4.29.2005
If I'm quiet, it's because I know I can wound you. If I distance myself, it's because I'm extracting you from me. I get strong.
But don't flatter yourself.
They're just bits of strength. You don't mean that much.
12:52 AM
4.27.2005
I am so cranky today I went shopping.
The cute boy at one of the stores was giving me the eye. He complimented my polka dot shoes and my sunglasses. "You're killing it today," he said. I tried on a black shirt with a v-neck back and he said it looked hot. "And you can see your mole right there. It looks cool." He touched it. I considered making out with him in the dressing room, but my feet hurt.
Why are moles so fucking sexy?
I spent 93 bucks on a black lacy bra and thongs. I'm not sure why I'm so attracted to young men who like porn and strippers. They're dirty in bed. Which automatically means better.
7:42 PM
4.26.2005
I cannot express to you how I feel.
You think your heart is broken?
You're lucky.
Try looking at pictures of your dead lover. Try it.
Put those pictures away. Stare at them cause they're all you got. Stare at the creases, the moles and the eyes. The day he's sad and the day he's happy. Stare at him kissing your neck. Stare at him, holding your legs on his back. Stare and smile and cry. Longing for the dead is
The rest of my life.
This is the rest of my life.
8:43 PM
4.19.2005
It's my 30th birthday on Thursday, April 21.
Send me presents and letters.
I like:
oil paints
brushes
gold sparkly belt
books of poetry
earrings
original art work
music. I especially want Willie Nelson love songs. She's gone...
pedicure
flip flops size 7 and a half. Gold. Or red.
eyeshadow
black and white film
letters
phone calls
12-32 Curzon Street
Toronto, Ontario
m4m 3b4
it's 27 degrees out today.
2:28 PM
4.17.2005
I was at a book launch.
Your breast
was on the wall.
I ate strawberries
dipped in chocolate.
You were dead
but I didn’t know.
Until later.
3:08 AM
after we
called
your disappointed spirit
your mother
offered your closet
I counted ties and dress shirts
I’d never seen.
except the housecoat
holding your hips
the one we used
to wipe
the cum
the one I wore
when I scrapped urine from
your toilet.
that sunny
sunny day.
cg
2:40 AM
people just are not good to each other
one on one.
the rich are not good to the rich
the poor are not good to the poor.
we are afraid.
our educational system tells us
that we can all be
big-ass winners
it hasn't told us
about the gutters
or the suicides.
or the terror of
one person
aching in
one place
alone untouched
unspoken to
cb
2:14 AM
Tonight we listened to
I had to escape
The city was sticky and cruel
Maybe I should have called you first
But I was dying to get to you
I was dreaming while I drove
The long straight road ahead
cl
1:32 AM
4.15.2005
If I went there they would arrest me. I’m wanted in another country. I’m wanted by the baby faced cops. I’m wanted like Mae West wanted to get off her ass.
I hate it when it all seems so ridiculous. No pill will take away the ridiculous. No pill will POOF away the dumb--- fuck, I’m glad you don’t drink. Really.
Anyway back to pills.
I drink wine at 3 in the sun because I try to banish the ridiculous by making it more ridiculous. Banish is the wrong word. Banter maybe. Yes, I banter with the absurd.
I don’t cry anymore.
Thank-you pharma. I needed that. But it’s like justice. There is no balance. Just one way or the other.
Neither satisfies me.
To be a writer. Poor. Alone. Drunk. Weepy. Skinny.
Or. Could you up my dose please? Doctor. Doctor. I love you so. I’m feeling a little…I’m feeling a little…
7:01 PM
It’s hard to write when the sun is shining in your face. I wear sunglasses and my flouncy skirt in the vague wind.
“You know I could be in love with almost anyone. I think that people are the greatest fun.”
Kensington Market is my hood. Even though I don’t live there. They invite me to their parties. They hit on me. They find drugs for me and pay for my cabs home.
I’m bored.
I’m tired of my lifestyle.
Seriously. If you love me. Tell me now. I want to get married and start a family. I would give up everything for a child. The drinking. The drugs. The boys. The smoking. Everything. Because a child is true love.
The man who lives next door wants to ask me out. He’s tall. Dark. About 38.
“Good morning.” Although it is afternoon.
“Good afternoon.”
“I’m changing my tires.”
“Right here?”
“No, at buddy’s down the street.”
‘Oh yes, who’s buddy?”
“My mechanic.”
“Enjoy yourself.”
He stared at me, smiling.
“Have a beautiful afternoon in the sun.”
