Don't Walk Away Eileen

Eileen says I'm a boy, not a man.
Crying on the corner with my head in my hands.
I called her name and she ran,
Slipping through my fingers like a fist full of sand.

For reasons unknown to myself and to my victims, I am seldom able to keep a promise. To me, being able to keep a promise is up there with the ability to fly and see through walls. Why has this come to my attention, you may ask?

If I could keep a promise, I would not take your picture. If I could keep a promise, I would stop writing about you. If I could keep a promise, I would use all of this art and life inside of me to do something productive.

I wish I could keep this promise, but keeping promises is hard these days since you broke my heart.

Carry the Zero

You're so occupied with what other persons are occupied with, and vica versa.

I have come to a sad realization, my friends; I will most likely be standing alone for my class graduation photograph.

Please, do not misunderstand me. I do have friends at university. Let's see... one in political science, two in concurrent education, and two who are moving to Vancouver. Bastards.

I suppose that I am not a very approachable person. However, I do not doubt myself. I know that there is truly something genuine about me, and perhaps it is that "something" that makes others shy away. Believe me, I will not laugh wholeheartedly at your jokes if they are terrible, and I am not about to compliment you on that very... original... Lululemon sweater. But, that's just me.

So, suck it.

Lisztomania

Think less but see it grow,
Like a riot,
Like a riot, oh.
I'm not easily offended.

Hello, Blogger World. Guess what? Only forty-seven more days until the highly anticipated release of "summer". Can I get a "what what"?

(What what!)

School took a giant shit on my face. Literally. Well, no, not literally. That's disgusting. Anyway, it will be good to be back in my hometown. You see, I have many goals and ambitions for this coming summer. Oh yes, it's going to be big. I...

...

... am probably going to work at Safeway. Yes, I know what you're thinking, and no -- life actually doesn't get better than that.

Cheers.

Trippin' Down the Freeway

You know that we are gonna be okay.

The following program is brought to you in part by Z's inability to print off the proper lecture for biochemistry, Z's short attention span, and from contributions from viewers like you. Thank you.

"Here I am, sitting in Kingston Hall, room 101. It's not the same without you here. ('It's over, Neo.') I feel half as confident without you around, if that.

I feel lost in this sea of babble. Talks about class and finals, bar night and 'Rape the Cape'. The noise around me fills me with frustration, and the smallest hint of envy.

Oh, biochemistry, how I don't understand you. Your talks of reductions and reactions are too complex to me to fully comprehend. When one thinks in pictures, it is hard to imagine something so small.

'Keep your eye on the prize.' I dream of the day that we are both finished with school, living in a cramped shoebox of an apartment somewhere near Toronto's core. The only time that we will not be close enough to touch is when we are both at work. We will have some cash, some plants, and maybe a little dog we can call our own. We will make our own Thai food and spend our Saturday afternoons at the St. Lawrence Market, looking at vintage rings and comic books. We probably will not purchase either because we know that our dog or potbelly pig (I forgot to mention him) will chew the shit outta it.

Things will be lovely. Instead of spending money on cleaning our disgusting carpets or buying another season of some hilarious new sitcom on Blu Ray, we will go to Sundance or some funky science fiction festival. We will 'marvel' at the young, indie hipsters and remember when it was acceptable to wear old Joy Division tees and ripped denim on a regular basis.

Of course, we will still be young at heart. If we both have the time, we will take a trip to Spadina and venture into the sketchy Chinatown malls. We will eat 'real' Chinese food and spend countless twoonies on those vending machines that dispense knock-off toys from the Digimon series. People will look at us.

Things will be better then. We will not be spending money on uncomfortable bus rides anymore. Instead, we will save that money for an exciting journey to a far away place. Maybe Australia, if you are up for it.

Twenty-six minutes left of class. I am feeling exhausted. Maybe it is because I looked over at the girl in the row across from me, her head on the desk and her eyes closed. Good to know that I am not the only one who is not paying attention today."

Leif Erikson

She swears I'm a slave to the details.
But if your life is such a big joke, why should I care?

A thought, one that is perhaps even more insignificant than this blog update, has been churning over in my mind lately. I am not sure where this thought originated from (perhaps in the nipple-covered pages of Details magazine), but it has been quite frequent as of late. Feminist readers beware.

"If I were a man, I am most certain that I would be drowning in a sea of female genitalia by now. I bet that chicks would eat this introverted-depression shit right up."

That is all.