guess what i didn't do? save your addy. lost. gonzo. niet. erased from the existence and memory of my pen unto envelope. sigh. i got a whole page written messily before i realized, flip, i'm screwed. so pretend i'm writing this to you.. cuz i am/did. and also pretend i'm reading it to you. in an accent of your choice.
erhmm..
'dear marc. i don't know how to tell you this, but i'm kind of a big deal. people know me... rich.. mohogany... .. . lucky you! you get the 4:29am version of cracked out tyler, hours before he finally outs himeslf of his north american chains... mmm mmmm (the mmm's got squigglier for emphasis) mmm mmmm taffy... you know when we got so old? the minute our predecessing generation started to piss us off. i can track it in my mind to june 2004, when i witnessed an ignorant youth spouting off profanities at someone our tender, mature, decadent age. and i thought -> " you traitorous bastard... when i was your age.." and BOOM! old balls.
i am intensely restless. probably cuz i've been here for 2 months with no structure or stability (LIES! i had no INstability!!!) or desire to succeed. however, in the midst of my sloth like existence, i did have a crap load of fun + good times = memories ->(holy crap!! its PERFECT!!!)(because you see, i had written memories in such a way, perfection was the only word to describe it. its a bloody shame.)
thank you for your well wishes. i took them in with my eyes an into my heart (which gave me an erection) SALUTE!! i wonder what i look like.. crouched over a desk, scribbling madly, blanket draped over my shoulders like a snuggy with no arm holes... tist the darndest of feelings, projecting mental images of myself to myself within myself. i'd best be careful lest i trip upon something so profound i can imagine life without gravity... (ideally and in retrospect, it could have been a far more conclusive thought if i had actually finished it with enough effort to distract me back towards writing and away from the icecream.) functionally.. mesmerically... mm mmmm (disolve into blurry emphasis once more.) i hear you asked jamie to move to vic... cheers to that my brother, untame that beast. i am glad he's chillin with happier folk like j-con... a happy boost is what the lad needs.'
it was at this point i realized i had no idea how to get this to you before i left. therefore the pre-read was dedicated to you. if you are not marc, shame on you for reading this. email has become to... buisnessy and now forces me into intimidation when i come upon emails from friends in their robotic 'professionalism' manner. sick. we are men of the heart, and we shall act like it!!!!
Feb 19, 2009
Feb 12, 2009
a new kind of marla
destination: anywhere but reality.
departure time: not when reality can no longer be tolerated, but just before the point where you would begin to miss it if it were not there.
arrival time: a calm mind and a new found mannerism relative to the functioning of a clock.
flight time: consult physician, never self diagnose. friends are pretty smart too.
2 hours, 48 minutes until i am allowed to sleep. i almost broke my new rule on the first night, because i just saw a movie that failed to get me all riled up. such expectation, such potential, only to be shattered against a false sense of prioritized story telling. sometimes it can be pulled off, often times it should be pulled off. the rest will be forgotten in the depths of my 'meh' list. i send you there only to be remembered during... a party.. or something. some social gathering where a movie is put in to mildly entertain while couples cuddle and strangers fraternize. colourful noise in a decorated room.
7 days until the 'adventure' begins. wasn't this already an adventure? surely waiting doesn't count. but how much have i grown... how much have i shrunk.. how little have i done of anything yet passed the time so efficiently. nothing to regret so it must have been a sound plan. days like this require a celebration. more work? no... rain. lots of rain. february rain, with flooded streets and slick brakes. if it were snow it'd be a blizzard, but since its warm its just a constant flow of tears. what?! i blacked out. a tweak in my eye sent me back into reality from where i had unsuspectedly departed. oh yes, painting to do.
departure time: not when reality can no longer be tolerated, but just before the point where you would begin to miss it if it were not there.
arrival time: a calm mind and a new found mannerism relative to the functioning of a clock.
flight time: consult physician, never self diagnose. friends are pretty smart too.
2 hours, 48 minutes until i am allowed to sleep. i almost broke my new rule on the first night, because i just saw a movie that failed to get me all riled up. such expectation, such potential, only to be shattered against a false sense of prioritized story telling. sometimes it can be pulled off, often times it should be pulled off. the rest will be forgotten in the depths of my 'meh' list. i send you there only to be remembered during... a party.. or something. some social gathering where a movie is put in to mildly entertain while couples cuddle and strangers fraternize. colourful noise in a decorated room.
7 days until the 'adventure' begins. wasn't this already an adventure? surely waiting doesn't count. but how much have i grown... how much have i shrunk.. how little have i done of anything yet passed the time so efficiently. nothing to regret so it must have been a sound plan. days like this require a celebration. more work? no... rain. lots of rain. february rain, with flooded streets and slick brakes. if it were snow it'd be a blizzard, but since its warm its just a constant flow of tears. what?! i blacked out. a tweak in my eye sent me back into reality from where i had unsuspectedly departed. oh yes, painting to do.
