8.28.2003
3 am Agricola St. I throw a hissy fit because I’m locked out of my house. Normally this is no big deal. Being locked out of the house. Except I was drunk on Malibu coconut rum. Except I specifically asked that the back door be kept open. I’m pretty sure I threw a chunk of pizza on the road. I know I said fuck fucking fuck. I littered violently. The window in my bedroom was open but too high. I carried a cement block. I got on but I was still too short. Tried to boost myself up anyway but just ended up banging my head on the window. Cried a little. Considered breaking into my friend’s level window and crashing on his couch. Reached into my bedroom and swept the books, a bowl, and anything else that got in the way, off my desk and onto the floor. Felt extremely satisfied. Wandered back and forth between the window and the side door. Considered screaming “help” in the middle of the intersection. Spotted the neighbour’s green bin (ours has maggots and was rejected) and wheeled it to my window, climbed in, made a lot of noise, muttered and cried again. This morning I found my keys. In my pack, that I was wearing on my back.
10:37 AM
8.27.2003
When I was in grade six I had red frame glasses. I may have even had a mullet-esque hair cut, although I’m not admitting anything. I wore gray plastic bubble shoes and yellow stir-ups. The grade six classes went to PEI and stayed in cabins. There was a scandal. What’s her name went to meet what’s his name, in the woods, who lived up the street from me, and who had an underground pool because his parents owned a video rental store, plus he was adopted, of all things. Anyway, she was meeting him in the woods, wearing just her panties. That’s it. That’s the scandal. But we talked about it for three days. He must have touched her cuuch, I hope he touched her cuuch, although no one ever found out. I wanted to know badly. I really craved the details, even back then. You see, though I was labeled green (and I was green) I did things not many people knew about. And my imagination went way beyond crotch grabbing. I used to play a game called Octopus. My friend Jennifer and I would move her bed over to the other side of her room so we could have some space. Sometimes we would just put tape on the carpet to mark the spot or we would rig up a sheet in this small corner of the room. The small corner of the room was our cage. And we would wait for Octopus or one of his gang members to bring us food and water. Sometimes we were punished and tied up naked. A lot of the times they had sex with us and made us crawl behind them. Sometimes it was pretty rough. We bemoaned our fate, but we never tried to escape. We even loved Octopus, and had been there for ohhhh several years.
What’s her name eventually went on to become a teenage prostitute in Toronto. What's his name drives a truck. And me? Ha, you all know about me.
12:42 PM
8.24.2003
I would like to live in reality. I really would. You are all slipping away. This is a dream. I wait I wait and I wait for you to come. And I see you at the door and I see you at the bed.
I'm sorry. I love you. But you're not him.
Alive. To laugh and hurt. To find a way. I am perched.
And distant. Watching,
flubbing.
Just like him.
4:47 AM
8.12.2003
I found this half-finished poem I wrote about Alex a couple of years ago in Ottawa.
In fear I drag myself
with moss fettered feet,
from your eyes, the two hollows,
the dead pan beat----
no, from the bones beneath,
starved swords
in sheath
your flesh (your dirt!)
and me, full-lame, wants
to swallow you clean,
without the gagging.
For hours after our lovemaking,
I notice the spirit of you
clutching clutching
at your back.
9:16 AM
8.11.2003
‘O how shall I warble myself for the dead one there I loved?
And how shall I deck my song for the large sweet soul that has gone?
And what shall my perfume be for the grave of him I love?’
Walt Whitman, ‘When Last in the Dooryard Bloom’d’
12:34 PM
8.09.2003
Did your greatest love kill himself? Did you fight the devil for his life?
Did you lose?
12:41 AM
8.08.2003
When I was petting Dali, the cat that took you one hour to choose and the one that slept next to you on the bed, otherwise your cat. When I was petting your cat, you were alive. When I checked my messages you were dead.
You would have hated the funeral baby. But I guess the funeral is not for you. It's just a funeral. Your friend saw you get up and piss on the altar. I wanted to open the coffin and lay next to you. I wanted to stroke your hair and fall asleep curled around your legs and go where you go. I wanted to scream and murder the priest. And give up anyone, anyone at all, to have you back.
This is the ending I have. Two years ago. 3 am on Welsford Street. You are ringing the doorbell. "Please let me in baby, I need to talk to you. Please let me in." I call the cops and you leave to wander the Commons. You want to do terrible things. I know exactly what you want to do, but I let you leave. The cops say you are faking it. I beg them to find you. No one finds you.
This is the ending I want. 3 am on Welsford Street. You are ringing the doorbell. You want to come in. This time I am strong. I open the door and wrap my arms around your beautiful, tired body and kiss your cheek and whisper, "shhhhhhh. It's okay it's okay."
Your death is the terror that has creeped around my life for many years. And now I breathe a nightmare. It is dark and dripping, and wailing in my ear, it lives in my bones and speaks through my eyes. I will never walk the same.
You used to crack the seeds in your mouth and give me the sunflower.
You used to piggy-back me over the rocks.
You used to brush the knots out of my hair.
You're punk rock baby.
You're a creator of chaos, a genius of perception and a master of truth.
I love you very much.
I miss you dearly.
7:06 PM
8.01.2003
When something is really simple, and I know it's simple and I follow all of the instructions and I look it over to make sure it's right, and then I look it over again and it still doesn't fucking work, I become incensed and start acting like a baby. I clench my fists, I pound the floor with my foot, grab my hair, twist up my face and make 'grrr' noises. I even squeak out a few tears. I am so pissed off right now.