“Oh, I will.” Fiddle with your crinoline. Uncross and cross. Show your neck. Show your teeth. It’s a kill with a fight.
He wants to jump the fence and crawl up my thigh. I can feel it, crackling.
1:43 PM
4.11.2005
He’s a tennis instructor. At least that’s what I think he said when I asked him. He’s Jewish. I got that from his obviously Jewish name. Ira. That’s Jewish. He wears cuffed dark blue jeans. He has crinkles and all his hair. He bites when he kisses because I told him I liked it.
I get more action in public washrooms than my own bedroom.
7:56 PM
On Saturday I went to the Red Sox Blue Jays game. The tickets were free. Connections. Connections worth 60 bucks times three. We sat right behind the Sox dug out. The Jays hit three home runs in a row. The colour of the green.
I have always been scared of baseball. The only reason I am scared of baseball is because I always believed the baseball would hit me in the face and make me uglier. I worry about my teeth. Maybe it’s because my mother has had false teeth since she was in her twenties. But that’s not because of baseball. That’s because her grandmother owned a candy shop.
Christine and I played baseball once. Or I mean “catch.” In grade 12, Christine said, “I’m going to teach you how to play catch.” We placed ourselves a few metres apart on her parent’s front lawn. Christine said, “Hold the glove like this.” I held the glove like this. At first, she tossed it, like you’d toss a ball to a baby. Underhand and slow. So I could get the feel of my new puffed up hand. I could have kept up with that. But then Christine said we had to actually play catch. “But we are playing catch!” She laughed at me.
We didn’t play catch for very long. It’s hard to play catch with someone who keeps running away from the ball.
On Saturday I watched the game while my friends got drunker and louder. The Sox were at bat. Cauliflower ears maybe? Who knows.
The ball smacked me on my right cheekbone, zipped past me and hit the girl behind me and then landed in her lap. None of my friends saw what happened.
“Cari?” I said, “I just got hit in the face with the ball.” She pushed my face to her breast. “Oh baby,” she cooed and held me down.
I wrestled myself away and looked at her, scrunching my eyebrows together. “I don’t care about the ball. But I BETTER get a bruise!”
7:55 PM
4.08.2005
The Waterloo
Mark and I drove to Waterloo to see The Holy Shroud at this swanky bar where the long-haired greaser bouncer wouldn’t let us sit on the coffee table.
“It’s a bar! Not a living room!”
The Holy Shroud wore ‘I Heart New York” T-shirts and got all sweaty as per usge. Kim was there and we drank beer. She asked me to go to lunch with her the next day but then took the dream away, just like a man, and made better plans.
Speaking of taking the dream away, my awesome friend Tamara is marrying the lovely mike. He even got down on his damn knee. How’s that for romance? You all don’t know romance or love. You think it’s about fighting and fucking. It ain’t.
The wedding.
They’re getting married in Nova Scotia at the end of June. I’m a bridesmaid. Her sister is the maid of honour. I’m kind of the maid of honour without the honour cause her sister will be eight months pregnant and everyone knows pregnant people can’t do anything.
Tamara is consulting me on everything. Flowers. Dresses. I gots to plan the girlie party. Photograhers. HOOOOLY. I realized I’m giving away all my good ideas and if I actually ever find a man worthy enough of me and we get married everyone will think I copied Tamara. For instance. One of my ideas. Instead of those UGLY bouquets, I suggested the bridemaids carry two very long white lilies. Classy. I think the dresses should be hot pink. She won’t go for that though. Black would be fabulous. I would also LOVE to wear a hat. Hats are hot.
The Jason
Anyway. Tamara and Mike met through and my old boyfriend slash close friend Jason, who’s friends with Mike. Jason is a successful comedian in the United kingdom. He probably can’t make the wedding, which pains me. They met through US! We both need to be there! Anyway, the bad news is that Tamara is selling this house. The house we live in. So I need to find a place in 2 months. Which really sucks, cause this place is beautiful, spacious, there’s a backyard and my cats LOVE it here. I had a discussion with Jason on the phone yesterday. I want him to buy the house. We’ll see. Again. Don’t give me the dream and then take it away.
The Rest
Stacey’s is moving here. At least for the summer.
I have a great photography/do it yourself type book. Top secret. You’ll steal it. I know you. Someone else and I are going to work on it and possibly pitch it this Fall.
I’m taking sewing lessons. I’m preparing myself for motherhood. I wanna be one of those moms.
