so much to say but it all slips away. 

please look away, I'm trying to recapture a moment that didn't quite go my way and turn it into something else

a dream about someplace else. 

14 avril 2009

le soleil se couche. je ne le voit pas, regardant de mon banc par la fenêtre du cagibi, un allongé à la fois amer et sous-infusé à ma gauche, ma gorge sèche, des sédiments fins sur ma langue.

devant moi la rue, que des voitures immobiles et un trottoir sur lequel se paradent tout les plus beaux jeunes du Mile-End. plus haut un ciel gris-bleu qui devient tranquillement plus sombre à mesure que les minutes passent, mon regard allant de mon cahier à la rue, au ciel pour revenir à la page, ensuite à la fille assise de l'autre bord de la fenêtre, me faisant dos, cigarette en main. 

as-t-elle déjà été amoureuse?

ce sentiment qui commence tout... les jeunes, naïfs qui disent "je t'aimerais encore dans cing ans"

j'ai toujours été trop cynique pour le dire, pas pour le penser, mais je n'ai jamais voulu laissé échapper ses mots de ma bouche. 

ayant trahi ce règlement, je me demande maintenant si je m'approche du contraire- est ce que je le dit sans encore y croire?

je me déteste si c'est vrai. je me déteste si ça ne l'est pas pour avoir même pensé une telle chose.

quand il fera noir ce mardi soir d'avril je quitterai ce banc pour le trottoir que j'observe depuis une heure. quand il fera noir et trop froid pour marcher jusqu'à lui en pensant à autre chose que le froid. comme ça je sui certain de sourire en le retrouvant, dans la chaleur réconfortante de mon lit. 

J'ai peur. je ne peu dormir sans son corps, mais je ne peu pas être en sa présence sans en douter. 

un texto... j'oublie mes doutes. tu me manques déjà.

had one beer, realised i hadn't eaten. two cigarettes made me nauseous. wrote some prose, read some prose. had some avocado and sprouts on bread, smoked again, walked around some read some prose.  came home.

Maybe your aim is off. Though it’s my cue that seems to strike off centre each time, the other end of yours just nudged my pint backwards  on the table  and a passerby barely dodged it last time. But the stripes keep sinking and my solid position is clearly shaky and my mock indignation at  your imminent victory  keeps me from feeling anything more real . Focusing on other things, always other things. His handwriting  looked charming, small and curved as it recounted dark encounters and I saw  something I wanted and couldn’t have. Orange brick and stainless steel and tinted glass are the objects of my attention and if I hate them this much I can only imagine what I might feel about you, miles and miles away. A fever of one hundred and three would boil blood.

Pinch your nose so you won’t smell the exhaust and see the rows of bumpers. Scaffolding hides the aged concrete, but all I wanted was the best, and you know my wishes are sincere. Another song. Shuffle,  Full albums inadvertently seem to tell a story and I’m not in the mood for constant narratives because I wonder if my story is sad, a tragicomedy of sorts. Dreadful irony seems to compel me to understand and not hate them but I still do, it’s only you that I can’t hate though I should. I got lost on the way home and almost ended up in Toronto where’d I’d stumble into shards, scattered as I now am across a small town metropolis. Karmic punishment for the week I suppose. 

nerd

Ottawa macchiato quest, day #2 (with thanks to reduced bus service for stranding me)

Neat Coffee Shop: Roasting fail (oh my burnt), macchiato definition fail. Unplugged clover(fail). La marzocco mistral=pretty 

Bridgehead dalhousie: "ristretto" fail

bridgehead bank: 

http://montreal.en.craigslist.ca/mis/1156017756.html

always too soon.

connection that i think i once missed...

http://montreal.en.craigslist.ca/mis/1155452544.html

I didn't write this, there was a time I could have. 

You looked so cute this morning, sleepy-eyed and hair all disheveled. You were glowing. 

I'm sorry I turned on the light. I'm sorry I had to leave early. 
I missed our usual cup of coffee and tasty breakfast. I missed morning love making and the ignoring of alarms. 
I wish I didnt have responsibilities and we could play all day in this gorgeous summer sun. 

We dont have much time left and I'm not ready. 

All of the other things in my day come second to you. I want my 9 to 5 to move fast and us to move slow. 

i read what i was thinking a month ago and can't see how it turned out like this. what happenned to me?

maybe it was the onions, or maybe i did spend 5 minutes in the bathroom crying

and it wasn't because my cappucino isn't up to code. 

i think he's eager to treat this all as a mistake, a long mistake. it kills me because i wish i could see a beautiful moment of the past and move one... but instead i feel like i've emotionally invested myself in a lie, and there'e too much resentment for moving on to seem easy. 

braking on laurier as i come up to st-laurent, pulling between the line of cars and the sidewalk at the intersection, the light is red. there a pigeon, but it's almost perfectly white and i roll towards it, still braking. it should fly out of my way, but the car is too close and it has nowhere to turn, i slam the brakes, stopping only inches to the side of the bird, the center of my wheel right next to it. and it doesn't move, it doesn't flinch. if we could all be so desensitised....

it's not me, it's you...

but that's of little comfort now. 

and you have no idea how badly i want to just forgive and forget because i'm still clinging to two months ago and it's all i want, but i can't get that back and you can't get me back, but you don't really want me anyways i think. 

so fucking nauseous and dizzy and exhausted. i'm spent emotionally and physically and i can't sleep. 

i wanted to go home, even if it was only to smoke as many cigarettes as i could because i couldn't sleep and everything hurts. i ride my bike east on fairmount, headed to st-laurent. arriving at a red light i can only turn right because i can't bear to be still just yet. i glance around, watching for cars or pedestrians,  or the sight of you through the window, on his bed. i have a bottle of water in my hand because it kept falling off the bike and i'm somehow hoping to cleanse you out of my system with water alone and now i'm crying again and steering with one hand while the other holds the water. 

then, home. i'm in bed right now and all i can think about is how many different ways this hurts.

get out. get out. get out. 

what is your level of interest in a shallow, one sided relationship in which only sexual gratification is pursued? can i sleep on your futon?