1:37 PM
3 am Agricola St. I throw a hissy fit because I’m locked out of my house. Normally this is no big deal. Being locked out of the house. Except I was drunk on Malibu coconut rum. Except I specifically asked that the back door be kept open. I’m pretty sure I threw a chunk of pizza on the road. I know I said fuck fucking fuck. I littered violently. The window in my bedroom was open but too high. I carried a cement block. I got on but I was still too short. Tried to boost myself up anyway but just ended up banging my head on the window. Cried a little. Considered breaking into my friend’s level window and crashing on his couch. Reached into my bedroom and swept the books, a bowl, and anything else that got in the way, off my desk and onto the floor. Felt extremely satisfied. Wandered back and forth between the window and the side door. Considered screaming “help” in the middle of the intersection. Spotted the neighbour’s green bin (ours has maggots and was rejected) and wheeled it to my window, climbed in, made a lot of noise, muttered and cried again. This morning I found my keys. In my pack, that I was wearing on my back.
10:37 AM
8.27.2003
When I was in grade six I had red frame glasses. I may have even had a mullet-esque hair cut, although I’m not admitting anything. I wore gray plastic bubble shoes and yellow stir-ups. The grade six classes went to PEI and stayed in cabins. There was a scandal. What’s her name went to meet what’s his name, in the woods, who lived up the street from me, and who had an underground pool because his parents owned a video rental store, plus he was adopted, of all things. Anyway, she was meeting him in the woods, wearing just her panties. That’s it. That’s the scandal. But we talked about it for three days. He must have touched her cuuch, I hope he touched her cuuch, although no one ever found out. I wanted to know badly. I really craved the details, even back then. You see, though I was labeled green (and I was green) I did things not many people knew about. And my imagination went way beyond crotch grabbing. I used to play a game called Octopus. My friend Jennifer and I would move her bed over to the other side of her room so we could have some space. Sometimes we would just put tape on the carpet to mark the spot or we would rig up a sheet in this small corner of the room. The small corner of the room was our cage. And we would wait for Octopus or one of his gang members to bring us food and water. Sometimes we were punished and tied up naked. A lot of the times they had sex with us and made us crawl behind them. Sometimes it was pretty rough. We bemoaned our fate, but we never tried to escape. We even loved Octopus, and had been there for ohhhh several years.
What’s her name eventually went on to become a teenage prostitute in Toronto. What's his name drives a truck. And me? Ha, you all know about me.
12:42 PM
8.24.2003
I would like to live in reality. I really would. You are all slipping away. This is a dream. I wait I wait and I wait for you to come. And I see you at the door and I see you at the bed.
I'm sorry. I love you. But you're not him.
Alive. To laugh and hurt. To find a way. I am perched.
And distant. Watching,
flubbing.
Just like him.
4:47 AM
8.12.2003
I found this half-finished poem I wrote about Alex a couple of years ago in Ottawa.
In fear I drag myself
with moss fettered feet,
from your eyes, the two hollows,
the dead pan beat----
no, from the bones beneath,
starved swords
in sheath
your flesh (your dirt!)
and me, full-lame, wants
to swallow you clean,
without the gagging.
For hours after our lovemaking,
I notice the spirit of you
clutching clutching
at your back.
9:16 AM
8.11.2003
‘O how shall I warble myself for the dead one there I loved?
And how shall I deck my song for the large sweet soul that has gone?
And what shall my perfume be for the grave of him I love?’
Walt Whitman, ‘When Last in the Dooryard Bloom’d’
12:34 PM
8.09.2003
Did your greatest love kill himself? Did you fight the devil for his life?
Did you lose?
12:41 AM
8.08.2003
When I was petting Dali, the cat that took you one hour to choose and the one that slept next to you on the bed, otherwise your cat. When I was petting your cat, you were alive. When I checked my messages you were dead.
You would have hated the funeral baby. But I guess the funeral is not for you. It's just a funeral. Your friend saw you get up and piss on the altar. I wanted to open the coffin and lay next to you. I wanted to stroke your hair and fall asleep curled around your legs and go where you go. I wanted to scream and murder the priest. And give up anyone, anyone at all, to have you back.
This is the ending I have. Two years ago. 3 am on Welsford Street. You are ringing the doorbell. "Please let me in baby, I need to talk to you. Please let me in." I call the cops and you leave to wander the Commons. You want to do terrible things. I know exactly what you want to do, but I let you leave. The cops say you are faking it. I beg them to find you. No one finds you.
This is the ending I want. 3 am on Welsford Street. You are ringing the doorbell. You want to come in. This time I am strong. I open the door and wrap my arms around your beautiful, tired body and kiss your cheek and whisper, "shhhhhhh. It's okay it's okay."
Your death is the terror that has creeped around my life for many years. And now I breathe a nightmare. It is dark and dripping, and wailing in my ear, it lives in my bones and speaks through my eyes. I will never walk the same.
You used to crack the seeds in your mouth and give me the sunflower.
You used to piggy-back me over the rocks.
You used to brush the knots out of my hair.
You're punk rock baby.
You're a creator of chaos, a genius of perception and a master of truth.
I love you very much.
I miss you dearly.
7:06 PM
8.01.2003
When something is really simple, and I know it's simple and I follow all of the instructions and I look it over to make sure it's right, and then I look it over again and it still doesn't fucking work, I become incensed and start acting like a baby. I clench my fists, I pound the floor with my foot, grab my hair, twist up my face and make 'grrr' noises. I even squeak out a few tears. I am so pissed off right now.
1:37 PM
