birdonmyshoulder*'s New Writeups

December 14, 2001 (idea)

2001-12-14T22:45:25Z

First snow of the Toronto year. It's about goddamn time.

I am celebrating by drinking frozen beer in a warm house while wearing bermuda shorts, much to the amazement of my roommates.

Ever since I brought them a typewriter, though, they have been much more accepting of my unusual habits. I provide one piece of scrap paper per day, stealing it away in the wee hours of the morning to read the perverted nonsensical ramblings of bored, tired professionals. I figure that if I will never get to be one of them, I can at least allow myself to peek in on their spontaneous musings. So far, I have learned that "shawn likes bananas", "pete is a jerkface," and on top of all this, "shawn shagged pete's mom and she loved every minute of it." So far, Valerie has been silent, Valerie the writer. Perhaps she is too good for the typewriter and I will have to lure her with strategically placed jam on the keyboard.

We'll see.

before sleep (idea)

2001-12-13T23:55:03Z

Before sleep
there is dark blue crazy
that circles like bath water
over giant drains.

My mother tells me to take pills
and stop
looking in the mirror.

I tell her to send money
and stop
looking at other people's cats.

Eyes open and body stiff,
I wonder,
tonight will it be dreams of alleys steaming
like Gotham City,
legs pumping as he gets closer,
or stale yellow classrooms reeking of bored breath
where I am tied to words like
prosody.

Will it be dreams of summer on the bare ground,
earth split open and shaved bleeding
where there are no trees,
burnt holes of black land rising
as I look ahead to a landscape chopped
clean of life;
will it come back to me,
sucking me dry like soil
as I sleep.

Pre-dawn beds make me think of
ice cubes
I slide against them numbing but pain deep
inside and my sheets are
thin flaky stillness;

I am dry like frost.

July 26, 2001 (idea)

2001-07-26T23:54:16Z

I spent the day wandering around and drinking coffee on patios. I wish life could go on like this forever.

I missed my first bus home because I wanted to finish my cigarrette. And I missed the second one because I couldn't find my purse, which I discovered, too late, hanging from my shoulder. And then I remembered that I had my bike, so I didn't really need to take the bus anyway.

There are some of us in this world who simply should not rely on the schedules of others. :)

everyone needs an angry love story (idea)

2001-07-24T00:59:34Z

When it's misty outside, I can't help but go for a jog. There's something about the thickness of it, the duality, like Halloween and heaven all mixed together on a dark field, stirring up the far-away forgotten thoughts hanging in my head. I guess living on a clearcut for two months has given me a strange standard of beauty.

The crazy child was running around my head tonight, the one who grabbed my arm so hard I had bruises for a week. He was with his mother, walking like any normal child would until he burst into a full-out sprint in my direction. He latched on and wouldn't let go, eyes opened wide and intense and strong as his little hands that I was trying to pry off my arm. I couldn't take him looking at me like that. It was like he was trying desperately to tell me something but could only stare and crush my skin. The eyes-wide skincrusher boy, that's what I called him. Anyway, while I was jogging he kept popping up, not in reality but in front of that space in my thoughts, the…

July 23, 2001 (idea)

2001-07-23T05:58:07Z

Had a rather crazy week in Toronto, supposedly with the purpose of looking for a place to live in September. Somehow, I ended up looking at one place and spending the week drinking with gay men in fun glasses. Where, oh where, does the time go?

Dancing at El Mocambo last night. Ride back to Ottawa with a stop at somebody else's family reunion on the way. Too many awkward smiles in order to secure ride home. Free food from the buffet taken while everyone watched family videos of Uncle Keith in a thong. Mission completed.

Has anyone seen my shoes? I can't seem to find my shoes. I'm always losing my goddamn shoes. . .

July 11, 2001 (idea)

2001-07-11T23:57:38Z

Great day until about an hour ago. Now, I'm starting to get that strange, weak, fidgety feeling again. The one that makes me want to break dishes and bite my fingers. Haven't gotten it for a while. Hoping it will go away soon.

Happy Birthday to my brother, artfuldodger. You are in Ireland and I miss you. :) I hope they found your luggage. Did you ever end up buying a second pair of pants, or are you still traveling light? I always admired that about you - the whole non-attachment thing. Like the time Dad became unattached from his microphone while furiously drawing abstract Buddhist ideas on his flip-chart. Do you remember that? I do. Well, have a beer for me tonight, my boy.

I think I should get some sleep.