I’m also taking a flower design class. Ha! Did you imagine I was like this? No? I will always surprise you. That makes me exciting. Does that frighten you?
Last week I read two books in two days. I read for 11 hours each day.
Last week I gave out love advice to a man I had sex with. He wants me to meet his girlfriend. I said no.
I bought a sundress and really large sunglasses.
I bought a bunch of tulips, sunflowers and 2 yellow roses for the dining room.
I wear my yellow shoes every day.
This weekend I am spending it at my friend Cari’s. I will drink Coconut Rum and wear my polka dot heels from China Town.
Do you love me? I think you do. I feel kind of bad about that.
2:38 PM
4.07.2005
Don't use your fingers and toes.
Use the stars to count your blessings. Endless, aren't they?
4:03 PM
4.06.2005
It’s cat puke, not a car bomb.
So chill the fuck out. Seriously fuck off. I am so fucking tired of people’s shit. And you, seriously, stop yelling at your boyfriend cause I fucked him. Tonight he tells me you say, “Well, why don’t you just call Claudette?” “Is Claudette at your house?” “Maybe you should go out with Claudette.” Fuck you. I’ve never met you and I had sex with your boyfriend once and I’ve never been at his goddamn house and I don’t want to go out with him. He’s as messed as you. The best part? You’re an ESCORT! “It’s like sucking plastic.” Don’t worry, you’re not the first one. I can name a couple of girls in Halifax, and one stupid bitch in Vancouver who pick fights using my name. Stop trying to control your fucking boyfriend by using me as your crutch. I’m so sick of it. If you’re threatened by me it’s NOT MY FAULT. Leave me OUT OF IT. Sending me all this shitty vibe…evil.
2:25 AM
4.04.2005
July 9
I thought I was finished dreaming about him. In my dreams he always comes back from the dead and we have a second chance.
In this one he dies in a bike accident on July 9. But he comes back. Every July 9 I try to get him to stay inside with me, where he's safe. But events repeat themselves and he has to go out on his bike. I wait for him. Full of anxiety and tears. I hear people at the door, and one by one bikers come through the front door. He's the last one. And we both cry. This time he made it. But what about next time.
It is just like our life together.
I always tried to save him. In my heart I knew what was coming. And there is nothing I can do to stop time and to alter his fate and mine. God, I miss him so much.
11:46 AM
If I'm quiet, it's because I know I can wound you. If I distance myself, it's because I'm extracting you from me. I get strong.
But don't flatter yourself.
They're just bits of strength. You don't mean that much.
12:52 AM
4.27.2005
I am so cranky today I went shopping.
The cute boy at one of the stores was giving me the eye. He complimented my polka dot shoes and my sunglasses. "You're killing it today," he said. I tried on a black shirt with a v-neck back and he said it looked hot. "And you can see your mole right there. It looks cool." He touched it. I considered making out with him in the dressing room, but my feet hurt.
Why are moles so fucking sexy?
I spent 93 bucks on a black lacy bra and thongs. I'm not sure why I'm so attracted to young men who like porn and strippers. They're dirty in bed. Which automatically means better.
7:42 PM
4.26.2005
I cannot express to you how I feel.
You think your heart is broken?
You're lucky.
Try looking at pictures of your dead lover. Try it.
Put those pictures away. Stare at them cause they're all you got. Stare at the creases, the moles and the eyes. The day he's sad and the day he's happy. Stare at him kissing your neck. Stare at him, holding your legs on his back. Stare and smile and cry. Longing for the dead is
The rest of my life.
This is the rest of my life.
8:43 PM
4.19.2005
It's my 30th birthday on Thursday, April 21.
Send me presents and letters.
I like:
oil paints
brushes
gold sparkly belt
books of poetry
earrings
original art work
music. I especially want Willie Nelson love songs. She's gone...
pedicure
flip flops size 7 and a half. Gold. Or red.
eyeshadow
black and white film
letters
phone calls
12-32 Curzon Street
Toronto, Ontario
m4m 3b4
it's 27 degrees out today.
2:28 PM
4.17.2005
I was at a book launch.
Your breast
was on the wall.
I ate strawberries
dipped in chocolate.
You were dead
but I didn’t know.
Until later.
