a breakfast for losers...

slurrpppp,,gulllppp,,,sqissh,,,ssppp,,
I only wish I were slurping, gulping, sqishing, and ssppppinnng, soup.

I talked to a professor today. Professor Miller. ProfessorROOAARR. I am sure professors roar, no doubt about it. He had an interesting voice, and as I already described it, or tried to describe it--when he'd finish a sentence, or pause, it would sound as if he was biting into a soft, pillowy sandwich, and scchmmmaack, goes his lips. I was glad he talked the entire time, as words usually get caught around my uvula and flutter about, so I replied with some "mhmmmmm"s and at times "okay" and "alright" just so he was aware that I was paying attention.
and he had a cold.
and coughed.
and apologized.
and assured me that no harmful chemicals will blow up in my face if I were to take a science course.
"It's all conceptuaalll", he moaned, and whooped, and smacked.

anndd my fingers played fairly well today,
and it was a good day,
a good, solid, practical day,
as someone would gruff with their hands on their hips.
but really, a good, solid day,
just reminds
me of
bowel.movements.

alright,
this was surely pointless,
and the muscles in my lower arm hurt if I use them too much,
because we stapled our arms
and listened to the birds
and it's not as romantic as it sounds.

/ when we grow up , we separate from the dinner table. Why? because our parents do not care whether we eat our vegetables or not. and also, they have lazy eyes. A. LAZY EYE. to be exact.

/ I cannot wait until all the wisdom dies, just to see how we will deal with everything, but we will most likely collapse and call for our mother, never our brother, and if you do not have a mother, you can share mine, but I might smother her before you get a chance to grab onto her ankles.


And, I am all sticky with dried blood and ice cream, and nauseous from chicken on buns, and having, had, good times with good people.

So, in Russia, they name their kids Mikhail, A LOT, along with Nikolai, Alexander, and sometimes Peter.
And then there was this one guy,
named Modest.
He was a real twat.
but he inspired me
to jump ofF cliffs
in real sunny days
where the sun drips off the ledge,
and I'm not aware that I'm falling
because I am upside down
and I think I'm going towards the sky
upwards
isn't exactly the right way, real, doesn't exist,
and the sky is shrouded in cloud
and this is when I hit the ground.

(because Modest forgot to pack me a parachute).


No offense to Modest, or anything.

by the way.
the video "Evil" by Interpol is eerily addictive.

oh, by the way, I had one of those girl connects with nature-and-nothing from her backyard to the absolute edge of the world exists-sort-of-moments.

haha.

to the slaughter house we go with grandma .. .,,.

I'm in one of those exploding moods again. Somewhere. out thereee. I wish I were.

Oh,

Dear Richard,

I made peanut butter pancakes. My taste buds complied very well with the pancakes, although my bowels did not.

)(I suppose that was too much information.)))

Today I phoned Concordia to make an academic advising appointment. I had forgotten that I was suppose to make one, and then this lovely man with what seemed to be a Jamaican accent phoned and informed me to do so. He was polite. Although the woman I spoke to today sounded irritated, or so it seemed. Perhaps it was after I informed her I was from Ontario. OR maybe because it took me five minutes or so to find my ID number.

Awkward silence.

But let's not get into that as I have been participating in this sort of silence way too much lately that it makes me want to smash my head into a television that only has one channel and for some reason I can't remember the name of that show with Michael J. Fox , ,, ,, maybe it's because the television is in black and white and it has discoloured my memory.

I need human contact.

Spot the Elderly>>

Today I walked out to the museum, where I planned on tumbling down the hill, to lounge on fallen trees spread out across a river. Upon rolling up my pants, two fellows appeared out of the side of the museum, and one asked, "Is your name Camilla?" Referring to a girl who went to the highschool a few years ago. Her hair was pink. So was mine at this particular time. And still is. I should have said yes. But this is irrelevant. What I'm trying to say is, while stretched out on the fallen tree, I demanded the sky to rain on me. It came slowly. Always slowly. Sometimes it would stop. I would shake my fist, and yell, "RAIN, HARD!" Like the desire for rough sex, or something to that extent.

That tiny speck. yeah, that one. That is the thinking chair.

I wanted , , correction , want, to explode somewhere. no, explode to somewhere, someplace, your place? Have my limbs scatter somewhere interesting. Just lift off ---- maybe I will cough up my lungs and fill them with helium, and UP I go. At least I won't be found lodged inside the throats of tiny animals. Correct? Perhaps the much larger ones. But I'm easily digestible.

Today I found someone with the same passion as mine. Which is to move to Scotland, and capture me a burly Scotsman. Arrrr.

I think I will live in a HOUSEboat for awhile.

I could haavee been a sailoorr, could haavee been a cook, a reeaal live lover, could have been a book.