APRIL FIRST
March 31
you are not my husband
but i love you
you are not my husband
but you love me
you are not my husband
march
30.
splainin'
yesterday's
explanation didn't work. trying again
today, after walmarting, balleting and
cheap wine, is neither working.
faith hill accompanies all of us at this
table, in different ways.
march
29
things you never
knew
guess what? it's really
true. it's really and honestly and
absolutely true.
i'm different.
i'd been wondering for a while why the
Stones ever had a hit with "you can't
always get what you want"
for me, it should always have been the
other way round. i have everything i
want. i also have everything
i need.
apparently, most people actually think
that the things they want till make them
happy.
sad.
sad.
sad.
march
25
no
swallows yet,
but it's not
capistrano,
this montreal
of mine...
this deep
polar grip
won't let us
go, not even
yet.
bad turkish
coffee, but
sleep, enough
sleep, which
takes me to
7:40 at my
age.
so then, what
is today's
idea. is it
bigger than
the rest, i
doubt it.
what does it
contain, the
colour of
roses,
and did i
really always
get what i
wanted, so
instantly?
i guess i did.
i engineered
it that way.
pretty much
always.
how bad can
coffee really
get. and how
far can coffee
really be;
and maybe
that's what
drives them to
wait in line.
march 24
i was just in
the middle of
a dream,
wasn't kissin
valentino but
chloe was
reciting a
mystery poem
and and
just before
the climax
a very cold
hand woke me.
sleep, oh
elusive
sleep...
if people
spend their
lives this
exhausted, no
wonder they
don't mind
dying.
march
23
happy to
survive pipeda
welcome back,
poots. glad to
be awake, glad
to be alive,
poots and her
turkish
coffee, sit to
awake.
sad music from
beth envelops
me, can't say
why, but
there's a
strength in
the confessed
weakness.
perhaps i
project such
weaknesses,
such strength,
and now, i
have a
decision to
make about
perfume.
these are the
days you know
jeanette is
right, but you
know your
principles are
also
important.
i have always
been able to
see people's
idiocies for
what they are.
and people
have always
hated it in
me.
march
2223
money and sex
two
interesting
things, both
of which i
cannot talk
about here, no
matter how
veiled.
this leaves
the weather,
my body, the
things in my
house, and my
feelings.
it's not really YOUR diary, is it caroline? :-)
march
20
another
eighty bucks
they say it'
Spring, i say
cheap spanish
wine sucks.
counting money
in the grocery
store is not
fun
leaving my
nails ugly
will buy me,
us, a few days
of food.
food shopping
is one of my
great joys; a
luxury beyond
most of
history's
wildest
dreams;
and we, we, we
choose between
dijon; sweet
bavarian;
swiss; and
french's;
we don't even
choose between
red wine;
apple cider;
white; white
wine' sherry;
rice; and
oooo, at least
three kinds of
balsamic.
what kinds of
kings are we,
then, who
stockpile not
only rice - !
- but jasime;
basmati;
arborio; wild;
brown; and
long grain?
i cannot deny
our collection
of grains -
organized from
lightest to
heaviest - in
that shitty
cold cupboard
- it's a tour
around the
world;
the asian rice
noodles at the
top ; followed
by the
hungarian
nokedli; the
lebanese
couscous;
the twenty
kinds of
pasta; the
three kinds
of polenta;
the lentils,
the beans; i
become sick as
i name them.
payday.
life is
epxensive,
even in my
salary range.
march
19
8am the metro
is crowded.
sitting is not
taken for
granted.
early on this
eve of spring,
it’s a Los
angelelinian
morning, the
lighting tells
me.
the
thermometer
was not
informed, but
the
long-chirping
birds know it.
as do the
shiny-makeup
girls in their
SUVs with
their
Starbucks.
funny, they
think it’s the
end.
but I know,
it’s only the
beginning.
march
18
nevermind no sugar,
no coffee.
planes
jokes are not
yet funny. how
well did i
sleep. i hate
the cycle.
totally blank
head, only
nervous
shoulders, and
stlil some
angsty
thoughts.
dang, and i
was all good
on the
weekend.
march 17
mourning
i
am not a
writer, but i
write.
i am not a
singer, but i
sing.
if poots tells
you about her
body today,
it's difficult
to say.
caffeine is
not enough,
ringing ears
prevail,
7 hours is not
enough, mild
panic sets in,
go away, go
away.
chasing her
own thoughts,
tripping over
them, i come
back to
mourning,
when sleep
evades me.
every cell
inside of me
is exhausted,
cannot
breathe, gasps
for more rest.
how many words
can wake me
up.
do
we get to
mourn
ourselves?
when you have
stripped
yourself bare,
there's only
fear left
and she knows
it.
another
note, becoming
more than just
a note, or a
series of
notes,
becoming a
language, a
dialect, which
weaves itself
into our life.
yes, the notes
become the
glue. the
ever-important
glue in the
fabric.
march
15
morning. slow. cafene.
saturday.
it's
all a cycle.
as much as i
hate to reduce
it to that,
it's a cycle
of growth. it
comes around
to the same,
same.
walking
through
places, songs
on my mind,
distilled back
to the
beginning, i'm
me, i'm
fourteen, i
don't give a
fuck what you
think.
march
14
items of love.
the newspaper got delvered, close to where i need
it.
very close.
March 13
another night
of beautiful dreams;
a straight back, a slept
poot,
a white world, some
tolerable coffee.
oh, and, the note, the
short and heartfelt note
with stirring
instructions. that too.
UDK screens to my left, soft
kleenexes to my right, t
his older coffee is slow, but
gentle. tepid, but sweet.
and now i see my blackberry was
plugged in.
it's somehow invasive, this act of
love, this act of usefulness,
discerning what i need, who does
that, not even my mother,
really, such deliberate acts. of
kindness, of love,
time to go.
March 12
alone again, me
and the CBC.
paper notes greet a very well slept
poot.
the world, still gray, awaits a new
blanket of snow.
gentle emails from a gentle soul;
the suburban office feels that the
environment is not so kind;
but it's all in the perception; it's
all in your perception;
the quality of the food, the quality
of yourself,
and therefore the only thing that
actually matters.
maybe us city
people know that one word can be ignored;
maybe us city
people have other priorities;
maybe i need to
turn off that ranting anna maria tremonte.
i should mention,
that all of a sudden; and, it is all of a sudden,
i can listen to
music from my favorite year
january 12 8:46am
what
cannot be changed
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