3:08 AM
after we
called
your disappointed spirit
your mother
offered your closet
I counted ties and dress shirts
I’d never seen.
except the housecoat
holding your hips
the one we used
to wipe
the cum
the one I wore
when I scrapped urine from
your toilet.
that sunny
sunny day.
cg
2:40 AM
people just are not good to each other
one on one.
the rich are not good to the rich
the poor are not good to the poor.
we are afraid.
our educational system tells us
that we can all be
big-ass winners
it hasn't told us
about the gutters
or the suicides.
or the terror of
one person
aching in
one place
alone untouched
unspoken to
cb
2:14 AM
Tonight we listened to
I had to escape
The city was sticky and cruel
Maybe I should have called you first
But I was dying to get to you
I was dreaming while I drove
The long straight road ahead
cl
1:32 AM
4.15.2005
If I went there they would arrest me. I’m wanted in another country. I’m wanted by the baby faced cops. I’m wanted like Mae West wanted to get off her ass.
I hate it when it all seems so ridiculous. No pill will take away the ridiculous. No pill will POOF away the dumb--- fuck, I’m glad you don’t drink. Really.
Anyway back to pills.
I drink wine at 3 in the sun because I try to banish the ridiculous by making it more ridiculous. Banish is the wrong word. Banter maybe. Yes, I banter with the absurd.
I don’t cry anymore.
Thank-you pharma. I needed that. But it’s like justice. There is no balance. Just one way or the other.
Neither satisfies me.
To be a writer. Poor. Alone. Drunk. Weepy. Skinny.
Or. Could you up my dose please? Doctor. Doctor. I love you so. I’m feeling a little…I’m feeling a little…
7:01 PM
It’s hard to write when the sun is shining in your face. I wear sunglasses and my flouncy skirt in the vague wind.
“You know I could be in love with almost anyone. I think that people are the greatest fun.”
Kensington Market is my hood. Even though I don’t live there. They invite me to their parties. They hit on me. They find drugs for me and pay for my cabs home.
I’m bored.
I’m tired of my lifestyle.
Seriously. If you love me. Tell me now. I want to get married and start a family. I would give up everything for a child. The drinking. The drugs. The boys. The smoking. Everything. Because a child is true love.
The man who lives next door wants to ask me out. He’s tall. Dark. About 38.
“Good morning.” Although it is afternoon.
“Good afternoon.”
“I’m changing my tires.”
“Right here?”
“No, at buddy’s down the street.”
‘Oh yes, who’s buddy?”
“My mechanic.”
“Enjoy yourself.”
He stared at me, smiling.
“Have a beautiful afternoon in the sun.”
“Oh, I will.” Fiddle with your crinoline. Uncross and cross. Show your neck. Show your teeth. It’s a kill with a fight.
He wants to jump the fence and crawl up my thigh. I can feel it, crackling.
1:43 PM
4.11.2005
He’s a tennis instructor. At least that’s what I think he said when I asked him. He’s Jewish. I got that from his obviously Jewish name. Ira. That’s Jewish. He wears cuffed dark blue jeans. He has crinkles and all his hair. He bites when he kisses because I told him I liked it.
I get more action in public washrooms than my own bedroom.
7:56 PM
On Saturday I went to the Red Sox Blue Jays game. The tickets were free. Connections. Connections worth 60 bucks times three. We sat right behind the Sox dug out. The Jays hit three home runs in a row. The colour of the green.
I have always been scared of baseball. The only reason I am scared of baseball is because I always believed the baseball would hit me in the face and make me uglier. I worry about my teeth. Maybe it’s because my mother has had false teeth since she was in her twenties. But that’s not because of baseball. That’s because her grandmother owned a candy shop.
Christine and I played baseball once. Or I mean “catch.” In grade 12, Christine said, “I’m going to teach you how to play catch.” We placed ourselves a few metres apart on her parent’s front lawn. Christine said, “Hold the glove like this.” I held the glove like this. At first, she tossed it, like you’d toss a ball to a baby. Underhand and slow. So I could get the feel of my new puffed up hand. I could have kept up with that. But then Christine said we had to actually play catch. “But we are playing catch!” She laughed at me.
We didn’t play catch for very long. It’s hard to play catch with someone who keeps running away from the ball.
On Saturday I watched the game while my friends got drunker and louder. The Sox were at bat. Cauliflower ears maybe? Who knows.
The ball smacked me on my right cheekbone, zipped past me and hit the girl behind me and then landed in her lap. None of my friends saw what happened.
“Cari?” I said, “I just got hit in the face with the ball.” She pushed my face to her breast. “Oh baby,” she cooed and held me down.
I wrestled myself away and looked at her, scrunching my eyebrows together. “I don’t care about the ball. But I BETTER get a bruise!”
7:55 PM
4.08.2005
The Waterloo
Mark and I drove to Waterloo to see The Holy Shroud at this swanky bar where the long-haired greaser bouncer wouldn’t let us sit on the coffee table.
