i fell in love with a bad bad man ever since i met him i've been sad sad sad.

where did this shiny new perspective come from? i quit smoking and gave up on you and i feel fucking great. neither were worthy-less. both were keeping me sick, selfish animals. i am not to be coveted. your desires will not bind me any longer, but i still lust for your fingertips, my precious, capricious lover. i am releasing some hidden reserve of strength. been stowing it here since childhood you know. i am out of control. this well's been dry for months. no rain, no pain, hallucinogenic thirst. nihilism is just getting comfortable, finally settling in. take your coat off, yes, please stay a while. this works, making it stink less, empty garbage can dreams. that must be citrus and lavender, what a lovely room spray.

like an arrow i am only passing through.

the tourist novelty of buying fruit in a chinese market or walking under the bridge on lansdowne and not wondering if a pigeon might shit on you or acting sarcastic and psychopathic in the streets with an old lover toronto is full of wonders. wearing flip flops and shorts today? hey can you believe this weather. hey. can you shaaare that with me. could you staaand any closer to me. should we seeee if there are still some fresh ones. litter is passe and smoking is taboo toronto is full of mysterious habits. the cheapest pint will probably be $3.50 and this stretch of bars are full even though they all play bad music. toronto is full of suburban kids on the weekends and they actually think this is cool. if i had some money i would buy all the nicest vintage clothing and wear it better than the kids who read about it in NOW. being bored here is not an option anymore. i am soooo tired. i seeeek stimulation. i stiiiink of misery. anticipating my big goodbye, no one will be there to see me off. but a tree must make sound falling in the thick of some virgin forest? craaaaaaaaaaaaash.

you do not understand the nature of a cat

not that they understand each other anyway

you can be a dog and that really makes more sense to me

i can be cool without getting into any altercations

with a curious caution

& lofty apathy

circus maze

i do not know how to look you in the eyes or have an honest conversation with you. not yet. you are the mirror of my fears. i do not have the nerve to endure any more heartbreak, rejection or pain. you are the mirror of my fears, my own worst nightmare. you are my eyes looking deep into my eyes looking deep into my eyes looking deep into my eyes. into the depths of my soul wondering just what is down there. what rumbling embers can be set ablaze with a faint whisper to disturb this arctic vacancy. somewhere deep down there is a dormant coal, a sparkling ember in the pit of my soul. i can see it flickering purple in your eyes, menacing some slight deviation in your grin. success?

i guess i tend to let you win.

let's move to the country

i had this dream last night that i waited for an old friend to go to montreal with me for a party, but i got too high on acid and ended up in a jungle in northern iran, where there's no real jungle you know, i mean i'm pretty sure its a desert there, and there was a train passing through this paradise, but i couldn't get on because i was really waiting for you to show up, i think something happened, like you fell asleep or forgot i called, so i meandered in the jungle's rivers for hours and talked to fairies wondering where i might go next, and how i'd even get there, since the trains only run once every four days

peter pan was a kind of gypsy

i memorized that movie word-for-word as a kid, go figure. never aging is a dream for another world, one that doesn't really exist, but one that i do like to think about. yeah, you are the messenger of my dreams but you don't give me no deliverance. i'm writing the story of your life, well someone else's at least, not mine. even though you don't have any nightmares. that part is fictional. i expect you to deliver me from all evils, but here i am, hopelessly & perpetually confounded by my own mixed emotions and childish reactions. i can't deliver much but a blunt response, you know that. maybe an excellent blowjob or some well-cooked eggs, a fucking cookie. i could knit you an ugly scarf or talk to you about how ginsberg's later poetry is a form of pornography, or how gramsci is the most understated and misunderstood of all marxists, but perhaps the most important. i could organize the files on your desk in a tight dress so you would never really respect me no matter how good i was at organizing and since you hired me because i was wearing that dress now i can't stop wearing it can i. i could wipe the endless surfaces and leave you trite notes to take your vitamins in matronly penmanship like, "take your vitamins, dear." i can't even help myself, you know, despite trying. you could be conscious of it and not really get anywhere if you wanted. and why is it that wanting is doing without wanting it to be. i mean, i get it, its a verb, but isnt it like one of those emotive verbs that don't actually insinuate action? you know i just don't know what to do anymore. but this obviously isn't working out. i mean, me, you, myself, what's the difference?

note to self

oh, there is so much to do before i go.

so many people to see,

so many i love you's i owe.

how much i'll miss everyone & everything.

my life is here.

i am scared.

there are things i have to do

that i am not ready to accept.

growing up.

never get married.

your parents might get into an argument.

friendship is a lucrative endeavour

and brave, really!