broken telephone
Wednesday, September 22, 2004 11:27 p.m.
i saw the most bizarre but wonderful thing on the home from work tonite.. on the demolished college street, with the road torn up almost as if a jetliner crashed, there was a three-piece jazzy band playing, and there were people sitting there, on the rubble-ground, taking this all in. when i arrived the singer/trumpet player was belting out his rendition of (fuck! cant remember the name) that song Cameron Diaz sings in Mask (isnt that sad: i cant remember the title of the song, but i know from what terrible hollywood movie it comes).. anyway it was hilarious. there was the singer, a guy playing standup bass, and another guy playing a real piano! it was such a strange sight to behold, yet almost fitting with the image of this strange city..
so yeah i lost my passport.. so if you find a passport just send it to me cuz its probably mine and all.. no one else is dumb enough to lose their fucking passport.. it was my only 'valid' picture ID, and i had to go through hell and back in order to obtain it. well not hell, but i did have to lie to the government to get it in one day. and its probably not a good idea to lie to them, seeing as they could ruin me and you and me..
i was told by someone in the know that prices for trips to Hurricane-ravaged areas such as Cuba are very low. But dont be a self-interested gringo and go to lay on the beach and drink. you should go to help people or you should not go at all. oh boy i love moralizing from high up in my high chair. not really.
its funny, i havent even werked at my new job for a month and i am already thinking union; we dont have one. i know one person who werks there who would support me. i just need to find out if everyione else would want to. we could put an end to the poverty-level wages, the sometime-understaffing, the top-down changes in how we prepare drinks and foods without consultation, the ultra super-specialized division of labour, the lack of a coherent and/or consistent schedule, and the useless manager. i mean, why cant we all learn how to do everything, and then we could all have shared responsibilites in managing the day-to-day affairs of the place. besides, my manager already thought i hated her. its nothing personal, i just dont respond too well to having orders barked at me. i mean, with the way things are (a clever way of not having to explain forever how they actually are) how are managers and workers supposed to get along? my interests are nearly opposite to that of management. if my manager suddenly began to actually care about the employees, well then she would not be manager much longer; i dont expect any heroism from her. but reading about the struggles of the people organizing at a starfucks in NYC has gotten me thinking about my situation.
thinking..
listen: anorexic he-man..kc accidental
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smug face
Friday, September 10, 2004 11:10 p.m.
well well well... look who has come crawling back.. ha ha. is it true? do i only update here because of boredom? no, it cant be; perhaps it happens when i have a lot of thyme on my hands. there is too much to say this thyme.. i should not have left it so long. i live in little italy with snella, in a small basement apt off college near soundscapes (whoo hoo!). we have a small child. i think it is mutated slightly. it (he) is covered head to foot with shiny black fur, has cat ears, cat whiskers, triangular cat-shaped head, cat tail, cat breath. yes, it must have been the water in barrie or something: soon we will be charging admission to see the amazing Figaro, the human child with the head of a cat...and the...body of a cat. Figaro the cat-shaped human. Thats his name, even tho i had many other names for him... Chairman Meow (my personal favourite), the Black Emperor, puppy, cat-head, etc. yes. a little cat of our own.
but we lack cupboard space, and bowls for mixing, and knives for cutting, and a big pot for stewing and boiling. ice cream is too too close, but we'll see. you would tell me that when winter comes that i wont want ice cream. well then, i would tell you that you obviously do not know me. i would eat the snow if it werent so full of POPs and tasted less like acid rain and urine. i'll leave that one up to you to decipher.
you might ask, how does the jobless wonder afford such an abode? well, there's generosity grounded in love and devotion, and then theres drudgery as well, mr. roboto-esque repetition: i have a "job" now, washing dishes at a vegetarian jooce bar/cafe. mostly washing dishes, destroying my beautiful smooth bourgeois baby hands, somethymes actually creating joocy concoctions, which is better. i spend about 30 hours a week there. i am still trying to not become my job: i am notoriously awful at balancing, multi-tasking (though my resume says the opposite). needless to say i havent written a werd since the move and the job, but it is on my mind every day. ideas come, linger, tease my imagination while i scrub porcelain and plastic, then vanish amid a steamy haze and tumultuous din of a modern food and jooce bar (theres the hint!). for some reason, when i walk home i dont think much of my writing; i used to do that, and i think i shall try again: it passes the thyme and i get home faster.
but this writing thing: it has of course been done before, a mixture of poetree and prose. i realized that i dont have the focus to write a conventional novel, and that the rules embedded into that particular medium constrain me too much; so i have decided to write what comes, and piece it together however it comes. running thru it is a war between kanada and the US: they invade us, but what really changes except for the military patrols along main streets? and there is a central character, loosely based on someone i know. i found him a fascinating person, fascinating yet frustrating and sort of adversarial. i felt like we were set apart; enemies, if you will. so i wanted to dissect him in words, but honestly, without malice, but also without pity. right now, i cannot say if i am succeeding, but thyme will tell i suppose.
i feel like an exile, here in my own place. i like it. before this i felt like a refugee. there is a difference. but i am just being dramatic.. as usual..listen: sleepwalking ballad .. apostle of hustle
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coming soon..
Thursday, August 5, 2004 7:18 p.m.
a real entry.. jobness.. apartmentness (maybe).. some things have been written.. etcetera..listen: ..
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