Sunday, July 24, 2005
Weekends don't feel like weekends anymore.
More like sharp pains on the bottoms of my feet.
Working makes me want to spend my days off more wisely. Instead of being distracted by this glowing box, I feel like I should be being enlightened by the man who is on the look out for his sunshine girl, with talks of masturbation through the means of tweaking mufflers, and giggling girls in the kitchen while the boys are getting drunk in the bathroom.
It is all true.
This morning at work, this old woman whose hearing was impaired (which lead me to the base of her ear shouting) yelled at her husband. She pointed her leathery finger at him, and shouted, "You mind your own damn business." He was informing her that she already had a container in the vehicle. He frowned, and shuffled outside. It was the saddest day in history, at least during that moment. on that minute. on that second. on that very spot.
More like sharp pains on the bottoms of my feet.
Working makes me want to spend my days off more wisely. Instead of being distracted by this glowing box, I feel like I should be being enlightened by the man who is on the look out for his sunshine girl, with talks of masturbation through the means of tweaking mufflers, and giggling girls in the kitchen while the boys are getting drunk in the bathroom.
It is all true.
This morning at work, this old woman whose hearing was impaired (which lead me to the base of her ear shouting) yelled at her husband. She pointed her leathery finger at him, and shouted, "You mind your own damn business." He was informing her that she already had a container in the vehicle. He frowned, and shuffled outside. It was the saddest day in history, at least during that moment. on that minute. on that second. on that very spot.
Friday, July 22, 2005
I cut my finger at work today, and it gusssshed. Right where it bends, so it talks. My boss, who often flips out at the tiniest things, drove me to my mother's work. A lovely lady put a bandaid on my finger. I would marry her if I could. I got off work an hour early just so someone could put a bandaid on my finger.
and there is a man, whose name really suggests boyish goodlooks, mutters curses upon my soul when I'm not looking. Or so I assume. But really he is a sweet, quiet man who hasn't changed since I was five. I don't think he will ever die, and he will forever fill the ketchup bottles while I hide his chicken fingers.
and to end this rather pointless entry, which by the way was typed with great pains, here are some words from a wise man///
Everything's alright, form is emptiness and
emptiness is form, and we're here forever, in
one form or another, which is empty. Everything's
alright, we're not here, there, or anywhere.
Everything's alright, cats sleep.
and there is a man, whose name really suggests boyish goodlooks, mutters curses upon my soul when I'm not looking. Or so I assume. But really he is a sweet, quiet man who hasn't changed since I was five. I don't think he will ever die, and he will forever fill the ketchup bottles while I hide his chicken fingers.
and to end this rather pointless entry, which by the way was typed with great pains, here are some words from a wise man///
Everything's alright, form is emptiness and
emptiness is form, and we're here forever, in
one form or another, which is empty. Everything's
alright, we're not here, there, or anywhere.
Everything's alright, cats sleep.
Friday, July 15, 2005
I am leaving on the 29th of August to Montreal, and I'm neverrr coming back.
(But just perhaps I may pop in for a bit of tea and some swing dancing).
ooh, the excitement is pumping out of my toes like bursting boils on the wayfaring feet of a god-fearing man. Chaa.
(But just perhaps I may pop in for a bit of tea and some swing dancing).
ooh, the excitement is pumping out of my toes like bursting boils on the wayfaring feet of a god-fearing man. Chaa.
Wednesday, July 13, 2005
oh! unrequited love.
Monday, July 11, 2005
Tomorrow I will take my typewriter outside and sit under trees while writing
dirrrty love sick
sadness
POEMS,
and discover GRAVITY.
naaah.
dirrrty love sick
sadness
POEMS,
and discover GRAVITY.
naaah.
Monday, July 04, 2005
My mother is cursing in the kitchen because the woman who she befriends with astringent sincerity is coming to our house to cook hotdogs for her kids, which is just an attempt to hoard her unwelcomed presence on top of my mother's throbbing head.
My mother yells, "We are going to sit outside with all of the MOSQUITOES!"
A sneaky attempt to rid of them quicker, and painfully. I am hoping to receive a phone call to whisk me away immediately.
We are terrible people.
III was going to come here, and say something along the lines of ,,,
how unexpected it has been these past months to talk with people who were once merely familiar faces in a school hallway, and to hear that they too took your presence into consideration (and you don't feel so foolish to pack away their faces into the back of your mind waiting to be re-surfaced during these exact moments of unlikely meetings) and that they always thought you were "reallll nice". And some of these people who I have met, who have usually become a persistent sighting at the end of the week, have become a sort of comfort zone, while others make me nervous as hell. There is this one familiarity that I have gained, and I find his presence to be a complete surprise. He has even entered my humble abode, and smillleed at my parents. SMILED (how dare he!). And it is this sort of presence that scares me in that nervous sort of way. How ridiculous! How foolish! Especially at the fact that I'm amazed at meeting these people. After all, they are just PEOPLE, like you and me, and quite possibly the guy with the archaic grunting and musty scent found at the back of the bus. Usually I wouldn't dwell, or bother to elicit such accounts in this damned blog, but some of these gained friendships are worth mentioning, as they have become nice additions to summer spending, while others, or specifically a certain one, will most likely become a destructible force just waiting to implode in the pits of our stomachs. AFKASJKABOOM!.
On another note,
My mother needs a stiff drink. STAT!
My mother yells, "We are going to sit outside with all of the MOSQUITOES!"
A sneaky attempt to rid of them quicker, and painfully. I am hoping to receive a phone call to whisk me away immediately.
We are terrible people.
III was going to come here, and say something along the lines of ,,,
how unexpected it has been these past months to talk with people who were once merely familiar faces in a school hallway, and to hear that they too took your presence into consideration (and you don't feel so foolish to pack away their faces into the back of your mind waiting to be re-surfaced during these exact moments of unlikely meetings) and that they always thought you were "reallll nice". And some of these people who I have met, who have usually become a persistent sighting at the end of the week, have become a sort of comfort zone, while others make me nervous as hell. There is this one familiarity that I have gained, and I find his presence to be a complete surprise. He has even entered my humble abode, and smillleed at my parents. SMILED (how dare he!). And it is this sort of presence that scares me in that nervous sort of way. How ridiculous! How foolish! Especially at the fact that I'm amazed at meeting these people. After all, they are just PEOPLE, like you and me, and quite possibly the guy with the archaic grunting and musty scent found at the back of the bus. Usually I wouldn't dwell, or bother to elicit such accounts in this damned blog, but some of these gained friendships are worth mentioning, as they have become nice additions to summer spending, while others, or specifically a certain one, will most likely become a destructible force just waiting to implode in the pits of our stomachs. AFKASJKABOOM!.
On another note,
My mother needs a stiff drink. STAT!
