptable combination of medicines and rush to join the flock, march on.

humidity

the air beneath us wells up and rises sticky,
rising like a warning clinging onto our chests
the air beneath us makes our legs go weak
and we are pushed closer to make one and
it's time for good bye, dark the moon covered by
used up night rain clouds wasting in the moonlight
the air beneath us shifts as you spin on one foot
and turn to walk the other way
its your scent that remains that matters
its your scent in the air dressing me like armor
i can face the warning like a warrior
and turn around from this place, and like you
can walk away
ive been warned i may see you again

dry muse

In the future
I will have this all figured out
and I will have the time
to see how little it mattered

something sexy

something sexy
about remembering how well you write
and how well that did not change
something sexy
about feeling like an ass for treating you
like i was a coward
because i am brave, just
not at the right times in the way
that would make this all make sense
something sexy
about remembering the way your lips tensed and shook when
you waited for my response
it's in my head
it's in my mind
it's oblivious to logic
and when i wake, when i least expect
anything
it brings me to my knees

uninspired

For my birthday last year my roommate gave me
the gift that I asked for:
a word of the day calendar.
and i use it each day. and i read the word and
i tell myself I am going to use that word in a
conversation at some point during the day.
but i never do.
i mostly see the words as a kind of forshadowing
of what my day is going to be like.
today's word: solipsism.
meaning a theory holding that the self can
know nothing but its own modifications and
that the self is the only existent thing.
i didn't use that word in a sentence today.
i'm not sure i know what it means.
i can't know anything but myself as I change
and exist through time.
i haven't been able to write. but i am writing now.
I thank Bukowski. he inspires me. his poetry,
his alcoholism, his honesty. his death.
I was in the City this weekend. And all I had was one goal.
To find the Bethesda Fountain. It took me over an hour to find.
Its smack dab in the middle of Central Park.
I found Bethesda. (I speak like we are old friends)
and sat and sat. and watched and watched.
for over two hours. in the sun. and i listened and i didnt move.
and i tried to write. i wanted to write. so i did.
and i realize now how much i hate what i wrote. it might have
been good. but i know now it was uninspired.
Bukowski inspires me. Bethesda simply quiets me.
And I thank them both.