Feb 1, 2009
that kid's gonna be a freaking genius
today i will tell a bathroom story. its like most other bathroom stories, except instead of the story being contained in my mind, it was an actual happening, though happening as it would if it were actually in my head. it begins with the location. shoe and coat room, very hidden bathroom, very full bladder, during a timeout break of superbowl 43. the house is home to 6 children ranging from age 16 - 1 1/2. the trouble begins when the toilet seat is lifted, ever so gently, as to not disturb the hypnotized football gazers in the room to the right. the urinater is you see, a very shy urinater. the slightest noise from anywhere within earshot of his splashback would send him spiralling out of control into complete cease of flow. there is nary a chance of the other house occupants hearing any sort of occurence, but chances are never to be taken. toilet seat successfully up, the urinater stares down at the waveless body of water beneath him. luckily for the shyness, the water is littered with blankets of toilet paper; allowing a muffled exhange of silence to splash, further giving confidence to the one who thinks his stream would cause outcries of hilarity for its jouvenile attempts to appear masculine. the water has already been tinted slightly yellow, as for sure one or more of the younger kids have forgotten flush their leavings from a previous deposit. ignorantly and urgently the urinater heads forth, towards the buisness of his superbowl dissappearence.
his work completed, he strikes the lever to flush away any remains of his presence; only to discover that his blanket of toilet paper is indeed a trap! a net to the forsaken few who have dared tried to flush before but have given up. the water level rises, as it should he reasons, for toilets are designed that way.. but instead of the tide shifting to a completely rinse cycle it climbs higher still! oh the fear that embraced him, as what he only expects to happen in dreams becomes a frightening reality of something he will surely have to confess. quickly! his mind reasons and acts swiftly like zorro would upon a scheming british patriarch, grabbing the plunger of mercy and ramming it home into the hole that every boy has thought about flushing something explosive down. the displacement sents the rippling waters over the porcelain edge, ensuring his spot in this years superbowl history as 'that guy'. frantically and heroically he rips the plunger from its port and releases the long lost freedom the water once held. the water quickly subsides, but the damage has been done. the pooling liquid begins to ooze towards his perfectly preserved dry socks, threatening to pour out the open door unto the shoes waiting souls. grabbing toilet paper, he begins to recreate what surely started this disaster by sopping up water and throwing the toilet paper back into the now empty bowl. no! he cried, he could stop this. this would not happen to another hapless full bladder on this night! dashing towards the kitchen, like a ninja wearing pink, grabbed and absconded with a great deal of paper towel. surely in the clear, he turned around to face his puddle of shame but unstead came face to face the the households 7th grade son! he accusingly confessed to the disinterested lad, who despite appearing very disinterested, was actually very disinterested. thankful for his freebie, he rushed to the slowly seeping wet sock doom that awaited.
3 handfulls of paper towel later, the job was done. the mess was slain. his hands were clean and his dignity was restored.
(thoughts on the above: oh man, my favorite part, was where i coulda just said 'hey i almost overflowed a toilet today. but then i stopped it and only had to clean a little bit up, and if i hadn't of told you this nobody ever woulda known.' yeah. that was my favorite part.)
his work completed, he strikes the lever to flush away any remains of his presence; only to discover that his blanket of toilet paper is indeed a trap! a net to the forsaken few who have dared tried to flush before but have given up. the water level rises, as it should he reasons, for toilets are designed that way.. but instead of the tide shifting to a completely rinse cycle it climbs higher still! oh the fear that embraced him, as what he only expects to happen in dreams becomes a frightening reality of something he will surely have to confess. quickly! his mind reasons and acts swiftly like zorro would upon a scheming british patriarch, grabbing the plunger of mercy and ramming it home into the hole that every boy has thought about flushing something explosive down. the displacement sents the rippling waters over the porcelain edge, ensuring his spot in this years superbowl history as 'that guy'. frantically and heroically he rips the plunger from its port and releases the long lost freedom the water once held. the water quickly subsides, but the damage has been done. the pooling liquid begins to ooze towards his perfectly preserved dry socks, threatening to pour out the open door unto the shoes waiting souls. grabbing toilet paper, he begins to recreate what surely started this disaster by sopping up water and throwing the toilet paper back into the now empty bowl. no! he cried, he could stop this. this would not happen to another hapless full bladder on this night! dashing towards the kitchen, like a ninja wearing pink, grabbed and absconded with a great deal of paper towel. surely in the clear, he turned around to face his puddle of shame but unstead came face to face the the households 7th grade son! he accusingly confessed to the disinterested lad, who despite appearing very disinterested, was actually very disinterested. thankful for his freebie, he rushed to the slowly seeping wet sock doom that awaited.
3 handfulls of paper towel later, the job was done. the mess was slain. his hands were clean and his dignity was restored.
(thoughts on the above: oh man, my favorite part, was where i coulda just said 'hey i almost overflowed a toilet today. but then i stopped it and only had to clean a little bit up, and if i hadn't of told you this nobody ever woulda known.' yeah. that was my favorite part.)
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