“It’s a bar! Not a living room!”
The Holy Shroud wore ‘I Heart New York” T-shirts and got all sweaty as per usge. Kim was there and we drank beer. She asked me to go to lunch with her the next day but then took the dream away, just like a man, and made better plans.
Speaking of taking the dream away, my awesome friend Tamara is marrying the lovely mike. He even got down on his damn knee. How’s that for romance? You all don’t know romance or love. You think it’s about fighting and fucking. It ain’t.
The wedding.
They’re getting married in Nova Scotia at the end of June. I’m a bridesmaid. Her sister is the maid of honour. I’m kind of the maid of honour without the honour cause her sister will be eight months pregnant and everyone knows pregnant people can’t do anything.
Tamara is consulting me on everything. Flowers. Dresses. I gots to plan the girlie party. Photograhers. HOOOOLY. I realized I’m giving away all my good ideas and if I actually ever find a man worthy enough of me and we get married everyone will think I copied Tamara. For instance. One of my ideas. Instead of those UGLY bouquets, I suggested the bridemaids carry two very long white lilies. Classy. I think the dresses should be hot pink. She won’t go for that though. Black would be fabulous. I would also LOVE to wear a hat. Hats are hot.
The Jason
Anyway. Tamara and Mike met through and my old boyfriend slash close friend Jason, who’s friends with Mike. Jason is a successful comedian in the United kingdom. He probably can’t make the wedding, which pains me. They met through US! We both need to be there! Anyway, the bad news is that Tamara is selling this house. The house we live in. So I need to find a place in 2 months. Which really sucks, cause this place is beautiful, spacious, there’s a backyard and my cats LOVE it here. I had a discussion with Jason on the phone yesterday. I want him to buy the house. We’ll see. Again. Don’t give me the dream and then take it away.
The Rest
Stacey’s is moving here. At least for the summer.
I have a great photography/do it yourself type book. Top secret. You’ll steal it. I know you. Someone else and I are going to work on it and possibly pitch it this Fall.
I’m taking sewing lessons. I’m preparing myself for motherhood. I wanna be one of those moms.
I’m also taking a flower design class. Ha! Did you imagine I was like this? No? I will always surprise you. That makes me exciting. Does that frighten you?
Last week I read two books in two days. I read for 11 hours each day.
Last week I gave out love advice to a man I had sex with. He wants me to meet his girlfriend. I said no.
I bought a sundress and really large sunglasses.
I bought a bunch of tulips, sunflowers and 2 yellow roses for the dining room.
I wear my yellow shoes every day.
This weekend I am spending it at my friend Cari’s. I will drink Coconut Rum and wear my polka dot heels from China Town.
Do you love me? I think you do. I feel kind of bad about that.
2:38 PM
4.07.2005
Don't use your fingers and toes.
Use the stars to count your blessings. Endless, aren't they?
4:03 PM
4.06.2005
It’s cat puke, not a car bomb.
So chill the fuck out. Seriously fuck off. I am so fucking tired of people’s shit. And you, seriously, stop yelling at your boyfriend cause I fucked him. Tonight he tells me you say, “Well, why don’t you just call Claudette?” “Is Claudette at your house?” “Maybe you should go out with Claudette.” Fuck you. I’ve never met you and I had sex with your boyfriend once and I’ve never been at his goddamn house and I don’t want to go out with him. He’s as messed as you. The best part? You’re an ESCORT! “It’s like sucking plastic.” Don’t worry, you’re not the first one. I can name a couple of girls in Halifax, and one stupid bitch in Vancouver who pick fights using my name. Stop trying to control your fucking boyfriend by using me as your crutch. I’m so sick of it. If you’re threatened by me it’s NOT MY FAULT. Leave me OUT OF IT. Sending me all this shitty vibe…evil.
2:25 AM
4.04.2005
July 9
I thought I was finished dreaming about him. In my dreams he always comes back from the dead and we have a second chance.
In this one he dies in a bike accident on July 9. But he comes back. Every July 9 I try to get him to stay inside with me, where he's safe. But events repeat themselves and he has to go out on his bike. I wait for him. Full of anxiety and tears. I hear people at the door, and one by one bikers come through the front door. He's the last one. And we both cry. This time he made it. But what about next time.
It is just like our life together.
I always tried to save him. In my heart I knew what was coming. And there is nothing I can do to stop time and to alter his fate and mine. God, I miss him so much.
11:46 AM
