howdy fans

hey,
just a few things. mostly house keeping, but you know, it has to be done.
i'm opening up the questionery dealery deal again. just click the link at the side there and ask me freakin' anything, and i will answer it. it is my destiny.
i'm a bit hesitant to ask this next thing, just because it seems a bit desperate, but really i want to be desperate about this, so if you enjoy what i do here, could you, like, tell people about it? or let me know with comments? or something? i don't know man, i like doing this but i also like doing it when people are paying attention.
yaaaaay,
lee

i have been waiting so long to use the term "pigeon-hole"

on the metro today, i passed this guy. he looked university aged, big guy, muscled, looked like a total frat boy jock-y asshole kind of dude. i mean, i know dudes like that and they're mostly okay, but the stereotype still sticks with me, i'm not entirely sure why or if it's a good thing. i heard a line of his conversation, and it honestly surprised me. 

"I was like, "yo bro, chill, what the hell's your problem?"

it surprised me because i am, in a way, preconditioned to the assumption that there's more to people than appearances, that random lines of conversation are illuminating to the inner soul of a man, and that within these windows i'd be able to find something good and pure. 

but no, the snatch of dialogue i heard was perfect for him, it was exactly him in so many ways. 

and is it bad that i find some comfort in that? that appearances can reflect personality so perfectly sometimes? i only heard a single line of this guy's conversation, but i don't think it's much of a stretch to assume that he's always like that at least a little bit, that no matter how far away from the bro-serna he puts off, he's always circling that pigeon-hole. and i know i should rebel against this but really i'm kind of tired today and i want things to be simple sometimes. is that a crime? 

man, i meant to write about nationalism but i'm beat. i'll try that out tomorrow, i need a personal nationalistic manifesto more than you know. 

i want to say something here,
but all i can think is notebook fodder,
bullshit about stars and the moon
and fields of dandelions reminiscent of
Wordsworthian wanders.

that is all that's running through my head goddamn i want to write about everything i see i want to compose a poem to the trio of porcelain dandies surveying the battlefield of my room where the twin waves of books and clothes erupt from opposite corners i want to write a haiku for every picture my laptop pulls up i want to believe that a sonnet can be formed from how i feel about my abused and neglected and loved loved loved loved loved loved plants felix and elizabeth and i just realized i kind of gave them pretty damned romantic names they could be the hero and heroine of a gaudy godly romance novel harlequin but not the brand the idea the concept of harlequin of dark french clowns and jesters sleeping in cloisters of cathedrals and i know that's not what they did but i believe it is i believe and i know my christmas card conceptions of reality aren't real but sometimes sometimes i think they might be and when that happens i feel like a christmas card may be all i have to tell the world by and all the world is embodied in that one idea that one picture gracing the world.

i'm going to sit at my typewriter and try to make some sense or at least some beauty

I'm not entirely sure what I mean by this, but there seems to be an imbalance.

or maybe there's just a new balance i have to get used to.

i mean, god, there's tsunamis and revolutions and tuition increases and super moons and love and madness all around and i don't especially know how to deal with it all. so many people are going around saying what's best or what needs to be done or what is happening but none of it makes sense.

the tilt of the earth is off now. and that's not a hyperbolic metaphorical statement, it's what's fucking happening. i don't know how to deal with that.

kerouac said in the subterraneans, which i'm reading on and off right now, that everything is so goddamn messed up that you can never really examine the why of anything, it's lunacy to try, all you can do is quantify and qualify the what of it all.

so i guess i'll try to do that.

i'm sitting in my room, on the mattress that makes my bed. there's a pile of unwashed clothes sitting beside me and a super moon in the sky above. i can almost see it out my window but it's not there now, i guess it's just another superhero only there when i need to be rescued. i have to be up early tomorrow. i'm going to church. maybe that's what's making me feel out of whack. i don't go to church, i form churches everywhere i go, where ever i feel a worship coming on i take a second to deify my surroundings and say eleanor roosevolt's war time prayer, but i haven't sat through a worship since october, and i haven't been in a church since the last time. i've never been part of a church growing up. yet tomorrow i'll put on my sunday best and wander off to a church in ndg. notre dame de grace. i guess it's impossible to avoid religion in montreal.

this world doesn't make any goddamn sense and maybe it's about time i get used to that again. i think i used to accept it, but then i thought i understood what was happening under my nose and then i lost it all and i need to embrace it again. i need to learn to embrace the bipolar lover that is this planet spinning on a new axis.

goodnight, sweet princes, you'll be in my dreams.

Relief of Rock at the Side of the Road Part 4 Chapter: first half

There has been an awfully long wait for this post or any post of mine and I apologize to any offendies. This last part is fairly long for a short story and the second half of it is nearly finished. Please Enjoy what happens to Clarence-Theatre Osewaald and Tarina Millenium.