somewhere on the outside

i've just gotten in from seeing the island.

quite frankly, it exceeded all of my expectations, what with the explosions, car crashes, intense good music and ridiculous pant suits worn by mr. mcgregor and ms. johansson, not to mention ewan arguing with himself- with an accent and without.

really, his name should just be changed to hotass.

hotass mcgregor.

has a good kind of ring to it, doesn't it?

but we know it's just a lie

it always kind of grosses me out when, in movies, there's an obscene amount of sweat on the clothes people are wearing. mainly the shirts, but any kind of pant sweat is also really quite disgusting.

i'm not sure where that came from- i wanted to describe the way it feels to have a wave taller then yourself wash over your feet as you float below the surface of a huge lake. i wanted to try and explain about golden light, and how if you try you can catch it. i wanted to reflect on a moment i captured in my skull today which i know will be with me until the day i die.... but instead, the sweat thing has come to mind so i'm afraid you're stuck, thinking about the gross triangles of perspiration that form on the backs of people, down their necks and under their arms and also, if you choose to- pant sweat. ewwwwww.

i woke up this morning with songs from rent in my head.

and gold is the reason for the wars we wage

initially, i refused to read harry potter.

i'm sure i've shared this before, but when my brother presented me with it, amid the hype and horn-blowing and general hooplah, i really wanted nothing to do with it. but i read it anyways, and then i read the second book, and then the third. and then i waited and read the next ones as they came out, usually the same week that they were published.

after completing ms. rowling's newest addition to the series, i have to say that i still maintain my initial view on harry potter: fantastic, mindless fun, but entirely borrowed.

i always have this feeling of deja vue when i read harry potter. it feels like someone has taken the best elements from dahl, reinterpreted parts of tolkien and altered the scariest things from belliars and rolled them in faerie powder and- ta daa!- wrapped them in a tiny, easy to interpret and easy to swallow package with the scarred visage of a dark haired wizard.

sadly, i will continue to read harry potter, and will, i'm sure, one day own the series in hardback.

[but i refuse to let any children i may or may not have read them before diving into the twits, the hobbit and curse of the blue figurine].

so we're told this is the golden age

sometimes i have a bad habit of eating sugar before i go to bed. this is bad because first, me and sugar means MADNESS and second, because it makes me have super weird dreams.

the other night i had a drumstick and had the oddest dream ever.

i dreamt that there was a party at the loblaws in south keys and that my date for the evening was brad pitt. [obviously in dream land i'm cool enough to know brad pitt, and, furthermore, cool enough to take brad pitt to a party at loblaws].

now, brad wasn't my date date. just my friend i brought along. [obviously not cool enough for brad pitt love in dream land].

anyways, admist the madness which was the party in the aisles of the grocery store, i lost track of brad and eventually went to bed in the frozen food section. somehow, however, i became aware that brad and my good friend liz were having a rendezvous in the frozen pea section.

the next morning, after waking up with my head on a mint-raspberry no name cheesecake, i found brad and in the manner of most excellent friends, we walked towards the train. [i heckled him for a ride in his suave car, but he said no in a nice way. maybe we were going in opposite directions? maybe i wasn't actually cool enough in dream land?]

anyways, just as we get to the train, liz appears out of no where, pecks brad on the cheek and whisks me away as brad stmbles towards his car, tongue-tied and dumbstruck, blshing like a man on fire.

in a voice that carried, i turned to liz and said:

"dude, you totally bagged brad pitt!"

from now on, me and sugar have a daily date right before bed. maybe, eventually, i will be cool enough in dreamland to merit a ride home in imaginary brad pitt's suave car.

i only hear what i want to

instead of diminishing, the heat has risen with the full moon that hovers on the horizon, blanketing everything in a manner which parallels the silverly light sneaking between the clouds.

the full moon means less fish.

where i swim the algae is long along the shore, more like sea weed, slippery as ice on the canal. i often only make it one or two steps beyond the safe handhold of the dock before i'm forced to dive deep.

i admire her ability to conform but remain original.

everytime i smell alcohol i think of you.

[wouldn't the psychologists have a field day with me?]

living is easy with eyes closed

the thought crosses my mind fully formulated as i dash across the highway with a borrowed bike.

"slightly odd, innit, that you're not wearing any underpants?"

i've taken to swimming every night regardless of how i'm feeling. a short way from my house, along the shore road in wiarton is an old and slightly unused boat launch that offers a wonderful place to dive deep.

i generally cycle home commando.

muahahahahahah.

clockworks and cold steel

the pen scratches across the paper as my mom illustrates with pictures as well as words the bizzare make-up of my dad's side of the family.

in the past forty eight hours i've eaten a lot of cheese, cleaned my room, semi-trained a new employee, downed quite a bit of rum and reviewed my father's will, both final and living.

the heat has drained me of just about everything it's possible to feel. besides, i'm not sure how exactly i'm supposed to feel about the scrawled note my father slid across the table at me- his ability to talk gone long ago.

"any special requests?"

how come i couldn't voice the one thing i wanted to say, the one request i'm so desperate to voice, the one thing i want to be assured to get, the one thing that would really make me happy?

i need more rum. and maybe some merlot.

i need you to ignore this, but click on the new propaganda-type button on the sidebar and really and truly believe that your voice can make a difference.

god, i would totally RULE if i were on the one commercial.

the hand that feeds

i'm parched and drained at the same time.

is that even possible?